between lightening and darkening

sometimes my body aches with it. the dull throbbing an aching set against the sky lightening and darkening again. flowing from feet to crown and back again. a cyclical silence of time.

the horizon undefined. an elastic destiny. we snap small peices of rubber and call them fate. rushing through the hours we hesitate before unconciousness. small offerings to contemplation.

but on this dawn i am between these things. between wanting and hoping and prayer. a small creek gushes where once there was drought. weaving water where once only was sand.

honestly?

my head purrs like holden dreaming. searching for content in the context. a split second helpings to fill my plate with taste.

beyond the cryptic and the mystic what do these conversations mean? if i could vent the air would blow through the cold. rise to the ceiling as physics demands. would a more explicit version fade into perversity? have we really seen it all before?

the truth is i am at a crossroads and the signs are in a language that i cannot read. i am trying to decipher desire from pretense. i am too preoccupied with memento moris to live in the moment.

i just want a path that is flat and clear
but you can't climb hills without changing gears
and breaking a sweat every now and then

tracking time with small notches

you say these things with paitence. with carefully measured breath. a millimetre of miscalculation could be fatal at this point.

it doesn't get easier as you go along. the overheads are larger. investments must pay dividends. i am trying to match cups and saucers and other implements i don't use.

miss you

left behind at a lonley counter in an isolated town.

whirring with reasons. humming in harmony with preambles about destiny. the second time in three weeks. racking up the dollars and debt hangs like a shadow in the sunniest of yards.

i rebook and replace. readjust and can taste. i act without thinking these things through too much. am i foolish or free spirited? have i something to learn with this hand over fist, hand to mouth, fist to air?

nicely now

his manner had changed. too small shoulders streched to the bursting. sinking into the pavement under the bridge. it's true the sky was lower today; red sand pushed down below clouds. but it was clearly more than humidity that had locked his gait.
ke
i wanted to push through his sternum and rip out his heart. hold it triumphant for him to see. in simple silence we'd stand and observe it's shallow flutters and strained sparks. i'd offer to rewire the electrics. 'i'm an expert on palpatations' i'd say.

but for all my posturings on truth i say less than i feel. my opinions are all intellectual. advice is practical and my heart is irrational. i measure emotions down to the last millimetre.

if you asked i would tell you
everything
until then lets keep it polite.

movement at the station

this time there was stability in movement.

in tandem we sifted, walking the line between entitlement and ownership. everything we wanted placed to one side.

playing tetris with possesions. i let go of everything held onto too long. my relief prints trace the way from there to here. moving small boxes into small rooms. i do not leave this place for days.

with hands plunged in dirt and shredded paper we reassure ourselves we have arrived. in the glow of a monday the first seedlings are upright and pushing for progress. i resolve to mimic them.

sifted sorted stacked

Packed and stacked. I can delay it no longer.

Paranoia of transcience kicks. Longing for the stop drop and roll. I wonder at this world of transience I have built for myself and whether it has it's origins in genetics.

When I feel guilty or doubtful I start browsing realestate.com. Mystified by the six figure sums and ads for donors. Deciphering security from a parade of obligatorys. Shouldn't I have left these things behind long ago.

Do I move so much so I can be missed? Is the constant shuffle of the same cards a poor imitation of social change? Am I procrastinating in this whirlwind? Or is my psyche a little too atuned to the wind?

These are questions that still need answering as my bedroom remains untouched. I try to find them in the sifting. Try to sort them in the piles

the science of desire

what is the inverse of manifestation? is a near miss mediocracy?

these questions plauge like locusts. feed on insecurities. fly through technology and hit me while I'm busy doing other things. it's a knock down and get up game of ambition. somedays i'm floating in a sea of red.

my heart hurts in ways i don't know yet. my fears are triumphant when i'm caught unaware. in this body, these bones i am shaking. tension imitates strength.

beyond ego is time. brilliance is timeless.
the science of desire eludes me.

inertia

the small hum of anxiety. a whistle under my breath. a pedantic whispher as I pace my room pretending like nothing is changing.

but it is.

