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A Girl as Mad as Birds

Now, across the common comes the beating drum of footsteps. Beneath the answering sky my fingers move histrionic through the grief of a rain burdoned and brittling windowsill. That same grief which flies to my door through the unsafe land of a sleepless life.

I hear the vile echoes of a house undone in loneliness ring on my door. The ancient masterpieces crying in their cages, wooden and erect as the wail of birdsong. Empty but for the slip of a girl overcome by the winged flight of swallows at her sanity. Her lips marking my dark eyed woes as long and as deep as her true living grave.

She has deluded the heaven-proof house with her nightmarish walk on the dusted boards worn thin by tears. Whispers of a male word, possessed in the fooling light bouncing about the walls.

You have conjoured me a theif in a cloud where love is caught and kissed. But ending is my chant of desire and guilt, which stars taught me with a tongue in my ear. My true love hold me and wish those theiving birds be still. An immortal genesis has shrunk in the translating eyes of  a mortal sky.

Water enters beneath the opening window and runs through the rockery of my first vision like the boys running truant through time. You fed me with food of a cup chained to the ground that left me solitary as a bell in the dark.

Women figure straight with crooked bones unmade by her laid beloved. And in her crowing morning climbed with blind limb the male moan of a numbered tongue. Night celebraters an anonymous breast beside her as love is hung on the wall.

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When love makes me act this way.

A few thick flakes of snow drift by

and once again I'm lost.

Taken from the night I need, 

too petty for the cost.

*

Driven by some rage my dear

but now I feel so small. 

You kissed your boy at midnight love, 

I could have kissed them all. 

*

With woe my son was sleeping 

your fingers in his hair, 

With death's enticing voice you mock 

'I haven't got a care'.

*

Left without the shelter of,

Your arms on Beaseley street.

Another piece of me withers,

with your stranger's passing greet. 

*

My heart will hear no music, 

There's nothing left to teach.

punctured by misunderstanding and suspicion

to me, only your love with reach. 

*

Have I been worthy dear, 

In my native mother tongue?

How can I who feels so old,

Feel yet still so young?

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Under the arch of a railway, love has no ending.

Under the arch of a railway scabbed over with brick. 'O look you in distress' scrawled upon the wall 'you look lonely my lad, here's a number you can call.'

Close to the river brimming, but before my lungs got wet. I looked deep into the hedgerow and found the birds already making little prisons for themselves with sticks and spittle. 

Dirt, dirt the city where the clocks ring hollow in the ground. Citizens crack apart their lovers and wonder what went wrong. The clocks will cease their chiming when all the lovers are gone.

Now plunge up to the neck in sighs and search for what you've missed. A burrow dressed in nightmares where you funnel your fits. I wasn't waving but drowning when you left for the morning shift. 

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Principiis Obsta et Respice Finem

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Grey Star

Dry night of rooftops and necks

you beat with the city's cement.

Rest with breats of scratched glass.

Done is waking mans lament.

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Black Moon

Wild water of the mount

lantern light lays on your thigh.

Wash your anger on the moon.

clean leaves gone black may die.

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Green Knees

Dissolve in the olive trees.

Whisper to the dogs in the valley.

Make a fog of summer air,

and young boys hearts will rally

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Yellow night

Come from your backwater moons

and shivering morning song.

I have new scent for laughter

warming your feverish tongue.

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Orange Blossom

I can see the burnt breath

that wraps you in the night.

Luminous on waves of silk,

Blinding iris biting tight.

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Blue River

Sadness drips from my lonely room

drooping from my fleshy heart.

Bobbing like a cork on water

Until this skein comes apart

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A Kiss

I sit beneath the hard rain of morning

waiting for a light.

A light from the great steel mill

to cool on my tongue

and wear on your neck at night.

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I am the enormous shadow of my tears

Federico Garcia Lorca

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Poem of the Cry

How is there Welsh sand here with me now

in this cauldron of concrete and pity.

Where they break pieces from me

to take with squeezed lemon and sugar.

                                                   *

Washed in the same green danger

which bent my youth

That great beach was the world.

The last longing wave by

It's straight grey horizon

and black pitch.

