I’ve felt the soft surface of temporal fabric,
watched the world begin to fold
organic origami elide
rearing over what remained of
what was no longer me.
& sound waves of colour,
cold feathers began folding down,
nothing remained but space & light,
a deep divide
between body & mind,
quick flicker of panic
as all thought plunged into ice…
then it didn’t matter whether
I lived or died,
try to write
or if I
“…poetry makes nothing happen” -W.H. Auden
A wish to kiss your eyelids &
the heavy weight of images
Guillotine quick & clean
in the most golden morning light
we’ve ever seen in our lives,
nothing but beauty would survive;
light without darkness means nothing,
so maybe joy needs suffering.
Is there even any memory you
would want to lose?
poem is impotent
& yet still it persists:
to take those heavy images
& leave you only with those that help you
The weight of the rain cripples the name
of a person in a place
you swore never to forget or
let the silence
& the songs & the long moments
of hands twisting time with bodies
entwined in nights we wish would never die,
yet all things must eventually fade away
but time hasn’t taken us yet & so
there’s no reason
to forget everything even as we
let go of what once was.
Some nights we cannot see the Moon,
but during others it’s
repeats the silver nights
precluding the golden mornings
“on peut pas vivre d’amour et d’eau fraich”
& then when
the morning light made me choke as
how the gentle susurration blended
with the birdsong & the light
curved like the branches above us
skin within which poison blends with pollen
& flowers blossom before I pluck them
to place in your hair where
they will wither & die.
The past still lingers in the present,
& refuses to die with the grace
of living things.
Is this why I regret everything?
what’s the price?
Suppose you lied, suppose
the scars bring you pride
because they display your fight against life
since there’s no shadow without light,
no death without life,
you fought life & death &
Suppose, suppose you
the question came as a surprise – why
not try to act like you don’t know
what made you
strip naked & run screaming
into the abandoned building
licking flakes of old paint from walls bleeding cold
petals on the floor lost to rot
ing & ignored, what
does the paint taste like, why
did you decide to stop when
the dirt-black sky
ran to hide from the bleeding sun that never dies?
suppose you only wanted to try & fall
suppose that you never meant it at all.