Oh! to be brave
enough to open to
all that I fear now; to
everything I used to
fear

multiplied by experience and
petrified through the ages of
my dying days - my living to
death.  Oh! to open!

now to all that once threatened to
steal my innocence and
succeeded, through my fear,
in murdering more than

my unguilt:
my love lying offered-up on its cold-
stoned heart, ​​​​​​​​​​​​​moving
only when prodded hard
& then

only because I shudder.  Dig!
With half-hope & memory​​​​
I stab at the corpse
of my soul-self

to feel inside my chest
something other than
cold & colder; desperate
not to show that cowardly face

with eyes closed
to myself
(in the mirror),
to God reflected
(in my eyes),
to You revealing me
(in yourself),
to unreflected Life, dazzlingly
(full!)

Oh! to be brave enough
to open my eyes.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​
​​

Monochromatic Bright
an​d shade
lie grafted
on the floor.

The warm wood expands
(to), the cold
"And A-gain!"
contracts.

Opposites attract
and stretch out their black
and white
arms towards the others "And​​​​​​​​​​

UP!"
showing bare
arabesques
and stocking-ed
​​​​​développés.

Toes point
at the dust
continually disturbed
and floating

in the
sunlit air​​​​​:
tiny burning
flames

dancing round
the Lycra
bodies of
burning

minds,
shouting,
and fire-fuelled muscles,
obeying:

"Bend!",
"Build!"
push-pulling
"Hold!"
stretch-lifting
"Fold!"
step-turning,
spinning,
slowing,
"Control!"-harnessing

every limb's
ambition
to fly

and dancing!
Dancing, dancing,
Dancing!​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

And yet, he will not love me that much.

He will not love me so much as he said.

He will not keep his words to himself forever.

He will not long for me so much longer.

He will not miss me more now than before.

Despite what he thinks (and says),

He will not be much sadder.


Already he loves me less.​​​​
​​​

I eat your words,
They go in through my ears,
whole into my mind and drop

heavily to the floor of my stomach
not able to pass to my intestines.
Unprocessed

rock words
roll & clatter with the flow
of emotions & hours.​​​​​​​

moving & banging
against each other,
grinding down

over a millennia of moments
of churning and settling
into the pit

as fine sand to filter the water of
our everyday lives together,
flowing through me

minutely.
Some words take longer
than others.​​​​​​​​​​​​

Nothing but
a mineral mixture
of metals and rock
with the rot of leaves
and flowers and the remains
of the bodies
others were dressed in.

Playing in
it as children we know nothing of its value.
History sticks to our feet
and stays under our
fingernails and in our ears
'til we go home;

Carrying it indoors, 'straight to the
bathroom!' - burning ears
pulled for better hearing -
to wash it all away
with hard water;

Leaving pink-
brushed fingers and toes
to run to supper,
​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​clasp and curl together in 'Thanks'
and kick each other
u​nder the table
for worse sins committed
against our brothers that day than

Collecting dust.
There are ways of becoming covered in dirt
that are much worse than
falling:  like lying too still,
too long, without breathing;
or sitting too still, too long, not

Saying what
you must say and
can't so that it sticks
in your throat, suffocating
you.  There are worse ways to collect dust
than racing and falling and rolling.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

(Sometimes) life
(dis-)appoints
everything to
it's time;

(mis-)placing perfect
dreams who-knows-
where?  I must

(out)stretch
my wings
for flying

&

(bomb-)drop
into the water
of life;

crash-)landing
with my little load
of imperfections exploding wide.

-

I (mostly badly) time
the Big Ones
and live my

(mis-)taking
just enough to survive
the meaning:

the (un?)lucky
loser finds that being right
isn't everything.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I have no idea what its like to be
You.

I stumble,
not falling forward; putting out
my hands towards
the dirty pavement
and You,
rushing fast along
the heat-rising street
in the opposite direction
to the
chanting masses singing
their anger and
my fear.

You walk ahead
of me;
not knowing how
I follow
and thank you
for being black
and walking the same way I do.

I mean...the same direction.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

You come:
blessing
me,

falling over
me,

running down,
covering
me.

Slipping lower:

me
sitting, smiling​​​​​​​​​, watching
(you & me)
growing older
outside

you
​inside-out
washing-lover
you.​​​​​​

I lost him
still saying
loving was for keeping
always and holding
onto.

I lost him still
holding
my breath with my hand
over my heart,
still

dropping
my (day-dream) ice cream
in the sand
and

giggling
still-born soapy bubbles
into the wind.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

​from 'Other endings' in Goodbye Songs & Thank-you Notes