Your eyes are a fucking hologram


I look straight in
through glass
the ice
the curve of sol
as she rises upon a stilled sea

And you are a billion miles hence

not even seeing me.

Explorations of self.

Drab
seeps into bones
a grey blood infusion
giving the street scape the illusion
of grainy black on white depth

Life becomes
a dog-eared photograph
pinched smile
and rumpled disposition
faces blurring
slurred days.

Every direction
stretches away into mumbled contrition's
a complex series of retreats
littering pathways with
slow burning wreckage of
smoldering oily black disappointment

Our mantra of self empowerment

Take hold
a grip of steely resolve
clenching tight around refusal

Submission
is staring at the roof at 3.00am
the sound of sleep
washing over you
but leaving you
cold wet and drowning.

We writhe
to the pulse of us
a spastic dance
to the strains of a single
rhythmic beat
articulating improbabilities
in teeth clenched terrors

Curl fetal
around the nut hardened kernel
of self

A stripped bare sun
cinders and ashen faced

Yin and Yang
the unity of opposites
rests uneasy within
the warmth of seeking flesh

An orb of understanding
pressed close
beyond reach

We have seen
the truth
how it hooks into flesh
and tears apart carefully
layered opalescent nacre

A shell of self
wrapped around wounds
we tried to hide.

Together

we watch the threads unravel


Long streamers of dreams
undulating in the shadow days

And when the speed of dark
is fast enough

We blur
and dissolve

a thought almost competed
then released
as too hard to find.

Thought for the Day

What is the speed of dark?

Song

You were the burgeoning song
of a sea dream
barely seen
a silk screen
firing mystery and insistence
like a laser beam

I was chance
a romance
dancing just out of reach
lost in the blurred recollection
of a backward glance


Too bad
we were undone
a matter unresolved
a story finished
before it begun
a song
clearly heard
but
not yet sung

No rain
but the fog clings like
uncomfortable memories


Vague
the shape of my life
looming from threaded white on white


You cannot see me,
I know,
disengaged
as I am
a figurine
left unattended in a wild
garden
lichen and creeper
slick upon my marbled skin


Tread lightly
when you come to plant and
weed
lest I am forgotton
beneath
renewal.