If his eyes had been granite
if his face not flattened
from prolonged heroin addiction

I might
have believed.

I no longer have
the penmanship skill
no longer crave dark stormy nights
thunder crashing between my ears
the euphoria of written word
taking, raping
scavenging through my soul
bones dried to scattered white powder

Instead
I crave with depravity
a reductionist view
haunting, taunting the threads of tension
nothing can be written

these words




they mean nothing, deletion would do no justice
should not be thought
should not be born
should be so vain as to think

beyond a physical expression – the body is only a tool
to be used, to be possessed, to be controlled

waver


on an edge of animalistic humanity
you laugh in the throes of a perfect
juxtaposition

contradictory lines thrust upon my face
weary by years end
weary by times knowledge

If I could have followed you
I would have left
when we meet there is no warmth
eyes tell tales that lie
your touch is not telling

there is no art in belief
you told me. taught me. tantalised my timing.

If we do not leave together
[as well I know the truth]
the colour on the ground will tell


there is only seduction in our lives
an impulse to cower to overcharge to embellish
I took it away and grazed my origins clean
shaved away layers and left the surface
the plane, the structure bare
but it was not enough

I will always be an intruder here.