My Octo

November 10, 2013 at 9:59 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , )

My arrival on planet Earth began with

an inconsolable open mouth

which shut silent in swallowing

 

now exhausted, addicted

I take the long, slow exit

 from your planet dipped at the axis.

 

 to become part of any realm you consume their food

tonight prepared with much affection, fattening and hot

dumplings, spiced tuberous vegetables, garlic,

sour cream, smoked paprika and pumpkin

 

on my bed a nude and perpetual stasis; eyes down eyeballing my

Bermuda – the jutting hips and pubic bone

where earth men lost their way

 

the arch between convex

insides scooped out

 

thoughts dissipate and rise to the ceiling

with the damp

and gazing back at the body on the bed

with paranormal potency

riddle together sleepless while the ink warps

 

we stare at each other, those thoughts and I

now and then and later

until a sound then/now, here again and

further present a sound almost 9000 days after my first meal on Earth

the word

an extinguishing breath.

 

I stay a second longer with

his hand on my clavicle

‘O.’

 

 

 

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I inhale

September 12, 2013 at 11:34 am (Bodies, Halves, misogyny, poem, The Real) (, , , , , , , , )

I found Cissy wrapped up in a grubby paisley throw upon the riverside where I knew it was her before unrolling from all that matted red hair out the top it was luminous and partdreaded but perhaps would coil if brushed it lay on the dusty sunroasted asphalt clean somehow protruding bodiless from the O opening of greenblue weave I knew it was her before I rolled her and the face was when it came pale and unfamiliar though fitting  and the sight of my own sore hands on and rolling out the bluegreen cloth awoke me in some sense of myself as the centre of a tableau I was my own audience to and so she was unwound at the riverside which suggested drowning but her lips pink and dry and asking for I’m sure everything she eventually got as I thought cruelly my becoming aware of her discovery at all before here in venom though lucid I am paralysed I am  always paralysed for a moment upon revelation just as on waking the exception being so distinct from the rule I leap out of bed sometimes my chest throbbing onto the river bed perhaps lay her to rest either in before or since the rescue which itself was staged by someone else her counterpart my carer though a creation as much as any old thing I can think before I see but her is and that unrolling body tumbles about the bleengrue teardrops the wrists leaping over each other and clatter on her thin bones her body unfolded itself to me as she unfolded herself at my push a mile or two from gruebleen sea where she could have gone to drown it was not me for though I have the face in mind and the face was hers I had never seen it once before for as they say the brain will not conjure faces of its own accord but can so make ex nihilo the sensation of  familiarity that old measure of being what well we miss when pointedly in our present when déjà vu strikes stronger than any fixed memory the brush creaking through her knotted hair musksmell of synthetic bristles head bobbing back as though on a spring the wrists again now the wrists clattering over a broken neck almost bruiseless and quite peaceful my own hands in my peripheral growing numbish as I take the formality of her pulse two hunks of meat pressing into each other as the breeze dies down to tepid stillness like any sealed room the mouth lolling open in the dead air as my own breath tugs at diaphragm spasmodic I reverse the riverflow and drift backwards into my own blackness to see first the beginning.

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Aspice Porro, Aspice Retro

September 30, 2011 at 11:27 am (sleeping) (, , , , , , )

The bottle is transparent,
the clouds are made of wine;
“Shout” is such a little word to
tense one’s naked spine.

Quantum doesn’t make for magic,
turquoise pieces deep;
But shades of grey persist and stay
in troubled, twitching sleep.

Now, if one was to switch the words
“Sleep” for “sheep”,
the poem reacts in a volitile manner

Troubled, twitching sheep persist
to chant in shades of grey,
Deepened turquoise pierces through
the quantum matinee.

Shards of naked spine will tense
When whispered shouts align,
and clouds reflect transparent in
The bottle filled with wine.

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