Saltsick IV

we have slept in these sheets.
I am approaching a time that will leave me
dry and boneached, stoneturned, moss
stripped back. Knotted hair.

I have not yet learnt the secret
sadnesses of ferns, of fossils. I am
trying, each day, a new way of crying,
a new place to stare at the sea, and I
think of this:

did I ever tell you how much water
I could swallow? Open-throated, pour
me full. I could drink and drink
and not reach the end of the ocean, and not
be satisfied with a gut full of salt

or the faint calls of lost creatures. This is all.

Saltwell

my own mania,
closeopening doors I choose,
stains on my bed, bloodhearts,
from me, from you, us, asking,
growing,

saltwashing and I remember
berries (small and white and chalky)
that were, are, mine
and I remember shells and
knives and rocks and seaweed,
remember swimming

and all of this quite literal
can't be taken away,
pennyadozen fantasy, must-smell
and old furniture,
flowers, 'don't touch the grill',
splinters and shells shells shells

taking me back
taking me back
Saltwell, Saltwell,
and I'm home.

drool

The air hangs low and still.
Know this:
I do not wear myself sleeve-hearted
for you;
this cartilage I crack
is not a war-cry
or a beat
for you to dance.

I bathe in my spit.

I am whole. 

this trick is easy:
there's nothing to it
and nothing from it.

even dawn found it
swimming through wallpaper
gluttonous for toes, for words
for a time

this trick is easiest
shut your mouth,
breathe through your nose,
repeat this prayer
through pinprick lips:

"not for me
the globular excess
waste away
waste away
waste away

not for me
milk drips on my chin
slow breath
slow breath
slow breath"

oldest friend and ashy grin
bones exposed and peeling skin
it hurt to let his words get in
happy patience wearing thin
and now, sun-eaten, we'll begin

                                        again

Garnetchild

I am Saturn's wife and child.
I am adoration, the devoration
of self, sixty-two orbits that bite at my
sweet flesh, holding sickles to bar me.
My pores burst forth geraniums.
I am womb-in-waiting, fires of war,
I am the bloodstained sword
and the cow that lows nightdeep.
I am furred, horned. I am scaled
by your deft hands on the piano.

Saltsick III

sweetsalt taste in tea leaves, in tears
in bitten fruit, in smooth pitpebbles
sinking stoneheavy to stomachrest
to play marbles in knotted gut
bubble from babbling lips and strike
once, twice, knocking at a waiting door

(the old lady's a witch teethrotted
hunchbacked and clever, spinning wisdom
from arthritic fingers, broken wrists,
pay her, pay her, pay her and leave)

this is the importance of a weight
on your bastard tongue, this is how
hands raised to a sun dawning and
elbows tucked in to raised ribs and
foreheads bowed for family and
back down to the sweat on your brow.

Apology

lead you away
from these false idols
warm hands within mine
smelling of basil
smelling of salt
smoke-choked
ashen.

fold the bloody sails
trace the words
steeped
scrawling
"dear you
so sorry
my heart is monstrous"

teeth bared
coming down hard
wishing yourself away
you've had enough of these bastards

can't keep my promises
you smashed the bottles
ferns lying restless
under your fingernails.
you'll see the sun.

after Waterflower

these strings,
these aching strings,
these bee-hum
rotten apple strings,
these whale-song strings,
gutted cat, heart laid open,
scalpel sweet strings,
these mother-tear strings,
gull strings, sea-ice strings,
damp melancholy strings,

drone gently,
gently. 

making it clear

wormeaten
oiled and offered
pinned to
stakes tall as a man
for the tomatoes
for the ripening
darlings the sunfetched
darlings noisy and cumbersome
guiltridden
definitely wormeaten
darlings the rising
beast and the
hatchling dears and the
toothpecked shell
bruising leaves and
peppermint scented

threes and fours, rising beast,
here he comes,
here he comes,
here he comes

I am acquainted with the shock
of a midnight garden
the grit and unease
and ghost winds that blow from my neighbours' houses.

Kennel

have you always been this rabid, darling,
foaming at at your chapped lips -
or did you snap along with your chain
and take to gnawing the bones of friendly hands?

Abstraction III

FEEL PULSE QUICKEN
AS IF TAUGHT LULLABY
DEEP EARTH BURIED
QUIET SLEEPING STIR AND
SHAKE SOIL HEAVY
BONES STRETCHING
HONEYCOMB LIFE-FILLED
FEAR OF SELF FEAR OF
OTHERWAYS OTHER
WISE SPEAKINGS HE TOOK
LONG ENOUGH TO REACH
TEACH PINNED DOWN
RIBOPENINGS NEAT AND
STAINED RIPE AND READY
DANCE FOR THE END
OF THEIR WORLD DANCE
FOR THE END OF THEIR
WORLD DANCE FOR THE
END OF THEIR WORLD

The Nursery

Goodnight, my angels.
There are violin strands in my hair
and here, a gloved hand to tuck you in.

Ignore the spiders, they just want
to drive your remote-controlled cars
through dreamwebs. They hit stop signs,
run red lights, leaving doll-fragments
smashed by the pavement.

