21/05/2017 § Leave a comment

I am walking atop a mountain of grey slate.
I imagine the world turning and the mountain atop of me
a million tons of rock I would be pressed into a pebble
less than a pebble a speck of dust
my mother could hold and call -my name-
we are walking through mist and I am told
this is not mist this is cloud we walk through
clouds aeroplanes and birds fly through
we don’t belong here
they used to believe heaven was in these clouds
and I am looking for a golden harp
maybe it is here because
notes are plucked by cloud water
trickling through rocks


17/11/2012 § 1 Comment

For many nights
we wore each others shirts
swapping skin from a distance
both blue, of different shades
your scent remained for a month
possibly longer, maybe I got used to it
I’m sure it remained after that at a frequency beyond my sense of scent
radiation with a half life of two weeks
which means it’ll never be fully gone
and like the shirt, I’ll never quite move on.
For two months I think, around that 
I still felt heat between my legs thinking of you
at night I missed your weight inside me, beside me
I rode buses wishing you were next to me
dreaming I had your shoulder to rest my head
the first time I slept with another I wore your shirt
guilt, lust, and a kind of madness thinking
it was less of a betrayal this way
only afterwards I realised it was possibly worse
destroyed the ability for the end to be clean cut
blended you into another
if it had been the other way round I would rather you
had tossed my shirt onto the floor
forgotten me.
Before the distance of miles
our love was both chemistry and comfort
as all the lasting loves are
as all the best marriages are
It all faded, what else could we have done?
Did it fade the same way for you as it did for me?
Anger would have felt better than sadness
but it was all sadness and forgetting
the fading was heartbreaking in its quiet natural decay.
Who loses the game of love;
the one who wore the shirt the longest?
Or the one who gave it up first?
When did your heart stop hurting?
When did you stop missing me?

Light Leaks From His Pores

01/10/2012 § Leave a comment

He eats dandelion heads, drinks coconut milk and looks as if light leaks out his pores from the inside out.

I know my mass is made of vibrating strings of light but I can’t access this beauty right now. I know I could if I tried, I feel it in my tap root that I could lift up and relieve pressure from my skull if I could accept it fully. Sometimes I want to be insane, I want to be unable to see bad and only see this. Have you seen mentally disturbed people who smile in unpleasant situations because they don’t realise everything fully? Sometimes I want ignorance, sometimes I want this.

In a bygone culture they drilled holes in the top of living skulls to relieve pressure from their heads. They said we were meant to be on all fours like animals, and our heads cannot sustain the upright gravity they do. I don’t drill holes in my head but I hang upside down sometimes for relief. When I hang upside down, I almost feel light is leaking through my pores.


01/10/2012 § 1 Comment

Last night there was a wind-storm and sand was whipped from the desert against my window. You might imagine the window would become a block of translucent beige, but the heavy grit blocked out the light so my room became a shadow with a square patch of biting grey.

At the start it was restful, watching anger scream from a safe place is a peaceful pressure. It’s the opposite of watching rain break from the inside of a house or night fall from a warm bed. These things aren’t pressure, they’re a release.

After some time I remembered all glass begins it’s life as sand and the peace became a feeling of betrayal. The storm was a child attacking it’s mother. It felt like treachery within a family. They say mother nature is cruel.

When morning came and the storm became still I went outside to my window and saw the smooth glass had become fine sandpaper to the touch and almost opaque. What remarkable strength for this to be it’s only marks after enduring such a storm. How weak I am in comparison.

But I built the window, so who’s weaker after all?

Humans have come so far, built skyscrapers and aeroplanes and cured fierce diseases, yet as individuals we depend on things like windows for survival. I know windows are built from the minds and hands of humans, but  this doesn’t make me feel much less uneasy.

Get Out

17/08/2012 § Leave a comment

This is what they call a silent scream.
The worm took root in my tooth and made it hard for me to speak.
I became quiet.
It slithered down my tubes and trapped my breath.
I became lethargic.
It sunk into my stomach and begged for food.
I gorged, swelled and the worm was still not satisfied.
It wanted to leave my body, it wanted me to take it home.
But where was home?
I didn’t know and it couldn’t say.
I had to find home so the worm could leave my body
through every orifice and pore
and I could be light and free.

Where Am I?

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