The wind was lower than the day before the day before

And I was anticipating

And I marked by time

By breathing, again and then

I looked up occasionally

Petulant in hope

And you still were not there

What was it within that charged like this

That would not relent

That would not stop

I heard the margins between the cane

Surging with me, the wind tactile

And you were still not there

I gazed from face to happened face

To find your eyes, the mark of which

I held before and held and held and held

I turned and heard the wings of some

Illustrious winged ones and I knew I was not Icarus

Then you were there as sudden as a heartbeat

And I could not breathe

The wind rose and ran upon me like a new day

And I held in momentary loss

The world, the words that were no longer mine

Intuit

intuit

 

innocence is my desire

a virgin birth's ennui

and in some of my dreams

i am child again

rambling alongside the house

touching plants, tasting sand

dust to dust to this

i forget at times that i used to live

live somewhere else and not in this place

this mind that seems lost, dis-moored

membered in disgrace

i point to the innocent

and feel the loss as if i once was so

i feel it desperate within

like a mother within the womb

without

and a child with a suckling breasts

without

i cling to naivety

but it does not talk to me

instead it smiles and forgets

and i am alone without the dust

for those who are never melancholy

i say, do not try to understand

you never were me

never will be

Suicide note

I stopped in insolence

At the sign, the stubborn

Sight of which i felt more

Than heard, i was betrayed

By its lack of ambivalence

The way it marked me

Without blemish or retribution

But careened against weakness

And softness within, it was a horror

The knowledge that i was seen

Even if it was approximate like this

I was more than distressed and dead

It was what people call apocalypse

Without the religious mumbo jumbo

A way of seeing that was not

A way of being that was not

A way of ending that was

Grace now

grace now

 

delicate the demand in me

and oh how sovereign

it runs raging, relent

until it finds the margins

of silence

 

grace

this is my substitute

the breast in holy metaphor

it is suckling and nesting

to give suck

suck

i thread an ancient chord

it is an undone umbilicus

substrata in a void

and i am the neophyte

without and within

the supple sounds

 

it is holding a hand

and letting it slip

and wanting it again

 

 

Hope

hope

 

has no feathers

it is a plague

plucked from the heart

of a damning god

it rests not

has no rite

relentless as a fugue

its sings and will not cease

its gory hallelu

with furtive intent

i first heard its macabre plea

as a boy in a room

i liked it and let it hold me

it left and returned

like an insecure christ

returning with rapture

as look i back

the faith has left me

i am impotent

as the god

of this very thing

bellicose and stung

at night she returns

inhabits me

whispering nothings

if i listen, escapes

if i dumb struck

entangles once again

once in death

i fall into dust

and even there

sings and sings

ascendant

without a feather

in sight

 

 

the light fell blunt

an entangled thing

this womb i bear

its blood my heart

my home

it stirs in arms

that close its soul

and never claims

the whole

but in its will

is some thing soft

and in its clasp

is my name too

the light reneges

once in a while

falls blunt upon me

but the womb

i hold within

is light enough

for me

instants

instants

 

meting out and marking the spartan scent

i undid the clasp and moved forward

breathe becoming a mere anachronism

hinting at life which moved beyond

it was akin to worship this momentary

and elaborate focus, meditative and subtle

here the heart beats without remiss

beating against the flesh, against

and soon i am untempered

with motion as my guide and blind

i am a man lead by spirit, sooner

engaged in nuance and innocence

the beauty of it, exquisite

demands and ever presence

and i am irrevocable, irreverent

and irked at the sounds that ram

and melt like suborning sin

against the hells of heat

mouth makes hardly perceptible resonance

in the deep, caught within the deep

writhing and wresting the god

from the deposit

 

anon and i am awake

and ready to sleep

 

the mirror

the stubborn wind would not die down

it raged outside and inhabited the house

with gust that stirred us inside

the wind knew no solemnity

for it breached the house

with happenstance and creaking

 

i heard the ironing board inside

moving sideways with a familiar sound

the clipping of the wood and the flush

of water and of steam, then silent

 

there are no mirrors here

i thought and looking up saw

a painting and my face

and i knew i was wrong

mirrors grace the graceless

without remiss

and i had seen, would see

 

i lay down summoning

the last of my tepid energy

to dream of life, of death

and more than that

to dream of a mirror

 

the wind stirred against the house

the house resisting its immanence

hiding in its crevices

the wind understood only

that it understood nothing

all

All

 

