To S, for the last time…
Your smile, your
hair & the soothing evening air,
the city pink as the sun began to
below a gravestone
dreams that breed with soil beneath
an afterlife of nights spent with you &
we so carelessly wasted in
a bright & beautiful display…
I don’t want to visit the grave
very often these days.
No more the warmth of your smile
waiting for me
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
always secretly knew would never come
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
& History can be
*Artemis and the Moon
** Randon Hearts -Laura-Jane Grace
Viscous to liquid, now dissipating
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
when the flames flare & the embers turn
to a fire fierce & dangerous,
the painting will be beautiful again;
you will change…
Your heart rat escaped the ribcage
too late to save its brain:
they peeled back the skin, broke the skull beneath
to search for what cannot be found.
Line after line we try
to shed our shroud of lies.
I aim too high,
not of hights but the oubliette
where words forget to hide our fear,
& then the poem disappears
you tell me how you held her in your hands
as she died.
Your heart rat was one of the lucky ones:
She was loved,
not experimented on.
we could all be so lucky…
The Janus face spits as a knife
penetrates just beneath the ribs,
drags a deep diagonal from
heart to liver,
& the organs slither
onto the floor:
Tasseography as grotesquerie;
desecrating rivers of gold,
watching as you piss into the ocean…
You’ve learnt nothing.
Still hiding behind the second person,
still lost in
the hall of mirrors,
to the stench left behind;
closing your eyes,
pretending that you’re blind;
that symbolic sacrifice will suffice.
So like a coward
& fuck up the last line