Derangement

I’ve felt the soft surface of temporal fabric,
watched the world begin to fold
small then
             smaller    &
            smaller…

                        seen
organic origami elide
            into water,
rearing over what remained of
what was no longer me.

After
electrical screams;

nameless incandescence
& sound waves of colour,

cold feathers began folding down,
                                down,
                                    down.
Inside
nothing remained but space & light,
a deep divide
between body & mind,
                    a
quick flicker of panic
as all thought plunged into ice…

then it didn’t matter whether
I lived or died,
                    what I
try to write
                    or if I
write
nothing
at all.

 

Persevere

“…poetry makes nothing happen: it survives” -W.H. Auden

For J

A wish to kiss your eyelids &
                            lift
the heavy weight of images
hidden beneath,
                torturing you.

Guillotine quick & clean
the blade
         glistening
in the most golden morning light
we’ve ever seen in our lives,
nothing but beauty would survive;

                                 but
light without darkness means nothing,
so maybe joy needs suffering.

Is there even any memory you
would want to lose?

Regardless, this
                poem is impotent
& yet still it persists:

the wish
to take those heavy images
& leave you only with those that help you

to persevere.

 

 

“Everything I love will die / in due time”*

Nothing left but the wet
decaying process
of repetition,
                not you
but something else;
unheimlich; the body
rigid
though not yet cold;

failing to feel the ground
beneath my feet
                trembling;
I leave the room
to try & force my fists & skull
                through a wall.

Sometimes I forget that you’re gone.

Sometimes I hate you for leaving,

but as you told me “c’est la vie:
la tristesse sera fini bientôt,

mais je suis désolé mon enfant.”

Sometimes I forget your face & panic.

Sometimes I take solace knowing
that now you’re nothing

& sometimes I can’t stand it.

My greatest regret will forever be
not being there to see
                your final breath.

                            &
what I whispered to you when
                all energy had left
will remain a secret
I will keep forever…

* Iron Chic – Know What I Mean, Jellybean

Doubt


So bored of throwing stones
around the glass house of consciousness;
of exalting or bemoaning
        existence.

Too many words already written &
even more waiting to arrive,
so why continue to
        write?

Is it only to kill the time,
or find some way to bridge
the vast divide
        between us all?

Or maybe a failed attempt to deny
that the Rise is really the Fall;
there will never be a way to
        escape alive.

& the words will continue regardless,
unmoved by constant confusion & doubt.

The Damned

Consider that colour is given to us
in plentitude
from games played by light &,

that the liquidity of water is
a feature of a particular performance
between specific particles
bonding with each other
                        & yet
no individual actor has
the property of ‘being wet’.

What does that mean to you?

If it means nothing,
congratulations:

you can thrive in this world, but
if you strove to find any semblance
of pattern
        or symbol,

you’re fucked.