All i asked was to love

All i asked was to be

All i asked was to be heard

All i asked was to be seen

All i asked was to be near

All i asked was to touch

All i asked was to lean

All i asked was to hold

All i asked was to believe

All i asked was to be yours

All i asked was to sing

All i asked was to cry

All i asked was to laugh

All i asked was to reply

All i asked was to redeem

All i asked was to be seed

All i asked was the simple

All i asked was the minimal

All i asked was you

Only you

i forget

 

i forget that birth is a placebo

bowls suspended in watery song

as if god forgot to pray

i am the need of god

and the face of indigent grace

 

i manoeuvred my way into the limping crowd

their eyes, ovals in a soupbowl

disconnected instead of gall

i forgot that i was alone

in crowds one is rarely discovered

and i meant to be found

 

i saw a woman once

on the side of the street

her head an indent in the sidewalk

she looked up intermittently

forgetting she was hidden

 

i wait for the will to straighten my hands

but my fingers stall in their clatter

and i forget i am writing

surrender

 

the monsters are asleep

like retrograde demons

they hum and hah

insurmountable

for they linger in dark

in suede sensibilities

announcing in their buzz

the presence of fear

contiguous elegy to god

and to god's legions

my head is heavy

the eaves of an man

stunned by intent

and fallen accident

now alone with the sleep

 

they must not wake

 

waking

 

i swing from bridge to river

thinking about that child

who sat at a distance

looking at a note from god

the river resting beneath his feet

 

i watched him from a distance

the water cold and stunned

resumed its course, ignoring his

prayers, he would not look

instead he closed his eyes

hearing the blue and its softness

 

we walked back, feet hurt from

the stones which cobbled us

i walked a little behind, he

eager to go, moved on ahead

he left the note and the solace

turning

 

i was staring, the elements deterred me

and in the oblong court i heard children

their voices uncontrolled and episodic

were lost within the echoing space

it was a spot that i held, transfixed

as if mutiny were a look i barred my soul

and defended the slightest whim with

the focus of a final look, bruised look

i wonder what a look does that stems

the finest from their goals, i resound here

and there are no hallelujahs, just the stare

and the start of a sobbing, the children again

and then no, they seem to have gone

and i am no more than a turning, i start

 

 

the cast

 

in time the man was standing

he had the transfixed look

that many have when death

has seen them

he was undeclared and winsome

but his eyes spoke as a softening

to the hardened clay

threadbare and innocent

his future was a darkened span

his walk had the temper of a fugue

repeated steps repeating

music without the muse

his head was bowed and held

upon taut neck as if age

severe had locked its bend

he was alone and the sign

of the others far from his eye

forgot his stepping

 

she was below

and her hair, below

was all one could see

if trees could talk

 

once a snake fell

and human too

did slide from god

to earth

 

 

Door

there are people who sit with people

and those who merely sit

some eye the wall, engulfed

others linger with eyes dissonant

my dad sits in a chair, his hands bent

he is marked and raging with time

his gentleness is beyond question

he has no passion that is not imminent

he is in a waiting room with others, waiting

and the evening is early, i see fear as he calls

for my mother, she is asleep, and dreaming

the staff do not meet ones eye and seem disconnected

i leave through a side door, my dad is talking about the future

Patterned

 

I am patterned by phases

Mophed into delicate imbalance

Knifes along water sinking easily

Into the estimates of the others

 

Within each isolated niche

A part of me is denied

And i am a voyager of death

Determined to live

 

I last as long as a song

And sing until breath

Has at last spun into nuance

Demarcating sense, swoon

 

