Tell a truth, or tell a lie

I get hammered, forget you exist / there’s no way I’m forgetting this”*

That city turning pink
in the sun’s slow descent;
the night air still vibrant
yet gentle now
                      as if
in its old age the day
had finally found a way to be kind
& calm without losing all passion for
the fire
          of summer; 

your hair, shed like feathers discovered in

my bed,
a mess of tresses untangled
& tangled again. 

Now all only a memory

of a scent & the slope of your shoulders
at 5 a.m in the morning; 

photographs of long lost days

when we still adored each other,
before the decay became
                                       poison: 

the silence, the speech, the years of peace

& warmth
& war
& lies
& tired eyes
& not fucking any more 

& bored

            so bored
of the performativity;
                                another
dancing monkey
out of sync with the organ grinder;
a comedy without laughter,
a tragedy without despair,
only anger.
 
 
 
All this & more now lives below
a gravestone with no
inscription,
 
our dream decaying
beneath the surface.

 

* Scott Huchison

Artemis and the Moon*

No more the warmth of your smile

waiting for me

behind

the door or

between the sheets; sharing body heat;

blood pulsing, hearts, random hearts beating

for each other in a cruel, cruel world**. 

 

No more silences,

either callous or beautiful.

No more Blue-john stones & those future dreams

we

always secretly knew would never come

true.

 

No one knows who put the ice-pick through

the skull of Brontsein

 

& only we 

know how it ended…

 

let us keep our secret, please, leave me

to my dreams

 

while you escape your fate

& be gifted that which you always

wanted

 

& History can be re-written…

 

 

 

*Artemis and the Moon

** Randon Hearts -Laura-Jane Grace

A painting or a stain

Viscous to liquid, now dissipating

                                                         into nothing;

colours fading from the imposing painting

of the future now no longer

still in progress.

 

No more changes, no new creations

only the repetition of all that

always leaves you back where you began, yet

if the colours begin to brighten again

as always they have

                                 eventually;

when the flames flare & the embers turn

to a fire fierce & dangerous,

 

perhaps

the painting will be beautiful again;

 

                            perhaps

you will change…

In the sunlight

& then when
I awoke
the morning light made me choke as
I remembered
how the gentle susurration blended
with the birdsong & the light began to
curve like the branches above us
to touch,
briefly,
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 leave with the grace
of living things.

This is what regret means:
never to forget someone
or something;
knowing of all the lives that could have been;

to touch,
briefly,
your skin

for the last time.

Élégiaque

For A

I no longer see why I should try not to relent
when the instinct kicks in:
fight or flight will never be a choice for
creatures like me:

some mammals just freeze…

but anyway,
please go ahead & tell me
about the problems
that weigh you down;

                    tell me about
the rivals who now also know
the sweet taste of your mouth,
                            & the others
that now know the secrets you hide inside…

Without you,
I see no reason not to think about
the old city & about
that lost life all the time:

a bride deprived of sensation & sight
after the bitter disappointment of
                                another dismal,
cliché wedding night,
through the senseless everything
I want to run,
              run,
run
      away
into
the bathetic,
self-inflicted
fuck up
of oblivion,

longing to forget everything,
except a dream I think I once had