Sunday 27 December 2009

Annotations on a series of firsthand accounts

I wrote this with a quill. A quill motherfuckers. Sometimes I love christmas.

I was or
will choose to believe I was
on some lonely road outside Tokyo
watching snowmelt rise and sink
along paths cut in/I was or
want to believe I was
watching from some gilded window
as below me Paris in awe
began to chew away its own/I was or
would like to pretend I was
restless on waves holding
a candle over my page marking
tracks I'd/I was or
remember being told I was
sweating out nausea in deep trees
listening to a staring match
between/I was or
I know at least someone was
bending back a raven's wingbone
watching someone far away
sucking the end of the feather
waiting for ink

Wednesday 2 December 2009

Another poem

Where does it say
                                    or did you just decide
that you alone of all those whose
            hearts too may seize and
            stutter
            can taste that   that air filtered free that
            hair clinging in tufts with        the effort of
            knowing          you alone
            can taste that then call it love?
Will you ever stop
                                    or will you scream till your neck’s paper and straw
without dropping your guard to
            let in even in
            tatters
            the hope that one day             there’ll
            be time for you too to lean in open
            your starved lips to those perfect      so unlike your own
because without them you’re             less everything that is you