Books

The books fell through the night, I guess
But even I can tell the difference
Between an accident and theft
They were torn at the edges
Like your nightdress
A chapter spilling out
To reveal an important verb
It has four letters, sometimes seven
It’s the way that it’s told
Not the words themselves
Words never hurt
It’s the tone of your voice

The books fell through the night, I guess
I was soundly counting
The machines that compress
Shepherds to sheep
Sheep herds to meat
The bleating ringing louder
Than my electric dreams

The books fell throughout the night, I guess
Their ghosts came off the page
To throw themselves in protest
At not being read
Arrest them
Like noble champions of a cause
They become the folly of the floor
But the shelves are replenished
With a print waiting to fall

The books fell through the night, I guess
It was an accidental stacking
Procedural caress
I could only love them from afar
Hanging close enough to brood
Each end neatly laid
But seldom will I be soothed
The voice trapped inside
Bumps closer to the edge
But I will not lay and draw warmth
From any of them again

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Books

Boxing

Kick those voices
With a good steal
Boot sale in the back
Silver lining shrapnel
Picked up tat
Under the leather
Shredded endeavour
Maker’s mark on fine
Printed souls
War and tear
Names rubbed off
In the decade
Since I bought
The lock
They grumbled at night
I placed masking tape
To keep the words
From appearing on record
Overdubbed between licks
I’d forgotten they existed
Till I opened it by mistake
Now, they speak fluently
Darting across the room
Just out of harms reach
Like a cat, boxing
Ring manners
No punch thrown
Till the bell end
In the middle
Turns his back

Boxing

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

Fish

Elegant

I’ve been given my injections
Jabbed in the arm
All the armoury I need
From a word floating
Through the air
Like an elegant dancer
Shape and form
Twirling through the gaps
Heat seeking missile
Dynamite on impact
But I’m standing tall
A diplomat of importance
Over-reaching my area
Straining to leech
Bloodsuckers in baths
It’s difficult to sleep
Without guards to halt
An airborne attack
The tiny dancer
Whistles in the wind
Carefully throttled
By a little voice
Whispering into my ear

Elegant

Panic

It’s common courtesy
When having a panic attack
To check everyone is fine to deal
With the aftermath
A quick heads up.
Disaster planning.
Alight here for self-destruction
And other harmful activities
It’s not that I’m anxious of
The tiny disruption I cause
It’s the cosmic insignificance
Being smaller than a quark
Still remembering to treat
Others with care
Even if it’s an empty gesture
From deep within the despair
It’s impossible to see
Beyond the empty space
Impulsive need to sabotage
The hapless animal in the cage
Darkness spreads through my pupils
Bleeding into the whites
Eyes that look infected
Vision losing sight
I feel nothing but the fear of death
Dragging me from this brief
Breath above the blackness
The act between two sleeps
Between something and nothing
Before the morphine eases pain
The dream of a hot, white light
Cools to blackness as it fades
For millennia the core spins
Till there’s nothing left
But a timeless return to the void
Space no longer bereft

Panic

Indecision Maker

Indecision maker
No shaker or stirrer
Water, still pure

Bringer of silence
No offence or offense
Patient, not carer

Reader of packets
Food colouring vices
Oranges, wait for a hand

Incision delayer
The purveyor of mal
Contempt, with oneself

Frozen spectator
Creator of statues like
Being, gazing in fear

Preserver of stoics
No heroics in halting
Stateless, breathing ceases

A lost hour of time
No crime purged like the
Waster of watches

Divisive evasion
No ovation for standing
Alone, childlike

Blanker of passers
Advancers with words left
Cold, unanswered

Indecision maker
Unshaker of sails
Salt, leaking through pores

Indecision Maker