tastes like mud

the thing you pushed towards
that tastes like mud
the dullness of your blood
the slowing of your mind

you move around joy
and you touch the inclusiveness
but you are a lie
and you are a dagger withdrawing

in the stairwell
l’esprit d’escalier
trying to reverse
after moving forward for so long

nothing can can make a case for right
when it seems so wrong

can of fruit cocktail

i don’t wanna buy your lemon
i don’t wanna eat your apple
because you suck
because i want the doctor around

slip on a banana
bust a cherry
i’m a slapstick
dream of a loverman

squeeze it
fall under fall
peel and reveal
this broken pristine dream

a ballad
made of fruit salad
it’s windfall; it’s rotten
something misbegotten


this momentary morning belly warmth
cat face bump alarm clock
and the request for food
but i have fifteen minutes
and the alarm clock isn’t speaking

i roll over into absenteeism
abandoned during my lie in
the scab of a dream
picking at it
though it is barely realised

we play on the outskirts of sleep
we wrap ourselves in the warmth
and a feline cloud on our chests
and a small warrior feline at our feet
cleaning toes
attacking blankets

this trimmed feather

this trimmed feather
we are carving icarus potential
like a mapped failure
reach the zenith to find the nadir

there was lightning
plucked from plump clouds
and put in the hands of primitives
by fallen angels speaking fire

the flood has risen
and the sky has fallen
and the gates are locked
and the abyss is open

twist tag dna
two snakes about the wand
an ashplant frond
and the hero sits there pontificating

how far have we fallen
that gravity twisted
the central figure
into an observer

aye eye
and the yes is a god
from every viewpoint
crowded into an omniscient mirror

the sun is shining
the sky peels away behind it
and we dream night into the air
head above a pillow

what did i do?

and if they do not understand me
what did i do?
where was my failure to communicate?

and if you believe i did nothing
what did i do?
where lay my failure to act?

and if i see myself
and call myself nothing
where will i make my stand?

on what battleground will i fight for anyone
if i say i did nothing?
i do not know … then i am just a broken mirror

fluid grace

you are a flow
fluid grace
a flower
where the sunlight touches
where the music swells
and movement dances in air
a hand in gesture
a shift in posture

i observe the line
and i mark the time
and i see feet that move
and a heart set to improve

i know how
because i know now
that whatever happens
hands held
are hands that will hold
a heart that gives a dam
to hold back the drown

cutouts in the freezing fog

apparitions gather
like ribbons
around the patient
sat there waiting
we are unwrapping
table rapping

a complicated system
a resistance
the failure of magnets
and eggshells held still
like watercolour around a breath

there are clouds above our haloes
and smoke rings around our heads
and spiders at the center of the threads
we are dreams in hospital beds

we are maps of disntegration