The Stretch, Star-crossed to Nothing & Three Drawers

The Stretch

And so it’s dark here; beckoned by night to fear
Nigh door-smashers coming to hearken in the
Flowing halogen of doomscapes implacably
Hostile.
A fuzzy little minimalist bauble of lint as
Dark as the F# A# ¥ cover and reverent in
The mutating sleeps of the resonating gills;
Forgotten men on postage stamps break
Stone with pitchforks. A life looking broken
In souls sapped by the proxies of multimedia
And lapsarian arias discordant in their propensity.

A laugh is stifled by the faders at the film’s end
And stretched to an infinite endlessness, a cycle
In which the sacrosanct is not a place in which
To breathe or convalesce. The hallelujah lasting
Out a deepfreeze. That morning-in-a-dead-world
Feeling of a frost-bitten tarmac; men are making
Their hands callous with the imminence of equation
Plastered to a billboard of joys woed inside-out.

An elitist simpers to the subquated misanthrope
Of Hell, the miserly sanctuary of a confirmation -
Into an out-of, this is makepeace lost in an undulating
Forage, an earwax manikin of lordly inconvenience;
From the floor looks up a world of towers and down
A consortium of ants, and the demonic is the stretch.
No. Not the timeworn. No. Not the eternal. The stretch.

A feckless rodence schemes back-to-front on moors of
Mist. Perpetual insanity in quiet lyceums, monks in turbans
Doffed to catacombs of used condoms. There is a light that
Flickers in silence amongst the hills, mirage-like no distance
Can be judged; it hangs there in tortured red, bled of the
Breasts that bosom it. There is the quiescence of a howl
Practically blocked out of the meditating mind; a far-awayness
Of life ignored - in this plundered ignorance that cannot
Know the sum of its murdered parts. A plant stretches with
Photosynthetic will… Didn’t bat an aille lid.

Until redbrick lays sidewalked in demolished yesterdays
Next to a tomorrow craning the breezeblock to-be-felled.
There is a grey. Mosquito of simony, the euphemism of
Eucharist, a parasitic wall up against which are pissing
The recursions of infinitude. Wersh flavours and greasy
Corridors teeming with the minutiae of devils is the freckle
On the brick of the monument made in honour of the
Unlasting vomit stuck in the hair of life… Lost gains in the
Fishless sea of morning’s nights - an addiction in the
Coagulated loss of mental... Atrocity! Atrocity! A portly
Journey across the grey decay of a frozen desert for
The one who came to go to come again to sow to see |
Is bleeding in blindness, a ruin in continuum: elastic band:
Is stretched, by transporting water, in a sieve.


Star-crossed to Nothing

I lived the whole of today in a dream
And just woke up.
I’d talked to you; to my mother; I slaved
Over my work
And now it’s 3p.m. and the place
Is a mess.

We’re star-crossed to trail dustily;
Burning out in supernovae;
Shooting stars prompt heart
Attacks and collapse of non-
Believers, but every time I saw you
I saw a shooting star.

Coincidence is that cosmological
Palpitation of God getting it wrong;
His déjà vu blip in the grand nonplus
Whirl of cyclonic ever-decreasing circles:
A fugue shooting star, encircling inward
Star, wrapping, place, name, position, stellarly.


Three Drawers

Three drawers open to the same length
Makes one think one should be starting a life now,
Instead of making mistakes.

A room painted in neutral colours with pine
Furniture, in another’s house, shews him that there’s
The need for him in another (in him).

Asunder.

A loss of the daydew dreams, sunclung seams,
The harnessed suspended forever of yesterday’s
Dissemination coils our hopes in obfuscation.

Wakening to our face in the light of a suburb some
Halcyon mile away, with hedgerows and lemonade,
Is a wanton morn in mottled dawns, of dreams.