may 2019

 

                           (i)

 

...and then come these raw idiosyncrasies

that transform friends into monoliths

 

strange, twisted methuselahs

who spin the earth between their thumbs

 

who mould their own stools into dogma

their wild, spidered faces mocking oblivion

 

calling out ‘come closer! come closer!

but do not touch! we are too old to die!

 

we offer addiction to not only the moon

but to diatribes, wraiths, to the eternal light

 

to any conceivable thing you want!

you will forget you even had a memory!’

 

unsure, my fingers rub the sand grains

in the corners of my pocket

 

and I wonder if the part I have played

has always been this transformation

 

of me as a liar into an even better liar

a monolith just as raw, just as mocking

 

as those who call out ‘come closer! come closer!’

as they plummet from the edge of the world...

 

 

 

                      (ii)

 

...this page is blind, it feels nothing

it touches hope yet hears only the flow of water

 

it is the stone in my head

the logic which forces stars

 

to cry as they burn

it is a crime

 

a darkness that has only ever wrestled with darkness

a page even blind to itself

 

this vast zero that is revelation

where, the truth is, truth is arbitrary

 

and yet here we are

again threading beads

 

again chained to the inky thief

my veins’ cold anaesthetic

 

where the sound of flowing water

is the crime of writing blind pages

 

that cry as they burn

that pull down these blackened stars

 

to ornament meaning

to find and complete the zeros in my head...

 

 

 

                               (iii)

 

...let us meet high above the gleaming cities

out where the stars’ breath can cool my body

 

where the views are so vast

they can swallow all of life

 

and let’s take with us our love

and release it high over the shimmering glass

 

as you find yourself in me

and I in you

 

pretending it is we two

who have tamed the nations and the supernations

 

but the multitudes, the crowds far below the glass

do they even know we are out here

 

yes their eyes shine, yes their faces glow

but this light is not theirs

 

it comes from some deep gut in the earth

where charlatans and liars crawl

 

searching for scraps of transcendence

it is a place where the shadows are so vast

 

no-one can see the unfolding pietà

spread out and terrifying

 

beneath our black wings...