                                                   *

Drawn from a great sad height

And as the world it was drawn just for us.

                                                   *

I will pay no homage to the towers of the dead

or the carrion that glows in the wind.

For love that is shall not be lost

and waves which drag near lovers down

will find their bodies alive and warm.

                                                   *

Take up your patient truth with hardened wrist

and death will have no joy of you.

Not beneath the winding sea

where flowers no longer grow.

Nor on  the rising plain

where 12 suns seem to tread.

                                                   *

This landscape of grief

is a mirror to a man.

Lost in the dominion of a sea shore

escaped in salted photographs and moon-blown shells.

                                                   *

Time runs on the canvas path

and furnishes my vanity -

that labyrinth wound

like a mad blow of rain on a flowerhead.

                                                   ****

In the foreground where humanity is found

a dull cacophony of concealing forms.

Whence I am lost in a glass of water

A compass of you shall steer me.

                                                   *

To navigate the rivers that bend

around a choir of immortalities,

wet with voice

singing themselves clean of moon and sky.

                                                   *

Begging for those circular moans

that catch golden nerves in your throat.

And sing august songs from a forfeit well

of God, All-Powerful, naked with insomnia.

                                                   *

Here are the impure thoughts of a dead and sweating man.

A man who has died a thousand times before.

Touched by the same sad light

which leaves clocks ringin evermore.

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I can't stop

Keep going. You don't need to stop here. It falls in white on black writhes, and speaks evil whispered songs of self-hate inside your woolen hat. Square buildings, white exit lights and froxen railing, each made to batter out thoughts of beauty and elsewhere.

Just to the next town. Not here. Stopeed legs like water with a burning core. Breath fogs, fingers through railings. Bet there's gaurds here. Bet there's dogs here. Bet there's muzzles here.

Watch the mind swim drunk against the ordeal. It'll make it easier to forget. Crying would take too much now. A numb face in a bank would do.

Truck brakes. Two rounds of metal on metal. Stay there now nice and still, where I've got you inside. What warmth we've got now, Stay still. Stay still. I can build a house of luke thought for you to lie in. He is my son, I can provide for him.

Sent down, white rings throat away to black. The head and the heart tossed together grate before rest. A seizure of you. And a small death.

"I can't do it this way."

"IT's not just about you now."

"I can prove it."

"You've already lost that way. You'll have to find another."

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I can't have

It's again. Two long bronze raw laid in front on stones made to fall and trees that cut too close. A long rattle heave down and steady. The brook ices down. It's heard and it brings happiness with a hearth. The rattle comes heavy with grit and steel and current. Snow falls from the trees, closer it gets, and melts down my back into my vest.

Better all this seen from afar. Touch your fingers through your shirt and you'll feel ribs. A cigarette becomes a cough. Louder it comes with a pounding. A scream takes in weightless as loud as silence and ever, a suck, a suck of carrion on your bones.

One two three four five six seven eight cars. 

My skin bottle drips down my sleeve, freezing my wrist in the brook.

Frozen like dreams are frozen by desire.

Frozen like this picture of you is frozen. 

Frozen like death. 

One foot each in the snow, booted luck. You can see the dancing birds, but regret looking at the sun. It's a town with a trucker you need. 

A coin is frozen too. Who's face is that?

"I've got it in me to kill a man.

It's done.

Is there something wrong with me?"

"No. There's something wrong with mortality.

I've got you."

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I can't take

Behind it there's a crash forever. a constant. Enough to bring tears. You'll eat that heart. Flush in your cheeks. Wrench sweating in your hand. Breath curls up from the payphone reciever and sunlight splinters on the plastic.

Gotta take a place as it's found. It's got the lake around, where the road dips and the the boys ride their scooters. I'm not with it. It's a splitter behind the eyes.

You've seen it then? Raw eyes. I'm not your game. I won't remember this tomorrow. Maybe in fifty years. Again.

phosphorus above

grease and black hands below

a constant

One after one after one. A time for sirens if any. Starred. That's your name.

" I don't wanna be the one that misses you."

"It's been a year."

"I don't need any longer."

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Be consistent. Don't Compromise