Evergreen

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

the secret violence of our silence,
stands exposed;

a distance so vast in a space so small.

Every word that once was shared
now hides
with their patterns obscured.

The summer is turning its’ back,
as the wind grows sharp teeth
greedily devouring the trees;
darker mornings, colder evenings.

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

There is still hope,
not every leaf will fall:

some trees are evergreen…

Constant inconstancy

It isn’t the same, it
                        can never stay the same.

No grass seeds always ready to
raise their blades again, only
                        
                        change

slow or sudden,
willed or unbidden,
                        there is only change

& nothing else.

Habit & time,
                        being & repetition
build an image of difference
                        & permanence,

but there is only change;

the one constant
                        dressed as paradox:

there is only change,
                        change

& nothing else.

Desire

Mais c’est la machine en elle qui rêvait de caresses… -Sartre

Wrong words sometimes misheard
                            as the correct ones,

(Correction:
            there are no correct words,
            only those more or less sufficient.)

dreams disguised as prophecies while
                            all prophets are despised
& each day either parading,
            sombrely proceeding, gliding
            quietly by
or screaming as it runs into the night.

Were these fiercely defended fantasies
created only to be destroyed?

                            Is that why
we still desire them?

How strange it is that the urge to leap when crossing
a bridge so rarely corresponds
                            to the balance
between despondency
                            & excitement;
solidarity & isolation;

love, indifference & ideation…

                            how obvious
it seems in hindsight
that colour depends upon more than light:

if we close or open our eyes;
the strength of our sight; what
            we choose to see,
            or if

we look away.

 

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.

All For Two, & One For All

Only those who know how to truly love
                                    know how to hate:

we wait for them to despise us,
a prophecy possibly more fulfilling
than anything they’ve offered us before…

Life has become an idea; vapour
rising from the surface of a shrinking
lake, never to return again.

Our first fuck was a clumsy mess,
but am I wrong to see the dignity
we’ve since spent building beginning to crumble?

Who’s the most humble, the pessimist
or the optimist, & is it naive
to believe that the only worthwhile thing

is to keep giving a shit
                                despite the odds?

‘cos I’m all in now; no backing out:

you’ve got everything I can give.

So it’s time to ride or die, to fight or hide;

to fucking decide & then fall,
                                if we have to,
on the hill where

we’ve chosen to demand the impossible

& laugh at the improbable.

                               

Eros & Philia

For S

Your elegance, fluid movements of a dancer,
& your hair
                                    flowing in the wind.

The city lights conspiring to hide
the cold shimmer of starlight from our eyes;
walks together: a flower & it’s thorns,
sharing our thoughts, secrets, fears
                                    & feelings,

each the other’s mirror
using silk to remove any marks that
prevented us from seeing clearly &
the resulting electrostatic charge
binding us together.

                                    All of this
& more
is a gift,

and every poem I give you
is an attempt to make amends
for being only this
                                    unremarkable,

                                        undeserving mammal

you’ve chosen.

I remember…

For S

I can still taste the memory of those cold
December mornings,
when all I ever wanted
was to stay with the warmth of your body.

Or the Summer evenings when
you would rise, like a feline, from the bed
to describe the most perfect lines,
just by stretching your limbs,

& how the sunlight would slip
from a halo to fingertips
brushing against your skin.

Lovers & Liars

"All lovers become liars in the end."
                                    I said,
as we lay there, naked in the bed.

They refused to believe me,

& in that sweet moment of post-fuck repose,
I looked into their eyes
& realised they were right:

only some lovers become liars.

I just can't decide
if the lie will be theirs or mine.

She speaks French to me #1

For S

Tu est le connard
tu sais le bon, mais
toujours choisis l’exception.

Constant
répétition du mal:

pourquoi les fausses decisions et
pourquoi de la destruction de toi?

Regarde la merde se déverser sur le sol
est-ce que tu voulais, est-ce que tu a besoin?

Il y a ton futur qui se mourant:
tu es apprécier de lui faire?

Rain

“I love the sensation of shelter from
                the storm.
I like it when it rains outside,
how it makes me feel warm.”
she said.

“I used to feel like that.”
I said back. “It’s a safety thing, I think”.

She said “Maybe…”

& I replied:

“It doesn’t happen now though, now the sound
just makes me sad.”

“Why?” she asked

“I can’t say I think about it
all that much any more…I just
don’t care.

It isn’t worth a waste of words.”

Then we were silent:

I was evading the question

                again.

****

Created from a structure of complex
cells & cells we find ourselves in:

always questioning more than answering;

a distance between who we are & what we love;
                the difference
between what we do &
                what we dream:

we are everything & nothing:

both subject & object,
the language animal playing games in the cave…

We’re the process of knowing that
we’re reading this poem;

body & mind,
trapped in time &
sub specie aeternitatis*;

                double-helix dance of meaning.

****

Security is the supremacy
of survival.

Natural data & culture
compel the worship of the Self,

but worship has always been dangerous:

people do not treat their gods well.

If they did there would be
less fear of Hell,

                or banishment.

****

“I wish I could feel content again, like
when we were young,
but I’m trapped by everything I
have and haven’t done”

I said.

“But you are content” She
said back. “You told me once,
that only the moments of fleeting, true
feelings mean anything to you”.

“I say a lot of things my love
..and I talk far too much”

But then came her smile &

I fell silent

                again.

* Sub specie aeternitatis