Footsteps

How do I know where
you went away to that day?
But I imagine

a very thin line
between adjacent spaces –
We can almost touch.

Maybe we could walk
perpendicular pathways
and swap philosophies?

Our respective footsteps
on the dusty paths, a sign
We shared a little time.

Then, dressed in sparkles
perhaps you’ll up and choose to
smile and dance away?

The Sound of Guns

Parricide is not pretty,

but in a time of swallowed splinters,

there emerges a new confidence,

and no one is safe from

the absolute certainty of the Crack.

.

When anger is awake and ungoverned

the Almighty Metal Guru draws near to tease.

The wheel turns as young wreakers and hoakers,

already tucking boredom in their belts,

dash through familial barriers

straight into the Crack’s improbable deathhole.

.

Suddenly, we are all prey:

heavy weights flailing and falling

past previously pitted lives

towards our own bloody demise.

.

Unable to climb smooth surfaces

society begins to fester,

scraping the walls with botulinal nails;

kicking itself with blister boots.

.

Oh, those ugly days of lost heritage;

elders supping tears together, whilst

so many futures are crossed

by the star thin silver reticle

of the Almighty Crack.

Boxing Day Exchange

We are in the queue,

me and you, we know it too:

our front line fallen.

Best not push too hard

or we’ll be displaced

and lives could tumble.

.

If we two could pick

any darn box we desired,

ours would be blood red,

filled with comrades lost

when choices were made

by God, them or us.

.

But we can only

push on with compromised hope,

chipped swords and hearts drawn

in desperation.

Come, let us exchange

pretty distractions.

The Choosing

Angry as a woman ever was—
her file of life a medical lexicon
she left it all behind and plunged into the sea
assaulted by bitter rainfall on her weeping skin
body escaping from confines of wet crumpled clothes
and hair of seaweed falling through galloping waves.

All things come to an end and even pain
with all its earthly wires and strange responsibility
cannot hold us unless we will consent to stay
to keep human vigil for those who choose to swim away.

Life Jacket

Rising naked on a surfing swell
I felt my wave crash by
and saw the crest I might have reached
before it fell away.

Amongst dripping retrospectives
in a box of salt and dread
was an old patched jacket blessed with holes
half stitched with tenuous thread.

Pulling on this life too small
rough hewn haste tear and mend
those familiar seams and ancient dreams
will float me to my end.

Inquest

Everything
was neatly ordered
with negligible negatives on the right
and overwhelming positives piled behind and to the left.

Will
it ever be clear why
some struggle significantly whilst others are able
to classify feelings so that life seems to makes perfect sense?

Be
sure this cadaver
had overcome his negative aspect
to such a degree that he was permanently joyful.

All right
Not a perfect ending.
Rubber gloves and a twisting device
revealed envy to be the undoing of this unfortunate.