splayed memoirs scooped into boxes. carted to the next house. the tensions of the last few months filed under undecided. stashed with the other minor losses and fleeting irritations. the new corner fast approaching. still unable to see round the bed.

free fall

i coudl free fall forever and it would feel like flying. electric finger traverse continents till the technology fails. embedded and immersed in a scarlet sky. i am seperating baggage from history.

as the last drops of the candle smother the flame i am washed in plumes of smoke. serpentine through my spine. the sweetest sensation is release. holding too long curled fingers into bone. now the flesh returns like a ripened peach.

a change of direction

the wind has changed. the morning seemed cooler. more welcoming. the sun drifted instead of glared. in an empty room, on a half made bed, transcience seemed simpler than stagnation.

last night we laughed at the year and drew plans in the skies. constellations lit through the vacumn.

i said: it's been so long, i've forgotten that this weight could be lifted.

searching for feathers and cranes.
birds will only circle where there is water.
migration and nesting are both ways to survive.

a day at rest

my flesh in ribbons. a startled heart. dancing the darkness between dusk and dawn. squeezing through the cracks where the light changes. slip sliding into the infinite.

the softness of days in the harshest of lights. domesticity and plumes of smoke. i file away my highlighters. the angles of flourescent too sharp on these weary eyes.

i would prefer softer distinctions. i am seeking fuzzy lines and avoiding juxtaposition. my soul is a bird with a fluttering heart. nervous when held to close.

i coo insight and superstition. adjust my sparkles to chase darkness away.

the first climb

sunstroke and bruised feet. a mountain has many parts.

i drag myself from real estate dreaming and supress my tightened chest. i am dragging old wounds up scraggy rocks. searching for excuses not to sink into the valley. blushing with heat and wrestling with precedent. pride is for more than swallowing.

the rythmic pounding punctuates conversation. i am carving paths through stone. each corner sweeps and crimson rolls. scrambling gives way to grace. fatigue steals from fear and delivers me to higher place. in weariness i find rest.

blood bath in the scrub.

the karmic loop continues. for the record it does not skip. death and birth in a morning. my cramped stomach imitates the house.

neck streched and feathers parted. we remove every trace of life. lines are drawn in the sand as we cover the traces of blood.

my siblings sing of changes. corpses line conversation at home and away. the dead horse we're floggin turns sacraficial. even this we do not share.

flushed and brushed and wind pipe removed. i am counting down the days. consideration and observation as a prelude to desire transformed.

i know that you betrayed me and that is why we cannot be friends.

supression is not sensitivity. it is not a sister of truth. yr honey staples still peirce the skin. a dagger in a cloak is still a knife.

the insincerity dripping in yr voice resembles chinese torture. i am too tierd today to confront you. yr morals are suspect. an amateur dectective could identify yr intention. i watch you parade through two way glass. you offend me with your manipulations. life is more than plastacine. i know exactly what you did and said. yr treadmill of lies winds me up. shadow boxing my way out of the dark.

do not push me. i will shatter. the shards will cut you in ways i can't avoid.

cosmetic appeal

compact erotica and lipstick fantasies. chasing yr stare up my cheekbones. reflecting yr eyes in compressed powder. layering mischief on top of desire.

startled moments and don't touch me's bounce like bassinets. is it you that i've been avoiding so long? crude comments and distractions. i want to be the fat that is smeared across yr parted lips. i'm sure yr ethics would choke on the cosmetic contents.

in the daytime yr akwardness is forgettable. my poetry has a rough tongue. yr name remains referenced on shredded paper. i'm still unsure of who you are.

damn!

i am in the next room. with the door ajar. sun streaming in the windows. holding out till light comes up to make my intentions known.

intuition breathes heavy. almost panting. i am retracing detours with bandaged thumbs. the cities silloute is elegant. i am last weeks make up on the couch.

the best part of me is still shimmering. my oasis is in reach

city of a thousand stories (none of them are true)

the city squats upon the coastline. i fall into it as pavements sprawl into infinite horizons. i can't distinguish anxiety from excitement. fasting to keep up with the pace.

one way tickets meet intersections. i am checking my rear vision mirror. the air is congested. i am trying to filter the present from the excess. wrapped in what-might-have-beens i await for my family to arrive