A rainbow unweaved

Falling asleep,
we're lost at sea,
                each
        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
                vibrations…

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

For hours we remain there
        but time
has no significance
        where we are.

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,
showered
shit
dressed & went
to work.

Evergreen

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
& I,
                        insignificant,
stare at the people & the buildings
& the utter lack of meaning,
overwhelmed by purpose:

one must stay busy.

Smoke dances the in rain
                        framed
by the sickly-white, luminescent light
of the street lights:
sentry post for every building.

They are trying to say something,
these buildings, something
more than their designer or
creators ever intended,

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

So I flee to the nearest breath of green
& living things;

I tilt my head back,
as I 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 previpusly deemed impossible seem attainable”– Mark Fisher

Escape

For S

The city lights always invade the night:

I just want to fuck you in pure moonlight
or beneath a furious storm,
but the city forever prevents me.

I dream of our escape, but first
we must learn how to be caged
                                together.

This is how we live now (if you were born after 1984)

Expensive mistakes made to wait
for the cancelled screening of lost futures.

                            Never mind,
just watch the trailer;

a sentence cut short for bad behaviour,
particular particulates chosen
                            for both air & water.

Which method of suicide would you like?

No need for haste,
we have a decade to waste first,
                            & anyway
the decision has already been made.

                ****

Words twirled like sugar cubes
                            by silver spoons
into porcelain cups are not enough.

They’re useless.

Images are different.

With careful consideration
they will change the world,
                            or else become exhibitions
to be sold & then interpolated
into the process of rebellion:

no longer threatening to the system.

                ****

We drown in noise, suffocated by information.

Anhedonic hedonism,
                            cynicism,
& one more beer, one more smoke,
just one last line of coke;

desperate times & desperate measures,
insanity as a reflex against insanity;

                            a litany
of clichés & new prescriptions
for yet more medication. Don’t question
the efficacy, or the necessity or
                            the cause,

just take what you’re given & be grateful
someone is pretending to listen.

This is how our problems are solved now…

                ****

Pull out the roots & the flower wont grow,
just like weeds won’t;
                            to consider
weeds to be as beautiful as flowers,
is to consider the power of words
to change the world
                            which is to say,
it changes your perspective;

to hold contradictory thoughts,
                            is to survive
& thrive, like weeds & not flowers.

                ****

To speak of flowers is to dissapear
into the ideas of others but this
is consistent with the insistence that
                            nothing is new
until it’s too late:

words no longer matter on the page.

Now only screens change the world
& dreams become as tacky as a pearl necklace,
draped around the neck.

                ****

So now, of course, we want not just answers
but solutions;
                            different desperate measures,
a new insanity
to replace the one you gave us.

Don’t think that we lack the courage needed:

we know what must be done,

we just don’t know how to do it…

                ****

They say that thinking of these things
will only make matters worse;

those of us for whom the drugs don’t work are told
                           to focus on the small things
& ignore the dying world,

drowning us all.

So:

crouch down to a round, purple flower,
notice the green-tipped wing of a butterfly
upon it.

                            Reach for the phone as a reflex
to take a photograph, &

watch as the butterfly flickers away…