wordwhorse

airtipped

eaglewing.

overhead

flows.

the first

time I left the Earth

i feared my life

in the gaping open

the second time

I left the Earth

I felt the separation of

isolation. I split several atoms

the third time

I left the Earth

I did not miss you

and did not want to return

the fourth time I

left the Earth

I tried

to take you with me

but

you refused to come

the fifth time

I left the Earth

I begged forgiveness

from the trees

and they cried

the 6th time I left

the Earth I did

not sing

and no one heard

the 7th time I left

the Earth

I took a handful

of soil

and promised to return.

 

 

when i fell

in love with you for

the 7th time

i fell in love

with myself for

the 1st time

i found my

muse in a multistory

carpark somewhere between

a dark wrx and a red

pipeline.

what is this
love
that coats all
my surfaces like
the smell of aging summer
in an evening
frisked by bees promenading
in the heatfolded cat
mint and decided by
a new moon to be a
seedbearer for the
thickening night sky there
is no romance
in this love but a
generosity of lust that
the force of life
drives through our
parameters resting between
heartbeats to allow us
to catch our
breath but slamming in
again before the Ego has
time (only the Ego has time) to think
of a new excuse
to not be the tawnycrust
grasses or sharpetched
hills or the neverending
skies or, least of all,
the rain forming its
contour map of
abstractions.

i am too full of

love to be

half lived

too full of pulse &

beat to be

a  vein contraction or

smoothed pebble in your

pocket too full

of noise & colour

to be a 2D

render graffitied on

your barricade

wall too full of words

to be

a poem on a page

folded on your

bedside table.

will you hang

your squarefaced

sadness – the sadness of abandonment –

on the peg as you walk

in the door each evening

or will you give it away to

the neighbour’s dog that

watches you walk by

with sharpfaced forgiveness on

its face?