bluish love

this tired blue love

in a dusty stinking corner

lies orphaned,abandoned.

if it had eyes to see

it would our desertion

if it had ears to hear

it would our silence

if it had a nose to sense

it would our putrefaction

if it had a mouth to taste

it would our bitterness.

perhaps it was good after all

there was no face

to go with the name.

too much shame

is sometimes

left off

without a word

on moonless nights

in dusty stinking corners.

falling/ fallen

something's missing

or someone

one can't be sure.

its a gaping manhole

and somebody's run off

with the lid

and i keep falling

into the grime and muck

at the heart of things

getting used

to not chasing meaning

(lofty purposes can go climb a tree.)

i need to find a way

to get out of this hole

or not.

in which case

any suggestions

to make it comfortable

are welcome.

'anybody there?'
anybody there?

echoes back.

conversations

Talk to me.

Keep talking to me.

You are not the comfort of candid conversation. Nor the reservoir of shared soothing nonsense. 

Why do I need you then?

Perhaps because You and I, We, have always belonged together. In our serious silences. In reaching out. Never. Always. In reaching in. Always. Never. We hide our little secrets and live out our lies. Saying what needs to be said – of lovely winter mornings that seem to give life meaning, not the foggy nights they followed and which we stayed awake through. Alone in sunsets, we promise sunrise to all and sundry. But ourselves. Patience, love, sacrifice. We have heard those and passed them on dutifully without having to believe. We belong for we can pretend and live it out. The choices we make are hungry sad choices devoid of conviction and rigged towards the repentant. We stand across unfathomable distances and know how unbridgeable the gap is. We belong because we have always known. The language of loss makes for good silent conversations. We belong because we have had those. And only those. The world mills around happiness. There is no need to find a place there. It is sitting at home, after the party is over, surrounded by the mess of others’ making, which is but my own, that I think of you. And that is when you have been in the middle of your own little celebration. We belong because our desires are ill timed, and our needs unfulfilled in one another. You and I together are like life. Predictable and reliable only in the promise of our instability and discomfort. Fierce loyalists of infidelity, we belong together. You and I. Let us go then.

star gazing

Stifled screams come loose

in a moment of silence

and rush for the stars.

They will only feel

a rustle of leaves

an unexpected breeze

in the dead of winter.

Someday it will explode

that smoldering speck

in the night sky

And as my tears rain down

they will wonder

why the heavens

poured ashen.