Kitty-cat sits by the window, moonlight
angry in her eyes. Twitching tail. Claws.
Twist the music box one last time, and close
the ballerina safely in her painted box. Legs
splay. Long lost plastic tiara. Smile.


Sea hush, lulled salt sounds washing
from the pregnant-curved shell. Mother's eyes
watching. Sleep well, my darlings.

Kept.

She broke her wrist
once
when she was seven
falling from a bike.

She promised herself never again
would she shake
so hard

(enough to throw cherries
to the ground:
long afternoons car-driven
explanations
damaging knotted branches)

open my palms bare my breast
please don't give me time to think
       you were all empty bottles
hope to hear your cry, mewling babe,
tomorrow morning when you wake

        in the sun    again for the first time

(trust that this fine thread
     won't snap)

I own so many things

my knuckles
are small but serviceable
they glow cherry red
peeling skin and scabs
they are a mark of achievement
of breaths brushing the floor
of sweat and bitten lips

I have already etched frowns
between my concerned brows
but I have smiles
sitting in the corners of my eyes

my thighs
carry me and kick out
mark the passages of my months
drip oxidized and corrosive
stiffen and soften
my thighs are an accomplishment
a lesson in me
my thighs

I don't need your words
when I can feel my own heartbeat

There is no sentence I could ever write
that would possibly begin to cover my gaping faults

woken by splintering wood
struggle against nature this isn't ---
there isn't ---
time enough
senseless violence
TAKE IT OUT TURN IT OUT
do you care
you've done it this time,
you were right for once in your life
not long, you said, one way or another
I'm getting out of here

fight it
go on fight it one more thought one more
effort
fight it, damn you!
pick up that goddamn baseball bat
smash them! Kill them! It's easy it's fun!
you're running out of --

sink back
voices crackling
target neutralized 
         alright boys, bag 'em and tag 'em 

slump
choke
Al--

It was only a matter of time
we both knew I had earned only a certain
limited number of steps I could take
in solitude and I wasted them all
running from whatever we had tried
to build or create and I wish
to god I was more sorry than I am
I wish right down to that first night
fearless and stupid and maybe
that never changed I never really learnt
anything but I was terrified I was
so scared all the time of losing you
and it happened and I decided not to be
scared of anything but it's hard to
control that rush of adrenalin and
blood that worms inside you your own
fucking beast ripping you to shreds
I think I know now why you did
the things I never could put to reason
but it's okay now it's over anyway

The Ghoul

O mother do not weep for me
For three nights I have not slept

O mother hold me quiet
Each night I have swallowed a seed
A strand that tethers me to twisted charms
Still I long for your daylight arms
O mother do not weep for me

O mother the Earth is barren
I tread through deserts, arid saltwaste
O mother yet I yearn to taste
Red sweetness that burns my tongue
The bleeding heart of pomegranate
O mother do not weep for me

O mother words fail me
How deep a cut his voice can make
I cannot slake this thirst nor keep
My hands from shaking
O mother my world is breaking up

O mother I have been caught
Birds tear at my eyes
Mother I am blinded
Mother I am blinded
Mother I am blinded

O mother, my mother, help me

you're stuck and I can't let your voice out
like a beetle scrabbling in a matchbox

is there something special about
words loosened by alcohol and tongues
and tongues and cigarettes on my back
and honest words and
exclamations
and i can't remember the words
and honest sadness and I am sad
because you won't be back to make me feel like I fit in
or that I was wanted and
that's okay
that must be okay
because I was wanted and maybe more
or not
and that's okay too

saltsick II

Somebody told me that salt is sacred.

I can say nothing but that my throat
must surely have been washed smooth
with the pilgrimage of these thousands
of swallowed tears, and my stomach,
a place of great refuge, is blessed.

Fire cleanse me, light cleanse me.

Let holy men kneel before my feet
far-travelled, seeking wisdom that pours
relentless from eyes and howling mouth.

Fire cleanse me, light cleanse me.

Great mother, calm mother, accept these gifts,
freely I give you my sadness, and wish
only to be washed clear as your clear blood.
Let me be pure, let me be whole.
Raging mother, strengthen me. Stain me
foam-flecked, roar me courageous, release me.

Fire cleanse me, light cleanse me.

Shiftchange

I've got a pair of scissors

for the hair you liked so much.

the dogs growl at me

and I growl back

wild-eyed

you wouldn't believe it

shirt, shoes, knives, bottles

now I've got a job to do

and I can flash a smile just as disarming

as yours used to be

you taught me too well

I'm good at this

I can sleep

I know you're waiting for me

outside

you're no longer welcome here

in my bed

in my head

like a fucking mist.

Sun'll come up and you'll leave.

Come home

It's quiet,

waking again at the wrong time.

They look at me with accusations in eyes

dumb, now, and animal.

Darling, I always was your counterpoint.

Set to rise in opposites - 

no wonder I'm feeling lost;

no wonder I wander from room to

room,

can't sit still for searching. 

I prayed for you to shut your mouth,
your eyes,
to let my guiding hands hold you close,
but now that the key fits
there's nothing left behind the door

and

I'm waiting for you,
love,
please come home.
I'm not myself without you.