My words are marked by self

And by the few who plague me

And monitor the curses

That stream beneath the entrance

Of a window into obstruction

Oblivion has never looked so inviting

ramp

Rampant pungent whirligig

Pungent art of sophistry

That spins around the me like this

That fakes the night

The awe that gives

So sombre is what some might call it

In me it is the aegis still

The marking of no pleasantry

But still my soul

That cries again

Believe me when it comes again

Believe me when i cry and mourn

For in this awe

This awefulness

This wayward means of pleading long

A man lies torn and full again

Will spin for time

And like an endless gyre of god

Lie restless till it rests in me

there is a holiness to the hearts affections that you know nothing about

 

is this love

it is the ochre

of a blue

far bluer

than the early eve

it is common for me

anticipating

the wait for cloud

and the seeping of moon

as it sings about the new day

if this is the living of it

then i am a man alone

on a couch

waiting for feet

and tempered breath

i think often of it

that in this death

i might be song

and the newness

of a sonnet

read for the first time

into the heart of one

i look up

cannot see

but for this bentness

this aroma of blue

butterflies for sleep

if i eyes closed

look up

i only feel the sun

and its involuntary

ways that declare

anithesis

for weeping declare

for we and the sky

it is only in this god gazing

that i see the envelope

of grace and its winds

that seduce the night

and creep into the way

of another tide

i look upon the blue

and see but it

when i look away

i see but it

when i am dead

i do not see but it

Centipede

Until i fret the new moon

Is still at odds, its pieces

Fro and to and withering

In solid incant divide the spoils

And disembarks to a planetary wing

And then another world within

And another besides that one

And soon we move as one

Line by line, cemetery wise

And the death is accompanied

By the margins of life and the end

Of another is the beginning of other

Stapled feet upon the crescents

And the weeping tread of the sun

my words are not

 

my words are not all of me

they sometimes stop

when i must needs go on

they are stumps of a truth

i once knew

i am cleaving to them

but they release me

and never return

three

there were three

 

they wove their way

between the plates

and eat and ate alone

eyes were spun between

the white of the plates

and the red of the wine

as grace unsaid stood

between them as if god

had been their meal

their aspects alone

were faces in love

their intuition being

their instrospect denied

soon the meal it was oer

and the end became eyes

for now they could see

and there three did see

and there three were seen

The hands

i am unkept and seldom black

in moments i am but blue

more bare than jesus

in garden ghetsemane

about to abandon

even god is still and i am dumbstruck

an alien unearthed and mummified

 

my hands are lined with earth stains

and human stand in judgement

their digits falling in random

and i am clutching anonymous words

 

i bend backwards like a madman

eyes rolling, tongue lolling

and i am anathema to myself

to the wind and sun i am shut

and darker than nietzsche's god

 

i fold now and am a void

but soon to one void

another and the finger of god

becomes a finger upon a man

 

Doppelganger

 

like a burden the road curved

almost solitary except for

scattered remnants that lay

lethargic against the world

i stood on restless gravel

and the slant of trees

kept me lop-sided

at one point i arrived

at a fence and the watchman

departed, i could not pass

i looked to the other side

with envy and some loss

imagining that someone

would unlock the path

subverted i pressed my chest

against the steel unwilling

to repent and return

strange that i did not know

what was on the other side

nor care, but i needed to pass

i turned and walked back a little

saw a forked tree and said a prayer

uncertain of its destination

one of me on the other side

soon

 

in the uneven happenstance

i held the child as one does

with a little temerity and much tenderness

looking down in awe at the unformed skin

his waxy contours were made for this

these ramshackle tears and torpid body

lay surrendering to these arms as if

god were i and i was not, god

i didn't mean to project to scheme

to plan and see enviable flight

the horizon tempered with wings

and flight and mystic, the unchallenged kind

his hands no stretched as in a wing span

declared his intent, his anima alert

and i held him as if he were god

hovering over the platitudes

of others, ascending to the limits

of my arms and declaring the new birth

i held him higher than i could

and crowned him, Icarus

 

Words alongside words

words alongside words

 

in substance and form

a word is never a word

but symbol and power

alongside reverse

there are shorter words

and longer syntaxes

that demand we listen

or forget, or extrapolate

from one hermeneutic to another

we linger with the form and it determines

almost nothing without the context

we linger without form and determine

context within the almost

 

a boy and a nude

are but two words

and longer only one

than the other

but nuded lad

denuded lass

remains a willing line

after another will

 

above another

i cannot regard one word above another

but can a lass

above a lad

be regard above dis

regard

and we have gist

gist the two

of us

wall

i am inside this wall

its epithets burnt

from listlessness

and tempered with

lost edges

i am not contained

as much as cut in

like a final movement

needing to end

and knowing its stay

is short and executor

the coolness surprises me

and its mendacity lending

openness to such end

i rest in the ambivalence

claiming it as love

and not as lost

the muse is not silent

but she mouths demons

and they will not claim me

for i resist, i whisper

in jesus name as a mantra

holding back my remorse

fighting the wayward notes

in my mind as mahler did

dissonance becoming him

me now, me now, me

and so i push against the wall

as sisyphus to his stone

promontory hard but elusive

and push to still all dark

closing my eyes i advance inside

to avoid the manifest insiders

wall to wall the remainder

of lingering promise is silent

as the words of the end

 

