Whirlpool

Long Grass tickles at my ankles
In fields of long forgotten glances
And riches of claytons princes

You cooked up illusion and I've asked for seconds
To every new temptation becons
Sleep
Full bodied and unadulterated
And you're so tired but you have to stay awake

Be Awake

to look under the stones of yourself
and ask why for the children of your emotions;
did you lead us into empty crusades?
The weapons were drawn and hot.
And we're taken back, like a lapping wave
sucking existance back into the sea
and crashing everytime a little less
a little less
and lesser still


And back again.
I am becoming weaker
Pillars crumbing off my hands
like ancient civilisations in ruin
are paraded for the tourists
to snap and clinch a piece of
what they make of history.

Imaginings of what used to be there
Are so much grander than what ever was.

And so we return to illusion
And the cycle to which i stand within
and feel its tenticles wrap my wrists up behind my back
and lead me in circles

until i am a whirlpool
placed in inconvenient spots
to draw us in.

Vials and Jars

Everything I’ve done

since feeling your voice

wash over me

Like a catholic holy water tide

Behind every idea

is a spec of dust

from the bottom of your shoe

Lifted off by a brush of your hand

surrendering a little piece of yourself

To the thin air

Well all of that

I stole.

The strands of hair that you left at the café

I picked them up

I have vials and jars.

When you canvassed my hearts

I kept the leaflets

Door to door I sold your favourite words

To everyone

if lovers everywhere got a shot o’ this

they’d never let their eyes get lazy or old.

Sound effects ride from ear to ear

And I’ll be on the outer

cos I chose to come inside with you

Come in from the elements

let time pass you

like the streaks riding the skirt of a carousel

And sometimes I’d count myself

as a fortunate soldier

Dead mid-battle

is better than the welcome home parade

When time passes you by

like the streaking little faces of children

who would rather death in the throw

of it all

Than be watched by themselves

On a parade float of

every face

Means Something.

I think about thinking about someone else

In the place where you might place me

In the scheme and tender of your

furrowed brow masquerading

When all you needed was a pair of glasses.

Which day will I lie down around your shoes and weep?

Its gotta be the end then.