It won't hold her

like a .22 to his temple and shot
one too many bright nights
snapped reeling truck lights
get out take a hit bar fights

don't sleep don't sleep don't sleep

you just need
a hot ham sandwich
you just need
to take a piss
you just need
to sort out the wires

them glasses look real good on you,
you oughta,
oughta,
take care of yourself brother

down through the rusted rungs
for three days and three nights
down to the very bottom

(up through the slime
  to the heat
  to take a breath
  at the apex of your jump
  stretch out your fingertips
  and sink back down)

good-luck charm

what sickness is this
living bodies lying in shallow graves
cold in the cold ground
dead leaves cover you
it's so terribly human

don't sleep now
there are dark wings beating
struggling oily black breathless
the rotten taste of water
dank mouthfuls of snake-stink

chemicals cut through bloodstream
shine the surface flaws
twinkle bright in your eye
hold her head under
until the bubbles stop

abstraction II

it never came easy to you

tongue twisted and jaw locked

vocal cords fraying ill-designed

start with the first word 

carved easily enough onto bone

now etch it in the air

Cattle Prices Rising? Fancy That.

words cracking like beltstrokes
rebellient
rebellient
it doesn't exist she said
but you can feel it still
stare at your hands.
they'll help you through
again and again
and don't
don't
try this uppity shit
with him
motherfucker

edit: I'm still not sure about this one. The middle lines bother me, I'm not happy with them. I don't often offer any explanation or feedback on my own writing but I feel compelled to with this one. the last lines I still like, the first I like, but the midsection is elusive and frustrating. 

abstraction

when the dreams dreams dreams come down

fall through the generations
into your lap there tumbles
a bitter black ball
of hatred and rage and lust and change
swallowed into your blood ages gone
it urges you onwards
you'll not
want
you'll drive
right down the highway
you'll not
cover your eyes
nor be afraid
you'll not
thirst

I'm fine.

I'm fine, love, I'm fine.
There's nothing wrong with me.
Just this ache in my bones -
please don't leave me alone -
And I want to go home
But I'm fine.

I'm fine, love, I'm fine.
Everything is as it should be.
I just can't seem to sleep
'cause my head's on repeat
and the grave's been dug deep
But I'm fine.

I'm fine, love, I'm fine.
I'm just a bit tired, you see?
There's a snake in our bed
And your voice in my head
And thousands are dead
But I'm fine.

I'm fine, love, I'm fine.

Equinox lullaby

September's almost done, my dear
and now that Spring is truly here
you'll sleep away the daylight hours
 and leave me to my realm of flowers.

The turning Earth has had her say,
but don't fret, darling, I'll not stray.
I'll nestle by your resting frame
until the night has come again.

Great lion Sun, my roaring friend,
warms mortal skin, and will defend
this beating heart, so rest your eyes -
attend your Moon, her set and rise,

she'll sit with you and smile to see
how patiently you wait for me
to stir and wake, while evening air
coaxes shy Jasmine to appear.

Full twelve and twelve, the hours are set.
Tonight we're even, love, and yet
tomorrow looms: be still, my heart,
as days grow long, and nights grow short

so sleep and dream, don't wake in fright,
I'll guard you as the day burns bright. 

Erratic

lives cut shorter and a swirling storm
and he'll ask why you're crying
you won't be consoled
just this morning you were spitting bile into the sink
trying to hold down a coffee
trying to hold onto your mind

no tears will be enough to fix this
gather limbs around, hang your head
in shame, in prayer, in quiet agony,
bury yourself in furniture
the pain of this will pass, with time
even though lies like that should scorch teeth
and you will die in debt to this sadness

think of boxes way up north,
the blank-staring mother, frightened at night-noises,
sister so capable, distant voice on the receiver,
all these little cubic lives
and when they finish pulling the bodies
from sacrosanct rubble
hope against hope you will find
a pair of tweezers fine enough to grasp
the cactus-spines that pierce you.

Hymn for my seductive angel

Doesn't that feel good?
Like that first mirrorglance you almost couldn't take
poised breathless and the image was so solid and so

juicy

you nearly cried. Good thing you smiled instead,
ache as it did,
destruction the price of perfection.

Doesn't it feel good, love?
Knives are the playthings of yesteryear. No,
you're so far above,
you couldn't ground yourself if you tried.

Doesn't it just feel good,
this game of paring self from self
plumping lips and swaying hips?
You left her for dead, good riddance,
lying on a bed whitegowned

it was so easy to pluck her from you,
so stylish,
(hope the ache will stop sometime soon)
you didn't even need to check her pulse.

You've got a number in your phone,
a pair of gloves, dagger heels,
your hair is curled and tonight, oh tonight,
you're just about ready to eat someone.

Asthma

Ha!
I speak of filling lungs.
What mirth. What falsehood.

The real test
is the long, slow
squeeze
as every molecule
wheezes
grasping
at tubes
that fail
out
and your throat burns
chin itches
fingers twitch

and they're completely
empty.

