Ocean Eyes

With your tongue in my mouth
you try to tease out
the secret of my silence,

but I keep it hidden
a garden
        full of dead
                    & dying

With your tongue in your mouth
you make sounds
that unfold my rib cage, take
each strange organ
in your hands &
show me that
bones need not be broken
                        to be open.
in the blue reflection of your ocean
eyes, the poison in these organs
rise like vapour to the sky;

        that ocean brings me back to life.

So let me in
            & see
if I will sink

            or swim.

The End

Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue
but you seem to have re-written,
the story of what was once you and me;

put as much distance as you can
between then &

Your eyes,
the smiles & the all that time spent together:

eventually the touch of all those memories
will disappear
& only the faintest trace
will remain…

can believing a lie make it a truth?
because I believe in the lie
that you still love me too;

the heart beating beside me every night,
that heart belongs to you.

Wherever we find ourselves next,
whoever else you let into your bed,
the feeling is still in my chest.

A rainbow unweaved

Falling asleep,
we’re lost at sea,
swell of the surface
is a pull from the deep,

every second threatened
by a silence waiting
to claim the music
that lingers
in shivering

plays games with sound-waves;
a spiderweb
across darkness
as we segue into dreams.

For hours we remain there
where time has no significance.

In the morning, when the mind emerges
– a butterfly crawling
from its chrysalis,
given the gift of one day to live –
you will tell me your dreams.

They are sometimes mundane,
but often they are strange
& beautiful:

a flock of birds somehow derail the train
taking you to an unknown destination,
but you escape from disaster
by leaping out of a window
& land softly
in a meadow
of wildflowers.

I don’t speak about my dreams.

I don’t speak about disturbing scenes of
eating glass
as a crowd attacks &
tears the flesh from my bones
with their hands,


a desert that doesn’t grow, but
moves slowly forward
with the eerie movement of mist…

Last night,
I had a dream,
that poetry still mattered &
you presented me
with lilacs as
behind you
the crowd demanded answers, but
we calmed them with elegant words.

Then I awoke,
smoked four cigarettes,

& went to work.


With all the inevitability
& perfect frailty
of autumn’s final fallen leaf

the secret violence of our silence,
stands exposed;
a distance so vast in a space so small.

Every word we once shared
now hides, & the meaning
of their patterns

The summer is turning it’s back;
darker mornings,
colder evenings.

Will the winter destroy the warmth we need,
or will we find a way to keep our dreams
from fading?

Can we still cling to the belief,
that there is some hope remaining,
of reclaiming

what once was, because, after all,
not every leaf will fall:

some trees are evergreen…

All of this is temporary*

The City swells with life
& you,
stare at the people & the buildings
& the mundane purpose.
Overwhelmed by
the tide, so an anchor is made:

One must stay busy.

Smoke dances the in rain
by the sickly-white, luminescent light
of the night.

A walk, awake
between night & day, surrounded
by the City, &
always the same shapes:

they’re trying to say something,
these buildings, something
more than their designer or
creators ever intended

I don’t know what it is
any more than they do.

So find nearest breath of green
& living things;

to tilt your head back,
lay down upon the the grass,
& stare at the immense & ancient darkness of

the sky…

*“Emnacipatory politics must always destroy the appearance of a ‘natural order’, must reveal what is presented as necessay and inevitable to be a mere contigency, just as it must make what was previously deemed impossible seem attainable”– Mark Fisher