Specifics
It's a toothpaste brand
and the precise time of day
the exact shade and colour
of a stranger's hat
the plaster wrapped around
your finger
the absence of teeth
the hollow screeching of a
train on the tracks
the crunch of an apple,
the afterwards slurp
memories left over from
summer
the strawberry smell of
cheap jam
the dainty sad simplicity
of your grandmother's kitchen
the stubborn dirt beneath
your toenails
a spider's shadow on the
walls of your childhood
the bags of exhaustion
that lay heavy under-eye
the tight waistband of
your jeans
the glint of copper wire
in a frayed connection
bits of grapeseed in your
gums
a scar the size of Jupiter
the scribble of a
fountain-pen from some distant dream
bald-headed men
a pot-belly marked with
pubic hair
the smell of a public
bathroom as you pour white on white
the clear liquid left
behind from cheese
the note of a killer
detected in a lover's voice
the passing seconds as you
wait for a yes
the stark stark absence of
your father
a misshapen thigh spilling
over a plastic chair
the need and disgust that
trip over each other
the loss of self
as they all blur to one.
___________________________________
I Muse
Angles of light appear
differently now
the twee whisper of summer
makes the room seem smaller
re-arranges objects.
Rays caught on edges
dust on the window
sparkling
sun rising over the hill
edging up past rocks
echoes of a dog bark
farmer's voices
cars speeding off
birds twittering
and the profound silence
beneath
the morning rhythms
of life in the country.
I dare to dream about
walking over the tops
huddling under slate
shelters as it rains
or browning my skin in the
sun
in company.
How things turn around
(and how they don't)
and how I have let myself
dangle on a string
with my mouth open wide as
bait.
I invite romance and
comfort and beautiful still settings.
This magic place
lambs bleat, throats
quavering,
tongue vibrating like the
bell on a church tower
stairs creak, wooden
frames stretching with the change of temperature
each word
is a vessel.
I channel some sort of
luck, or in other words diversion,
so many times I have
entered a stranger's car.
Oh yes life is beautiful
I am just discovering the
sweet gentle underside
of the vibrant buzzing
truth.
___________________________________
Screaming in the Present
White-wine sauces
and red-wine reductions.
Dark chocolate eaten like
an ancient remedy.
Wind combing through a
barley field.
Days spent on the internet
scrolling, to where, to
endless depths.
Please please please my
darling
make each action
deliberate
do not find yourself
gorged out and bloated
at a train station, alone,
with no transport and a
hand scarred
with too much action.
One morning you embrace in
bed
and it is very certain he
means it
and it is very true and
unavoidable
and he looks at you
shocked
with an open mouth
and you throw in penny
sweets.
Sparkly wallpaper
and stuck-on words.
These worlds I inhabit.
- Yes I do like to shine
out of context -
Lambs bleat
and I hear myself.
I am not in an echo
chamber,
I am screaming in the
present.
The sound comes out like
the rush-roar
of a waterfall
and we swim in the pool of
endless time
of fleeting eternity
and its mother,
the forest.