To breathe, to breathe,
what a luxury.
Water or sawdust,
sugar crystals,
spiders, even,
what a pleasure. 

saltsick I

my nature is to be amphibious
i will sink myself into mud
i will cool rage and passion
i will flood my lungs to drown
distil the quiet of old skies

fill my lungs with sawdust
set me alight, a merry blaze
to warm your hands by
the turbines churn and catch

quell these, the ants that scurry
from vertebrae to vertebrae
tiptoe down a throat that gulps,
gapes, stupid, stupid, selfish

and all too alive

Things that are mine

spell my life out in the flavours of flowers,
the tang of kumquat, sugary sadness of watermelon
bitter bite of nasturtium, peppery and harsh,
quiet honey curtains of wisteria crammed into my mouth.

november

i have spaces in me untouched
shaped to fit only this:
certain yellow cast of light
loquat sweetness, november mornings

frown

Love, I promised you everything -
future and the means to read it,
sleep and nerves,
a home in my constricted intestines,

I left my doors wide open,
I wanted you to track a path right through,
shedding boots by the bed, steps worn heavy,
glasses knocked from the bench in laughter,
never felt quite so light
headed
as in your arms,
the rooms danced with scotch,

try not to flinch, level my gaze,
I can sit here all night if need be,
I can lose myself if you ask me,
see how brightly I can burn.
Count these, the leaves that fall from open palms

all I ask is a shoulder to rest my head
I want to trace your knuckles
I want to kiss the tendons at your wrist

please close the door when you leave,
this wind blows right through me,
I've never prayed so hard in my life.

Keys

The key wouldn't turn.
The key. It stuck.
try to ignore that sinking in your stomach try to fight the rising bile the panic in your fists 

Take it out. Try again.
please god let it be a mistake is it the right key please oh god I don't want to die I don't want to be alone

Next key. Try again.
Scrabbling uselessly at the lock. It's not going to open.
don't throw up please don't throw up it's going to be okay

Nothing you can do.
The sun is shining.
Monsters don't exist.
please god please don't let me die without him 

He's been drinking your heart all along.

You've forgotten how to count: start slowly.

Wet nose alarmclock.
He's asleep. His face is calm.
With these, the first days of spring, breathe easy. Breathe deep.

Think about the basil
spicy, savoury, the knife that scored a line of red
along one finger
you rinsed clean, bandaged it.
It was okay. These things happen.

Think about the hours ahead,
in a garden, in a park.
Mina wants walking, Gabrielle wants to play.
Don't think about words exchanged.
Don't put yourself in their place.

Think about the melting heat of a far-off city
in a language you never learnt.
Don't think about seven hours on a plane home.
Don't think about how the key wouldn't turn.

When it gets too much
think about how you can crawl back into bed
his face is calm
and just
not think.

waiting for a bus

I passed someone who looked like you today:
his hair was bubblegum pink.
He was looking up in that way you have, bespectacled -
or maybe the way he had, or maybe not.
It was only a flash of a hint of a look. From afar.
Nothing to go by at all.
It still broke my heart.
I've no idea why. I never lost you.


afterword: I don't spend enough time with you to differentiate your gestures from his, or maybe I simply overestimate how closely you two are linked in your physicality as well as your thoughts. I mean, zie doesn't hold too much sway over how I move, simply because I don't have enough knowledge/control of hir for it to be an issue, thankfully. I wonder how close the two of you are in your head, sometimes, when you speak to me (or speak past me) and dab at my forehead with your thumb. I wonder if you're alright. It's all just pretend, anyway, isn't it? 

cornered beast & i am needlefangs
i am snarled i am spitting
i am coiled like wire i am ready to attack
not patientwaiting not sleepslumbering
i am eyes glowing green&hot i am torn flesh
don't you dare turn your back
whipcrack necksnap flashback teethsmashed
i am tendons to point of breaking 
i am claws i am adrenalin i am a bushfire 
i am after you i am ready to defend myself
i am screeching i am dusky terror 
i am nobody's dog. 

you're all skittish elbows and bony nose
and your notched spine curls into me
dreamgaze milkclouded with cataracts
your eyes still warm
inhale, exhale, fall asleep, don't move.

chalice of osseous delights

come, pierce me through the heart, sister sweet
breath soft&loud in my ear.
I wish to share with you
that
which makes us strong.

The sickening earth calls for my blood
continents away from home.

The roaring, the roaring
the endless road travelled
my ribcage tightens like a curse or a cure, your
counting vertebrae lull me to sleep

pierce me through the heart and swallow me whole

futile

Keep the night, I don't want it.
Keep your night, keep your pride,
keep your smug irresistible smile.

