I'm a first time human of the human race Of an island planet out of time and space First time human
Take me, Harry, to an unfamilar world where battles rage within your soul Take me, Harry, to that creature that you know I want Gillyweed beneath the stars with you To hold my breath with you until our lips turn blue Won't you whisper in your snake-tongue Harry, let me come with you inside familiar magic places... Harry, let me see inside your mind Let me bathe beneath that milky pool And share in mem'ries that take hold of you Won't you whisper in your snake-tongue
I believe myself to be lonely. And so I remind myself I am lonely. When I forget to do this, I am not lonely.
X is for love. The failure and the success of it. The succession of seasons, deciduous droppings Turning leaves once turgid into dry curled-up wafers Falling then rotting, to feed my foundations for the next then the next, then the evergreen - thatâs you. X is for love. The 'Triple X' -esque films we'd watch as teenagers on squat fat teles with built-in tape players in childhood homes. A passed away childhood and passed away homes. One passed away parent, one off on their own. And you - my other. A once estranged brother. X is for love.
Dear [insert name], Thank you for your recent application. I am sorry to advise you that on this occasion you have not been successful and we cannot provide feedback at this stage of the process. We wish you all the best in your search. Retards Human Resources
I can cope. Seeing that this is what is expected, I take on more things. I cannot cope.
Upon your ochrey turgid face We scrawl our past misdeeds and grace Disgorge your innards for our pleasure Slash and slice at communal leisure Gaping orifice prolapsed and sour Weeps pulpy flesh this Halloween hour Stand well fat mass, o plump legume Alight foetid fears, chase back the gloom Bare your smile, your stinking grin In bloated decay: o sublime pumpkin! (also by R.T. Robbins)
A poem about Christmas trees
Tweet little bird You need to be heard A few choice words A string of smiling turds
She reaches his door. He is behind her. He brushes past. She is inside. He is familiar but this is new. Neither knows quite what to do. He offers tea and she accepts. Tea was childhood. Tea was home, however much sheâd grown. He steps close, the kettle rumbles, he is tall, the kettle clicks. His mouth is by her ear. But sheâs awoken by the fear - the unmade tea, it mustnât wait. The waterâs come to the boil. Steam hot across her cheek as the tea begins to steep. Now for the milk. Cumulus fractus. She watches it bloom then - shit, used the lactose. Down the gurgling sink it goes to pool and curdle in milky repose. She is miles from the place and the feeling and the face.
What at first causes pain we get used to, in the main the only option being to accept our lot as sane. The jawline is set till one day itâs beset By deep-rooted things sown in at the very seams. Flesh thatâs been gnawed on, been chewed up and spit on Is erupting, now buckling, hot scar tissue suckling - Wet pin cushion ranges round calcified strangers. Unavoidable truths, undeniable new tooths. âYou donât understandâ âNo, you donât understand!â How can you have failed to hold me by the hand? The heart seeks but the bodyâs made weak Tricked into believing itâs prematurely past its peak. Wounded animal, wounded child Wouldnât it be easier if one of us just filed? But then who would be there to one day stroke your hair. And so you wait with wounded gait, at once a victim and a saint Filled with fear and hope and hate Until you learn, this is not my fate.
Ant, 'E Passed, Oh Was Pickled In A Jar, Yâu Know In Brussels Sprouts His Mem'ry All Green 'n' Round 'n' Heav'nly!
How about that jacket, love - the cotton one with crossing sleeves that reaches round to hug and bind me, keeping out the breeze? And what about that cotton scarf that wraps about my hair? That binds my brain and holds head high Prized smile, raised cheek, open mouth (always meek) Teeth bared, cheekbones up - no room at all to fuck it up. Let me sink beneath the trees, obscure upon some island of leaves. I want to hide. I want to live! But first, to forgive. The forgetting, the floundering, the remembering, the holding onto wounds that sinew outwards, petulant perfusions. The phoenix from the ashes is, after all, a bald freak Melted feathers, boiled skin, squawking from an unformed beak. I feel perpetually fucking tired, or maybe itâs just the way Iâm wired. But âslowly slowlyâ (you used to say) a person emerges along the way Relieved of jacket and of scarf, weather-beaten on a naked path thatâs fresh and new, hard-fought - and overwrought at first. I find my life, my voice, my taste along with more humility and grace. I fuck things up, I dance - sometimes hide - but I live! And, this time, Iâm sounder of mind. But youâre not with me, you couldnât come. Youâre safe, swaddled in cotton. Youâre numb and still wondering (maybe?) why I left so suddenly, leaving you alone and bereft. I wish I could fix it - go back and remix it. You helped me to feel and heal and be revealed So I could love someone else. And I do, I love and am loved - in love? I donât know. But I think so. Iâm good, really good and weird and myself and sometimes ashamed but looked after, you know. I feel safe and true, and I want that for you. I still love you, truly (probably unduly) And pretending I donât feels wrong, âcause youâre alive! Not just out there, but alive in my life In my memories, in the way that I love, and thatâs okay because life is love. And then loss and then love Then loss, then love⌠and it goes on. Life goes on.