Simplicity

Gabriel leaves with the blossoms at midnight clamoring for the simplicity of things in their place. Blue rain falls on abandoned bicycles on sheltered roadsides. Constructed leaves decaying like a galaxy of hollow stars. There’s something pagan in our elaborate happiness, dancing like fire eaters and Scaramouch attacking the streets. No one stands for Alexander, Napoleon caricature, seagulls above, the unforgiving darkness choking the red waves of daylight. This chaos will collapse into a single point. We are tired. The sun is new. We wake again.

Crusaders

Byzantine skeletons are richer than me

they got to watch their city burn

and rise and burn again –

endless eyes turning back

to God’s restless creation.

Fear

I want to be free of fear

Only this and nothing more,

Though it is born within me.

Can I be just a body?

I would like an uncaring eye,

Though I know I would lose much.

There is no love without fear,

No hope,

No promise.

All these are born

Twinned with beings of darker feathers.

Conversation

It would be easier if I was cold and drunk

and we could match northern wits.

Too tired to put on our shameful masks

of Americanisms, pleasantries,

going barmy looking for a line.

Say the word “great” enough and it becomes weaponised.

What words fit this moment? This one.

I want it to be 10 minutes ago

or an hour later

I just want the quiet.

Conversation grows stale in the throat.

I’ve come to the obvious realisation

That It’s not bloody worth it.

We’re just wasting minutes together.

The Singer

Like a star this God burned down to earth to hear the song. The Singer had wild hair, pale blue eyes, and wore a loose suit. They were framed by the endless and all-encompassing sea. Their song was gospel, rising, fire. Their song was heart, withering, nature. Compassion and brittle bones in a choked voice of strained bliss. The God fell to one knee and ran their fingers through the grass. They breathed in the cold air. The song ended and the God was eye to eye with the Singer, and neither bowed. The God returned to nights black ocean. The Singer looked down. They would both now walk with steps of purpose.

Burning Nerves

It starts to burn again –

the savage feeling of the world falling from

beneath you.

One line, a steadfast thread of neutrality

suddenly starts to unwind

becoming frayed and weak,

and the pitiful cry of desperation grows

as it all comes apart.

Nothing spurs it but our own electricity –

you hope that seeing the world as small

will kill the fears for yourself,

but it’s the small things you are terrified of losing.

Forces

I can’t descend further into hell –

I’m still chained to the stars.

One Dream

Let me dream paradise,

merciful, unsullied.

Recollections of a Green Man;

Eden’s guard –

quicksilver streams and a quiet dominion.

Let me leave the personal,

the cutting words,

the hours.

I find no time to live my waking life

as golden explosions of fire –

just a nervous stumble

and a spark at the desperate edge of night.

Sick of Being a Mariner

Sick of being a mariner

effective against nothing,

slamming my fist into the waves.

Cold blood runs wild

freezing everything inside –

a massive weight

unable to move.

But though I withdraw,

claw at my skin,

laugh –

I drift further from shore.

From any shore.

My Winter

Send help, the fire’s gone out.

I’m not prepared for winter –

keeping my door shut

can’t see the trees.

I don’t know if I need someone,

but it’s too hard to make it alone.