I'll just -
I'll just watch my sunrise.
I'll sit and watch my sunset,
and I'll wake you afterwards.
(shaking slumber heavy from your shoulders)

Yes, I'll wake you afterwards,
and pretend I didn't miss you while you slept.

you'd open a vein each night
pouring shot after shot
to watch his head tip back
perfect curve of his throat

Becoming II

what did he sit you down and explain to you that you were nothing and would be nothing and therein lay your greatest strength laid sleeping in your crib and you'd never feel not really feel separate and distinct and lonely ever again no fear of solitude did it paralyse you kept awake all night staring at ceilings dark did you weep? were you a child prone to fits and starts groaning banging head&hands against the wall & did you learn to speak or did your eyes seek reflections out by your feet? strong back yes did you chop wood, carry loads? stronger stomach they could count on you yes to fold the little paper flags inked italic around the pins after they had cracked ribs open and flushed away the staining and they'd watch you lean over meticulous and polite & place just there point down puncture not more than a centimetre deep (smattering of applause) did you hear it or did you count the veins in your hands or the still bundles wrapped neatly in her stomach - weren't the little toes perfectly formed faces hairless closed eyes so sweetly in that sleepless state when you peeled them back so careful after the cat got her but didn't you cry for the darlings?

how can you sit so calm in someone else's skin? I still can't read your mind and there is nothing left to tie you down not language not name or face ageless mutable seamless you might be perfect you might yet be perfect you will be perfect do you even have a brain do you dream? what visions fill the frozen space behind the memory of your eyes what do you dream? does he still speak to you alone in that bluewashed sky mein liebe kinder you are not bound to yourself asche zu asche he ripped you apart you've infected me dearest you've sunk into me and I never know which face you'll smile out of can never count the grinning teeth when they held you over the sink and shattered your jaw but they were scum and couldn't see flesh masquerading as flesh gripped your shirt sneered and you tasted his blood in your mouth - was your tongue red stained after all these years with that powerful sweetness richer darker than any before sent your nerves reeling drunk & delirious & couldn't stop wouldn't stop - and felt spine bristle and smiled

--What the fuck? In a public fucking bathroom? You have to be fucking kidding me. And now the pack's half gone. Who's gonna fucking tell him?--

and he didn't harm you no not much you learnt the words well I will not compromise I will not fail god&father&teacher&friend listen to him as the meat listens to you let it lead you strip back start with a finger a little one. you knew the theory.
no tools not this time you remember the first word start with the first word
it got easier each time patterned inside&out

Becoming I

These are things that might have happened.

1. This is your greatest strength -

 a. You are nothing.

 b. You will be nothing.

   (i) Praise it

   (ii) This is your goal

2. You will be alone -

 a. Don't cry.

   (i) I said stop

   (ii) She's not coming back for you

 b. You are not separate. 

   (i) That is false

 c. You will not be alone.

3. There are things unclear -
 a. Fits.
 b. Anger.
  (i) directed and general
  (ii) violence and retreat
c. Tears.

4. You are strong -
 a. Strong back.
  (i) set to fetch and carry. No?
 b. Stronger stomach.
  (i) Procedure.
  (ii) They cracked the ribs open and left you to place the pins
  (iii) Mother rat
      - oh yes I know about her
c. You can bear pain.
  (i) Start with the first bone, little finger
  (ii) It will get easier
  (iii) This is important
d. See (1)

5. There is nothing left to tie you down -
 a. Not language.
 b. Not name.
  (i) See (1.a)
  (ii) It is a title, do not forget that
 c. Not face.
 d. Not yourself.
  (i) See (1.b.ii)

6. You will not fail.
 a. No compromise.
  (i) They are scum
  (ii) flesh obeys mind 

 b. You will listen to me.
  (i) flesh obeys mind
c. You will be perfect.
  (i) flesh obeys mind

inexplicable

felt the shock of cells twisted

realigned growing new patterns of waste

naming ancient fires to light within your breast

it's not wrong to have knowledge

it's not wrong to feel your conviction twining

worming its way through chest cavity

speaking in your sleep, words unformed by mouths

not wrong to see his face under eyelids mirrored 

not wrong to mimic heartbeat bone-encased 

an echo yet of life within veins 

step across the threshold freely

you are welcome here

you can commit no error

you cannot falter cannot fall cannot fail.

it stirs within you and you can do no wrong

can sleep none 

no dreams come

still you only ever see his face

still you sank above drowning

still what mattered it how the ashes blow in the wind

you know every name there was. 

you can read the lines between flesh and flesh

and feel the distinctions 

melt

you can speak with a thousand voices 

and a thousand voices more

and a thousand eyes to see a thousand tongues lick clean your thousand wounds

a thousand hands to shape a thousand feet to march

a thousand bleeding vessels cry out to carry you onwards

onwards ever onwards

to it, to him, to the only conceivable

end

Asche zu Asche

and so I return home

all i want is your wine-sodden tongue

your words pour straight
through me like the rain
outside gentle syllables

doghair

the world is full of small prayers for you to make
sunlight on the withered tomato leaves, there's one

the white hairs Mina left on the couch, a blessing

the phone call from your sister, she's in Hong Kong,
big business money while her fiance vaccuums
it's been years since you saw her, you talk every week

tell her about this guy
what guy?
oh, he's a bartender, real charmer, you'd like him
look after yourself, doll

bite your tongue, hair brushed back from your eyes,
I love you too, talk soon, I promise,
echoing ten thousand lives away.

Mina shifts in her sleep, dozy thud of muscle and drool.
Sometimes it seems like she's the only real thing in your life.

these don't feel like my words
I want to slip into another skin

If I could take this boiler room of hate and use it to fire the engines of my mind, surely then I'd travel continents

Butterfly

There are no windows in this place.
Taste the soil beneath your feet
and grub your way across the floor.
No mirror here to see your face -
an image of your change complete -
although your skin might still feel raw.

