revolution
women cram the streets
in frenzy to all, for revolution
their arms outstretched
their blood our own
a grotesque revolution
goyesque
we inhabit the earth
but not the meek
for these voices
betray the cold
while apathy crowns
our mediocrity
surely there are no angels
no arrows, slings
waiting on the cold footsteps
for the grey stones
simply assert a passive sentiment
like unguarded wounds
resisting ancient feet
for thought
from unlikely towers
stands upright
defending this fragile realm
with a phantasy
an emblem's symbolic wing
the wavering of sign over saint
i look above these to the end
to a metaphysical dénouement
to honest beginning
where child and underling
await a simple unveiling
a godly wind
womb with a view
I am the cry of a beast of burden
the mimicry of the womb
whose abject fellowship there
became a born again way
as a neophyte I bit into
the softened apple, life
and yearned for more
with a milky longing for god
when I was more advanced
in the follow years
when i walked and crawled
from the agencies of mom
and dad the face of my inner man
became the man I was not
fallen thus from ma to pa
and then to reciprocity
I wait to wean myself
to break the wan methods
of rite and ancestor
that had grafted me in
when all I wanted was wine
now I look at wine and drink the grey
I bask in the brokenness of flesh
sweetened by lees, malnourished
thus with desire has come denial
and with denial, denouement
and with the end in sight
I waste away, to sleep, to dream
to love, and dream, a dream
this one, of birth and far away
I don't know why I long for an eye
to tell me once and all, but I do,
like the first breast
the first taste
today
i lived once on ithaca
a blue upon a green
walked to town
slept in the sea
knelt at seasons
i remember the beach
on an isolated morn
where undiluted
i suspended disbelief
the road to levki
was arced and dry
a contradiction
alongside cobalt blue
being was word
phrased life
i felt the earth shake here
with quaking dread
like innocence escaping
held my ears to ground
while fright became
i deeped under cool salt
tear-tasted
until i was ithaki
skipped among stones
till the stones
were tired
breathing and soon
breathing again
i eat the milk
of feta goats
and loved
the layered moon
upon the flattened wet
i left one day
upon a boat
watching a red scarf
waving at vathi
and never return
until today
we are the remnants
the envying echoes
the returned exiles
whose tale
desires but telling
ransacking the others
we have become them
in an aegis of return
we sing now of them
our narrative bound
in defining us
now links us for ever
we are one
from horse's heart
and doubting
we beget an end
as insiders who crept
into core to bed
a beginning
and an end
in black and silence
we wept for fear
and finally birthed
raised weapons we did
and sought the enemy
all died, even us
sometimes we long
for the seas, the siege
the salutation of troy
for it bequeathed
an hope to us
anthem to the war
many years, then
i saw crow fly
transcending all of us
from barricade to barrier
he landed in the fray
he seemed nonplussed
at all this death
and flew away again
i broke once from you
i slid and fell then
while you watched
there were no others there
it was a semblance of privacy
but helplessness is never private
i stayed there, wondering if you'd go
but you kept looking, in surprise
at the aftermath
i winced, head down
unable to see your eyes
unwilling to, wanting to see a look
one i'd seen before, long ago
i felt nonplussed, the floor cold
almost inhabitable, dust to dust
my body began to ache and burn
insisting on relief,
before i arose
i fell again
Dreaming of lower
I have felt a flower
Crumble in my hands
Like falling manna in my mind
A god desist
As feet path-play
upon a sodden path
I've claimed an end
To soon,
too soon
Have left my sacred space
To linger in
another's den
Until then I had
never dreamt of
the margins of melody
The danger of allure
Ophelia lay upon her bed
Bedded by the blue
Until her head bent
Gravel
I step onto the grey
Feet already searching
Linger and devolve
Linger and devolve
I feel I have not understood
Not lost but walking
Again listless to the crunch
This morning I listened
To Pärt, tabula rasa
An empty beginning
formless and void,
darkness ,
the surface of the deep
I move in a line
It is not a straight one
I hear voices way away
Soon I will see them
And I will not be me
Listless to the crunch
Whether
Bent in metamorphose
I held the desk like a casket
Mood, sombre
While in my stomach
A whirring knot
Stirred unselfconsciously
Any movement slight
Unbearably stilted
I felt the idea flow
Fraught within
The desperate acquisition
Of context, a poem
A moment of clarity
A scream
But instead I clutched
And bent longingly
At the abyss
