22/4/13
The hunger in my chest

has a meaning.

Exonerated, clodded. Exiled.

I write to reclaim happiness

from the utter black drain

O enemy, i. thief of my solitude

& black mirror disowned.

shrug a cabal of lifelessness

kept hidden by the prosier emotions

i write to rid myself of these gods

who persecute me, violent harlequins

wearing my guise who’ve come to.

imprison you my lover, clean

                                        tourmaline.

The delicious line clothed in iron

suspended above the city

i walk daily

& am now clinging on with fingertips.

Should it be right that the lyric

touch requires my own forsaking.

mouth making

noise. hurtling fwd

into the vortex of space

it is clear that potential

is isolated, wretched & lying,

wreathed in the prism of my own

callous making.

how will i claim you but in the

infinite fertility of my soil,

my soul, my closing circle of breath?

but I cannot endure the deficit

round in which happy bankers

blink mercilessly as stars

& how can it be certain the deficit is

not in me when repeated

ly dousing my face in water

doesn’t bind it to truth

o glue of my feelings now

tearing the scenery APART

how many countless hours wasted

on pearls & rent when the one

thing worth having

is priceless as

a feeling, as graceless, sea-

oriented & perpetually FREE

well tell me what the meaning

of freedom is agent of my

redemption, colour-hewn eyes

glittering from all angles with

complete wisdom & suffering

the peace that is within you won’t

come to me thru writing – say it

again, organ guilt. toss it out

over the water bubbling in threat

of violence, merely imagined

posture of splitting apart

no miasma or ore worth saving

unless it can be used. how to

concretely act on a feeling

instead of batting it away like

an eyelash – stop-motion neon

boy in action / why only

alchemically available to me

in questions shrouded by artful

hands. diamonds of obscurity

smashing into the future. total

happiness attained – merely

beginning it frightens me –

conscious of totality only from

without its skin, on the lucid

hurting membranes. Let me

back in, love; sighs of a broken goddess

luminous in luxury kneeling at your breast.

not knowing you have it

is the context of possession, thus i

issue its writ to an amnesiac future.

only by ignorance of bliss, the familiar

features of a stranger,

precludes entry

or is this just a golden Modernist

gateway designed to shatter / expire?

perhaps there are as many paths to love

as veins in my body

Venus-veneris, steer me clear

                                       of the depths.