Fish

It seems on my side
Of the clicker
There’s a distortion
In the truth
Minor adjustments
For absent
Minded screensavers
Folders, of youth
It’s there to find
Scanned, ready
For the printing press
To run on
Sunday’s holy suckling
I wanted a bite
An ordinary slice
Of evenly distributed
Baked, moist, pie.
Her heart’s not in it
Though, I’m plugging
Away with mild milk
Still laced
With last night’s joke
It doesn’t echo
Falls dead
Flattened by an attempt
To concoct a phrase
That’ll unlock
That level up
To reach ninety-nine percent
It works, under pressure
Almost every single time
With a trawlers net to keep
The fish from the brine

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Fish

Sharp

Love is impossible
A weakness I won’t allow
Myself to indulge
An idea, so swollen
Its glands are the buoys
On which we stand.
Islands, of summer
Stories of winter’s retreat
The courting flowers
Pass from hand to hand
Feeling another life
Intimately breathing in sync
For what?
To undo the damage
I cause when I look
Without love or grace
Encased in my own rapture,
My heart was never given
In this financial agreement.
Love, she sought
To ease the flame
Burning brighter on youthful
Cheeks, sun-kissed
White hot peeling flakes
Drift off to feed
Skin, touching skin,
But I can’t let this vulnerable
Chip on my shoulder
Define what I am
Valves and shocks
Electric sizzle
Microwaveable parts
Print out the solution.
To woes not yet wooed
Deep under wired roots
Stones, as yet unturned
Crumble under sharp shoes

Sharp

Band

How come you all feel so much love?
When I can only feel indifference
I leak from one small hose pipe
Washing the ground in its aroma
Marking my stall to halt the progress
On any advancing warmth
It’s a small crime
Forgiven in empathetic nests
Advancing the linking of wires
Between bird brains and dope for the head
Suck it in with support.
Be overwhelmed by the flaw
Smothered in love by a dead man
Who fulfilled the parental sub-clause
He caressed, he cajoled, he exhumed
The judgement, the invisible hand
I escaped, I became, I dissolved
The pernicious family band

Band

Ode to a Poor Screaming Child Afraid of The Heat Death of The Universe

I have a primal urge to find a lifelong mate
I’m a hidden treasure to excavate
Thoughtful child of thirty-one
Enjoys self-destruction in the sun
Morosely prodding intrusive thoughts
I like to write lists of all my faults
My larynx works, my posture bent
Still haven’t learn to pitch a tent
Outside, there’s danger at every turn
A mollusc, a man, a lesson to learn
But sod the local earth-centric view
I think about the intergalactic news
A tiny spec of cosmic dust
Who thinks about the universe
How its matter will lose its spark
From my carbon to a tiny quark
It’s absurd to feel a sexual need
To reproduce a miniature version of me
A skulking toddler, leans into my ear
Asks “Daddy, why on Earth am I here?”
I can’t explain the causal link
Between the anthropocene and kitchen sink
Maybe I made a huge mistake
But now I know, it’s far too late
To be the seed that won the race
To fear the vacuum outside of space
I sleep on borrowed time and breath
From a Universe ever nearing its heat death

Ode to a Poor Screaming Child Afraid of The Heat Death of The Universe

Bounce

A cool breeze had come over me
The river breaking through the sandbanks
Tidal waves rhythmically crashing onto
Jagged, weathered rocks
I took deep breaths, the sea followed
My little puppet, restless and destructive
She had dark brown hair and blue eyes
Like so many of us do
Photogenic skin, soft and clean
The waters calm, for now
Sleeping peacefully through
The kindest years
An alarm clock rings, and we
Shut it off for a few more weeks
As the early season storms
Blow away any return
To a deep summer slumber
Brown leaves grey and white
Anxiously washing away
Downstream, through the puddles
To the lake, to an ocean
But soon, we’ll be dry
Caught by a bank
During an insurance storm
We only bounce back
So many times

Bounce

Habit

Should we meet face to face
Not screen to screen or
Keyboard to keyboard
Uncertainty in the eye of the sender
Picking out an imperfect mark
At thirty-five pixelated paces
Looking for an excuse
To avoid changing my routine
Swiping left for melancholy
But feeling justified in rejection.
Even if she is worth it
One day her face will sag
Wrinkles weather my vanity
With an exasperated demeanour
I’m tiresome, an old git
Never staring into a mirror
For fear of what it might reflect
I can only imagine the face
I used to wear at twenty-five
Wasn’t much of a groomer
Bad habits never scrubbed off
The grime from my pores
Easier to be cynical than dress
Appropriately for the occasion
She holds her drink like she was
Taught to be courteous
This love, a poisoned wine
I think I muttered it forcefully
Enough for her to leave
I’m rational and sober
Drinking tap water
Overgrown strands of hair
Hide the crocodile tears
The bottled up emotion
Slipping through the small
Gaps in between my teeth.
A small submissive ape
Philosophising about being
Misunderstood, when all
I wanted was what I had anyway

 

 

 

Habit

Outline

I’m still trying to prove
Something of value lurks
Inside this precious metal
A gift, or a token, a symbol
Of following orders?
I look back wearily at
Each decade I’ve worn it
Pour scorn on lessons learnt
The times I left myself wide open
Sticking the knife in for not
Having the foresight
To prepare, or to improvise
Making peace with a woman
That makes me frown
Even after all this time
I can still hear a young voice
Whispering into my ear
Her first impression left
The biggest crater
But its outline hardly
Resembles the monster
I rue the day I met

Outline