wisdom tells me to leave alone
that which is not mine,
that which is within yet is not in my vocabulary,
to summons words to describe
the vision parading before the world
of a woman radiating such beauty
that my breath felt shallow,
my chest to weak to bring inside
the air she has illuminated.
And illumination
is the touch of her translucent skin
her voice mocking, meandering
reading the air and playing
with each visitor to her shores,
I fled for fear of suffocation
on my own desires to
throw my self into the vacuum
of those ruby lips,
yet I find myself blind by fate
lost in the alleyways of circumstance
one more minute with her
and I would
care not for preservation
or life or liberty or even to
draw one more inch of life
through my veins
I would give my all
to sink beneath
the weight
of a
single
kiss.

(way to go, self referencing or stealing my own words,
either way, one worked, the other didn't, women eh)

bitch, I tell you

fuck that shit
Kill a panda
raid a zoo
get an iguana
make it glue
the rarer the beast
the sweeter the meat
the hotter the oven
roasting the flash
taost the hippies
porking cows
blast em with carrots
aim for the brows
if its good enough
to love
its good enough
to eat
Im tellin you babe
fuk that shit.

between the coloured lines
the swirls on a concave screen
and sickly paper jostling for presence
we once sat smiling, perhaps
as friends, though this could
have been my imagination
bleeding onto yellow pages,
as it now seems, when your
worlds r relayed through
long dead voices,
when i wait to hear
the nature of your want
in a call and feel that any
patter is built to cover
this with pleasantries
and so used i have retreated
to where i stand now with you,
acquaintance, as any one sided
relationship will always be.
I know that once my job
is done, your word will recede
into silence, your smile will
dismiss and i will be placed
below bad television as recreation
and the answering machine
will echo into the night.
I am unfair, i know this.
i know this because
as you once brought
a smile into my heart
there is now quiet,
and i say these words
as cold as the sky
as sad as a dying sun
as busy as your life
is as full as mine,
and with a beautiful
life growing inside
a beautiful woman,
i find myself hesitant
to say i care
for caring brings frozen light
and the meaningless
vestibules of acquaintance.



Evenings of
winters warm embrace,
the sky filled
in ancient blues,
rimmed pink winds
of solace
bekon
forwards,
the darkness
of a
full moon
etched behind
a cloud,
and where
is the light?

Look towards
yourself.

no sunshine survives
the bleak wasteland
sweeping over my soul,
the twisted blackened
shards of memories
jut, bones through a
landscape of ochre
dust swirling with
each footfall
choking sprays
of air glued to
time and in time
nothing will exist
to passify, to beg
for the water, barren
on these planes
of dismal apocraphal
reason.
And do i remain
to see the new dawn
resplendent with
a breeze carrying
soft clear passage
to a rain of magnatude
to cleanse this soul
of all manner of sorrow
I no not anymore
as the sky is a blanket
of doom, constricting
breeding with the dual
winds to gag my reflection
and wind the reason
to its deathly
course.
of course.

weaves of blu tainted skies
punctured by golden heat
radiating thru whisps
of scuttled clouds
pours heat upon summer
dry, parchment, written
over a land in thirst,
cicada black forests bekon
the golden shafts of grass
will weep to stalks
of charred earth
and smoke, heavy
in cinders swept from
glowing leaves
will engulf the blu
and green and blaze
till all fuel is reasoned charcoal
we live on the head
of a matchstick waiting
for the tinderbox to open
and when it does
I have seen sheep
staggering with blind
red eyes their fleece
still smouldering over
fields swept clean
of all except the char
and soil beneath,
moved beneath gums
exploding in boiling juice
each leaf shaking with
the crack of branches
splitting to the will of fire,
and each year is the same
each summer sky is powder dry,
this summer has not started
and already the match
looks set to be struck
and engulf a swathe of our land
in black and death and burnt
and when the rains return
rebirth.

silence kills
aqueiesesces
to the lure of the siren
counters the bravery
of the bravest soul
caving inwards upon itself
the fears, the forgotten
miseries of nothingness,
the turned head
the averted eye
the embrace which
never comes to
comfort a child
in the darkness crying,
the question raised
to bask in its own
unsolicited requiem,
its life grown
in the fertile weeds
of imaginings to
hideous to contemplate
and remain sane.
Four walls of solitude,
fours sounds of nothing,
one hand trembling
to berate loss,
one blind eye,
replete with single tear,
gasping for the light
and not knowing
sunrise from set
only the twisting
stomach knotted
to its fill,
that this is all
that shall be fodder
to remain
ruminating
in silence.

i need the space inside
defined, reproduced
clarified, then given its
due for surviving the
course of this broken
mottled green life.
none can understand
the reasons for decline
the years of childhood
trapped and swelled
on a night of darkness
leaving innocence
as a wrap of black silk
trailing on the winds of time
and this time is past
yet returns to bekon
what would have been,
and never knowing
how this 'would have been'
would be.
for this i need the silence
of my soul to be reflected
to place myself inside the hurt
stretch its material, kiss
the child and acknowledge
the saddness remaining
and selfishly grasp whatever
joy came in those hours.
i need no pity
no words to try and quell
the sleeping death within
i have forgiven and forgive
myself through understanding,
though when the night winds
sometimes missuse the chill
i realise not all pain
can be healed
just endured
to its conclusion,
in hope that it
reveals