august 2016

 

                              (i)

 

...why, once more, does this inky scalpel

scratch its morbid graffiti

 

its chain of rusting, unforgiving lies

across my neck

 

is it not enough that I begin

to haemorrhage syllables and fats

 

to bleed acronyms

and watch conversations swell from the wound

 

why indeed does this delicate hate

always ooze out across the room

 

until existence is totally dismembered

by graffiti, by the unforgiving pages

 

that quietly soak the blood

from the corners of my eyes

 

why, because each word

must lash out at the void

 

each incision must strip the unknown

for every idea, every scratch

 

is truly an act of desperate surgery

an unanswerable love

 

that rises from the wound across my neck

the unforgiving passion to bleed...

 

  

                     

                                (ii)

 

...there is, it seems, an epic bitterness

that constantly weeps from my breasts

 

its dark milk runs down my thighs

staining the sheets

 

covering my clothes with its black appetite

is it my own frenzy

 

my own powerless vanity

that, at any cost, must

 

butt aside this unsightly blindness

which stands rooted to my face

 

or is this pool of black milk at my feet

not a sign of the world’s slow evil

 

of some immense, lonely peace

as silent as the sun is silent

 

the dark tide covering the rocks

an ocean of blind milk

 

bitter to touch, bitter to see

my breast’s black hunger

 

a love unlike any other...

 

 

                   (iii)

 

...we are this earth’s destructive sacrifice

its bewildering, dull hunger

 

we are its desperation, its obsession

to hold light in our teeth

 

we are the cunning intercourse with mountains

the smiles that openly crave sex

 

we are the slovenly metaphysics

the children left dying in the rubble

 

we are the augmented love

the language that never speaks

 

the verses that were never written

and the minds that were never born

 

we are this earth’s torn veil

its pious, anodyne hatred

 

we are the burning in our eyes

the cunning sun, the graven smiles

 

the blood that rises onto the page

as we try to sweeten the word hypocrisy

 

we are the last universe left

the glowing fossil that tore the world apart

 

we are humanity

call us anytime...

 

 

 

                             (iv)

 

...long ago the talons of the unknown

sank deep into my back

 

where they have remained

chaste and immoveable

 

my psyche, a gorgeous bird of prey

an infectious theory

 

that watches the veins in my hand

as they rise and fall

 

for it has been my intimacy

with this creature’s promiscuous eyes

 

that forced me to eat trees

to dance with pigs

 

listen to the wilderness

and yet still be none the wiser

 

a disturbed inmate of the unknown

I am therefore clearly in danger

 

of screaming pain out beyond the earth

beyond the claws

 

beyond my sometime-hazardous psyche

its relentless intimacy

 

crawling from the bird’s throat

my ignorance like vomit

 

out beyond the earth

the agony of the wilderness

 

the agony that spins the veins in my hand

with no choice but to rise and fall...