Sit up slow, it's not a race.
Try not to tear the stitches neat,
otherwise you may need more.
I've done my best to leave no trace,
but - oh, no, honey, take a seat!
Did you think there was a door?

The healing process may take time
but when it's over, butterfly,
I'll give you ample chance to shine,
your altered form my point of pride.

Sky is Low

Gather your gods
   hold your palms upturned
                            outstretched
            the steam exhaled from your gut
the sweat pouring down

the knife embedded
right where it fell.
     Shear the sheep,
     bleed the calf,
     notch the wood
to find your way home in the dark.
I promised you I wouldn't leave a mark. 

They won't believe you anyway.

Azhi Dahaka

sit and stare
as vertebrae line my forearms
sending spiraling messages
to cells I never knew existed

tender skin shifts and settles
shifts and settles
and he's speaking to me
through the world:
these pale lines are wormholes to his love
to his message

knuckles darken
the bruises rearrange
and my tendons are exposed:
you, inside me,
you of age and mystery,
the ashes of your mind alive within my flesh
-the decay and regrowth-

the clouds are dancing for me
and the whole word is under my skin

- a king sits in your veins
skeleton apparent beneath his proud face
crown elaborate, heavy as his duty
- ravens wheel on your wrists, dragons devouring their tails
- your pores open and close, your neck twists, majestic
-  the plantcell tracery overlying knights battling
- your dance flows fingers whirling

it's all glory and understanding
and you fit neatly into my web
I'm not letting go, now or ever.

Shift and settle.

retreat

this is it
my world where blood
drops like ink
into water

not too much
further on, you'll see them
misty hills crowned with gold
bottled glory

warped fields
they make sense in time,
not in space,
not with eyes

but oh,
oh,
how I'll be watching
craving your sidestep magic

while the camellias bloom
ripe from my palms
and the hush of wind
strangles your thoughts

some strange unbidden lullaby

this really isn't anything, it's not planned or good, but i wanted to write it and i don't want it to be useless. such as it is i present to you

I could cradle you
as the sea cradles all bleached bones in time

with all the tenderness
of skin picked raw from fingernail's edge

with all the ferocity
of a phone hurled loathesome at your bedroom wall

with all the sleepy solitude
of some vague luminescent creature

passing time uncounted
amongst those bleached bones sunk
far below the reach
of love-grasping hands
where the hidden currents
roll around my heart

morning sleep

the heat of us
spoke to the windows of the room
left them sweating,
blushing fogged, obscuring the view
of the morning outside
misted cold to contrast
the heavy sleep of skin
on warm skin,
sweet fingertips holding hipbones close

Nurse Tzimisce

Oh, be quiet, will you? this noise is so draining
You'd think they'd just shut up after a while!
What did you expect? I'm only in training

And in your place, dear, I'd not be complaining.
 Don't give me that look! What cost is a smile?
Please try to be quiet, this noise is so draining.

I'm doing my best, I promise, I'm craning
My neck to get in there! My word, now - that's vile
I didn't expect that, I'm only in training -

The blood keeps on coming,  it might well be raining
Two kidneys, a liver, my throat tastes of bile -
The quiet is better, I find the noise draining.

 He's dead? Oh. Poor love - but let's not be blaming
The messenger, dearest - after all, proof by trial!
The quiet is lovely, the noise was so draining,
I expect that quite soon I shall finish my training.

sometimes curiosity takes a hold -
could I widen each pore into a smile
rasping gently like pearls on a tooth
against my heart bumping, gentle,
taking good care of each little mark
christening each moment with a thread
heading down, down, with such malicious intent?

Portents

the clock within wound tight tight tigher even than the intestines wound tight around the branches that grew starkcoldnaked from that unhallowed ground into my hands ground down grinding always and I can feel within me that red red light shining striking ten, now one, down into my blood

a second heartbeat lungs filling toes arching eyes closed closer even than he

sharpen prepared I will wait and I will wait and the fire within my breast will spread and leap and fill the world with ashes

when I think about us love I still see a beach white and crisp and I hear the cries of gulls and I hold your hand and we walk down beside the waves and you don't disappear and there is no red light shining in over our heads and I can hear your pulse and you sip whiskey straight, maybe with ice, maybe just mixed with the salt of seawater and I dip my fingers in and trace your lips; they say seawater and blood have the same salinity but that's a lie else I would find some way to pour the ocean into your mouth and be done with it

if I keep up like this
and the distinctions I have put in place
 - inside here and you outside
 - sorting two from one and building walls
fall:
glories be to the cottonwool blur around my mind

finally vision
light truth infatuation

finally

mitosis

- i want my heartbeat
to be your voice
- and every word you speak
to signal cells to move
- and my traitor organs
           - liver lungs heart hands -
           - they fail me time and again -
to respond to each vibration
from your throat
- so even to live
i have to praise you
in the growth and decay
of each part of me
- and you become my song

- without you my pulse
beats meaningless time

Possum

Been thinking about possums a lot lately and this is not even a good poem but I like passing them when it's late and dark and they glare at me.