Asphalt

asphalt

 

my marrow was showing

it was the salty kind

i stood as still as god

upon judgement day

and declaimed the city

my body unable to see

all i could spot was retro

the delight of sentiment

and i was unconvinced

i wondered at illusion

was it i or the citadel

that mocked me

was it my Lot

or was deity declaring me

unclean for repenting

it was an afterthought

the turning

i saw the end

and mine

was it salt

or ashphalt

 

 

 

 

 

Falling is an art

falling is an art

 

my father had warned me

about the dangers of heat

show you how i feel

how i fell

the heat of the agonising

heat where wax doe s melt

and men are vulnerable

i am a man of unquestionable vulnerability

show you how i feel

how i fell

i was bruised before i plummeted

hubris is a bruise you know

show you how i feel

how i fell

i imagined not god there

in the braying rays

but here, instantly spent

falling is further than you think

show you how i feel

how i fell

way towards the dark side

of the unturning earth

show you how i feel

how i fell

hades had pact made

and i was it

the plummeting son dethroned

show you how i feel

how i fell

there was a moment

before the end

where purpose became me

it was after the fear

before the denouement

show you how i feel

how i fell

it was at this solitary suspension

in the midst of fall

that i saw the end

mysterium tremendum

show you how i feel

how i fell

falling is an art

some do it perfectly

 

 

 

 

It is colder than it was

More solitary cold

Way less demarcated

Than evening

The winds now less

Less aware than before

And slow as providence

I dreamt i was all fallible

And woke to see it true

 

narrow

instead of limb

of arms

in hand shut

utter

instead of entire

limit, push to stem

the dreaded ones

from antipathy

a window agape

ringent to all

all too ringent

instead of a man

swept, cut under

candid humanity

and narrowly free

instead of a ghost

denied by sight

a flesh, a song

a manifold

instead of me

an we

instead of them

all selves, salves

regarded serfs

instead of mirrors

gods above

mirrored gods below

instead of listless

petty pose

a heart and pure

naivety

 

 

father

he lay on the bed

as frail as god

his hands bent

and formless

he leafed through

his life, his art

as if it was the now

i sat on bed edge

reiterating life

for his damn sake

i watched a mirror

his face detached

i meant to tell him

i loved him

but he told me first

gap

In the gaps of love

I fall and slide

My wings too heavy

They are a holy calling

An innocent I cannot shed

And I bend beneath their

Terrible feathers

As if I was born to walk

And not to fly and soar

I pray and am not godlike

I list and am less

Than before I flew

I understand not it

It beyond me is, it

Is the job questions

The omnipresent doubt

The wayward heart

That out of beats beats

And then I hear it not

But I believe it still beats

And then not

I am sitting in darkness

At tables without

And listening to music

That Is not mine

Loveless

Child of love

the red bag

the red bag sat on her lap

like an oversized heart

she held it tightly

and never let it go

zipping and unzipping it

at times like an aortic opening

she spoke very little

touching her mouth

in circular motions

as if searching for words

and the red bag

hands protecting

the red loomed

echoing more than silence

her eyes askance

flitting between extremes

denied any presence

except the bag

i sought her eyes

but she never gave them

all she said was

this happened

when he went away

when she left

the redbag went with her

time present

time present

 

it is a matter of time

that language is what it is

present in form and cut

to produce dialogue

it is always constrained

and within a page

becomes constraint

harnessed with syllable

and inflection to become

the sense and memory

the narrative of a inner dialogue

it is matter of debate whether

a word or a sense, a symbol

whether they are substance themselves

or the arcs of the substance

that ride, poised upon the aligning

alphabets to point us to this stance

substantive to this idea is the conclusion

that time present is always contained

in time present, and time present always contained

in time present's past, eliot said so, so time,

time past is another matter