I'm stumbling along and I can hear them
bubbles spilling from your throat
angry chitter,
branch shakes sudden and a silhouette springs
claw-hands held defensive,

I can almost see the resentful crinkle of your nose
frustrated at being disturbed.
I smile and keep walking.
You're small, but ferocious in your conviction:
It's not my place to intrude.

Angie

I can't believe this happened. I'm not allowed to create stories for every single bloody character I ever pick up for one bloody scene. Here we have Angie and Alfie, and I'm going to blame Jason for how well last night went. 

                                              she's still beautiful. for now.
and she still comes in to drink, she's there every night
            - or most every night
                            (sometimes she can't make it, sometimes
                                              she stays in bed)

       and he's beautiful, still, always

they spoke about it
once, twice, every dawn
             he'd come home
             he'd hold her screaming, it wasn't fair
a decision made every second for the rest of your life
             he'd ask her to stay
    
                          not a choice she could make

the moon turns around and it's another struggle
          
             he can't understand it,
   suicide by degrees:
             he gives her a rope and
                                             she is letting it slip from her fingers
                                             bit by bit

            a home, a child, a life: she wants to find a grey hair in her reflection
  and all he wants is to spend the rest of the world together
     
but no matter.
          the night is young, and she's still beautiful.
keep pouring, Jim.

you know when we speak I feel mary hovering right in the corner of my eye out of my line of vision
she showers me with the flower petals she's collected from the words that pour tangible from her mouth

you know when I pour you tea sitting quiet in the kitchen with the wysteria vine thrumming with bees
she stares at me from the cup stained brown in the leaves that collect sodden and bitter spelling out secrets

you know when I pick out eyelashes you've left gently on the pillow maddening and delicious
she touches my spine with white crescentmoon nails and teases pale hairs on my neck to stand

mary watches me and cries when I glare back
she'll live behind my curtains until I burn the damn things black

Jason

Don't lose yourself.

Through you I speak with wild gods

And run baying at the legs of the stag.

I don't know quite how to reconcile it: your path, born in death and destruction and pain
and your mind, utterly clear, calm as the ocean, but for the cries of seagulls

twelve

hush, hush
little bird, hush
give me your rings, here.
place them down.
you can't keep them, not now.

see this sky

your bare feet in the earth

      I'll swallow you whole
              to flutter in my throat
              you'll scratch me bloody
              my liver is poison, galling

I snapped a twig in leaving
the youngest daughter,
she took fright

                                 the eldest I married
                                 golden leaves crowned her
                                 silver branches at her breast
                                 the diamond studded shoes
                                 soles worn through

and when I gave her your rings
   I could feel your feathers
   and my heart thu-thudded
                    against ribcage barred willful
  
her sons
engorged by the ground

you grow still, at last.

dusk is drawn, and you grow still.

anger

don't try to take anything too literal from this one, it's just vague ideas from my head, a narrative, but it's all fictional. romanticize me if you must but I'm not she. Oh, but the lipstick is real.

Cheap pearls drag from your neck
you wore your mother's perfume
borrowed her stockings, when varnish failed against the ladders
bandaids on your heels
the shoes are too high, you'll carry them home,
falling from fingers loose with wine
                                       with cigarettes
                                          was that your first kiss?

The lipstick in the drawer was dry,
a relic from the eighties. Or some year gone.
Anger, you thought you had it,
            you didn't think at all.
The peppermint taste on your tongue won't hide it.
You've chipped your tooth in red: it shows.

I want to speak to you through the years,
into the photograph, smoky eyes smudged adolescent
drill it into your stupid fucking head
They don't love you, they never will, they never will, they never will

- is it a prayer now, a serenade to you, a jaded birdsong melody?
- or is it just my bitterness shining through?
- I'm sorry.

It was your first kiss, after all.


                                                                                          

Song for Asche

Asche, darling,
While it is true
          that I have every intention of losing myself utterly in you,
In the black-veined halo of your  reason,
Have patience, my love.

I'm learning. I'm working on it.

You chill me, darling,
You freeze me to my core,
Because I know your mind
- hidden behind cloud-grey eyes -
           as surely as you know mine.

I have floated in the calm skies that lie there.
Behind the shock of madness.
Beyond your dream of death.

And when you stand
Triumphant as a god, your father's dignity, your ancestor's power,
In the mist of the dawn,

         (vision blurred to white)
         (the clouds are as ashes)
         (they fear you, my dearest)

I will be the one to rise from the bloody noon.

and just like the serpent, I would swallow myself
bent double,
blaze of purity

to feel your skin
soft
against my hips.

I'll count the prayers again
passing beads through my fingers
clacking like teeth in my palms,
and I promised myself - promised
that I wouldn't shovel soil over my head

Blisters and bones cracking under weight

if I close my eyes
nerves cauterized
this earth
feels a bit
like you.

We never got the damn scales out of the teapot.
I never could understand it.

Turn to water even at a touch
I want none of this weakness

Scissors

A while ago (I forget how long, now, maybe a year, maybe more) I had a dream that distressed and fascinated me greatly. I took a pair of scissors to the flesh of my stomach and sliced away two long angled strips of my fat/flesh: one straight down the right side of my abdomen, breast to hip, another horizontally across the base of my stomach. I could feel the pain of the first one even as I did the second, and it left two gaping cuts, red - but not bleeding - edged with the yellow of fat. It hurt, even in my head. I bent double in surprise and shame at my actions and held the skin together frantically with my hands, but I felt a little satisfied. Where I bent, the wounds gaped and buckled.

I felt a bit like that yesterday: the dream was in my head for a lot of the day.

Maiden as mother as crone
Through the centuries passing through the ashes the smoke from your cigarette
Cupped beautiful between your knuckles
And the bitten-nail sweetness of your smile
I will never forgive you this moment
Tears traced parallel
It is not within me to forget

Birthright

I don't really care if it doesn't make sense, or if it is simple in terms of language, or stupid in concept, or if you think it's cliched or silly or whatever. Zie is as much a part of me as I am of hir. Trying to get inside hir head, a background of neutrality and calm. It's funny, because you wouldn't pick hir to be the calm type, but despite hir fanaticism, hir nihilism is born truly of neutrality, a world without make-believe boundaries. Destruction as a form of deconstruction. If zie could take the world apart with a scalpel and tweezers, to see how everything fitted together, zie would. Curiosity like a child.

Blood
from the blood
from the blood
from his blood
from him.

Thrice-removed.
Vision is pure.

It beats in my heart
It beats against my skin
Learning the ways,
Stitching the gaps.

Sneer
Sneer and scorn
Me and mine:
The blood is all.
The blood is all.

Ashes you were
Ashes you are, will be.
The blood is all.
The blood will live.

Your flesh will change,
Your bones can break,
Your eyes are weeping:
The blood remains.

Be still. Be quiet.
Can you feel the threads snapping quiet, the needle bent against your will?
This is mine, my birthright
Working
Worming
Through the blood.

Sleep still.
Time for waking soon enough:
Sleep within my breast
And I will whisper secrets to the ashes that will be.

The love I have for you fills me until there's no room for thought left anymore and I am calm

Norm

Note: this is a really quick sketch of a poem, and I'm going to work on it more, and fill it out, and improve it. Sally knows the man in question, he comes into work. There's so much more on this to come. I'm really glad I'm writing this one. Norm is a gentle soul.

I see him once a week.
He shambles in, white hair, white beard;
Father Christmas come out of the rain.

Today he was heralded by Dan and Mez -
Knowing smiles: 'Norm's coming!'
Something to brighten your day.

I always laugh when you're here.
Such sincerity, stumbling through sentences
Now, I don't mean to offend you...

Norm, I could never be offended
Not by you, by your voice still thick
With the drawl of a country you left fifty years ago.

Not by the honesty in your blinking eyes.
We spoke, today, of Hemingway
Of bitter old men who lost the world.

How old am I? I'm eighteen, Norm, and here it is,
Norm, the story of how it could have been,
Might have been, both sixteen,

And as you cut to the other side of the street I glance up,
Eyes bright: Cut you a smile as sharp as glass,
As calculated as the equations drawn straight in the margins of your books.

Fists snarling through the air
Playful as the dog that snapped,
Turned,
Cracked the teasing bones.

Hibernaculum

It has found a place
To sleep
Within the quiet grey hollow of my intestines
And it dreams
The shifting pattern of mist and frost

I exhale, heroic
It stirs, and slumbers on
The sudden corners of desire are blunted.
I inhale
Softly. I close my eyes.

I have no poetry left in my soul anymore.
Spent so long convincing myself my words were unnecessary.
Can't find them again.
Cut off the head and be surprised when the lungs fail.
No electricity jolts through these fingers,
and no amount of pumping on those ribs will start the heart again.

~

Which is more or less why I haven't felt able to write. Writing about not writing - shut the fuck up, me.
First poem. I've completed day 1. The rest will flow.

The idea is to write something (thoughts, poem, story, thoughtlessness) every so often. Not going to promise once a day because lies are bad.

It already feels silly. Self-deprecation is an ugly trait.
It'll work out. I'll write something and maybe it'll be good, and maybe someone will read it (at the very least, Sally will, and she'll like it regardless because she's good like that, so that's a positive).

There are positives in lots of places if you turn on the macro lens in your brain.

I want to introduce myself. I'm Isabelle (as uncomfortable as I am with the name).

I've put off creating one of these things because I was and am still terrified what it will lead to - with the intention of writing, of pressuring myself to write; will I write too much or too little? Will I improve, or will I stagnate? Both are equally likely and equally detestable. The narrow margin of just enough, just good enough, is almost unattainable.

A word about the name, which seems more important to me than it will, surely, seem to anyone else. Although it is slightly obsessive, Asche is a character that really drives me, that has pushed me to think a lot about my own absurdist philosophies and well-intentioned nihilism. (what. what. somebody stop me)
I haven't felt so enthusiastic about something like this in a long time and it has allowed me to get back into research, writing, and connection to people - I've made new friends and consolidated others - and I hope it leads also to a development of my acting 'skills'. Asche feeds me, because zie is so alien. Zie can look/be anything I want, and yet at hir core are my own philosophies taken to extremes and made physical. I'd write more, but I'd give the game away.

This is doomed to failure, but that's okay.