Five-Forty A.M.

In the midst of sleep
I think I hear the sound
of schoolchildren playing
it comes back and back
so close, a halo
in the blue dark
causing a warm smile
with a remember
and then a forget
because 
in the morning;
that doesn’t happen anymore.

Ele Mental

It appears 
we move
in different ways

I see the world
as if I were a whale
breaching
from a kaleidoscopic
eternal sea

to me you are
fire
as it scorches a trail
over mountains
chasing life
quickening 
and consuming.

To Fall Asleep

Under my blindfold
a quiet tear
of rapture
falls from an eye
as I try
to fall
asleep in your arms

bliss
swells inside me
to be here
in this bind
of bodies
deliquesced

as though you are ivy
and I
ancient ruins

and like sun beats down
on the red desert’s belly
you’re an envelope of heat
on my skin
bare
and seeking

you’re an entire fucking canyon
miles long
and deep
and wide
and I
the air between it

I fly
in spins
on a fairground ride
safe from falling
restrained
in careful limbs

through my torso
goes your heartbeat
life’s original lullaby
whilst the softest
of exhales
waltz over my spine

in blindness
I bathe
in colours
and think maybe
I can recall
a moment unborn.

DTLA

I don’t believe in trees here

there is one, outside the window
a lonely palm above the freeway
to whom I sometimes say hello
but even she does not seem of earth
when she waves back in that cartoon way
birdless, without purpose
and boxed in cement
as am I

me, I uprooted
from the young brick and glass
spinning island city
who once nearly knew me
to switch horns for songs of sparrows
and windows for hot breezes
and towers of men for mountains
shadows for flowers and chains for space
dive-bar depression for sunset spirit

yet, here I sit in hidden panic
amid house plants pollution has wilted
faceless
as the souls of a thousand strangers
roar by minute after minute after minute;
sometimes I hear them crash
and they are always in a hurry
especially when I cannot sleep

there are no walls on the inside here
aside from the ones around our hearts
so in a steamy dark only candles can cause
the bath emerges my place to feel
in one breath, not a thing
in another, it all
in magnesium, I pray or beg
or something like release
allow tears to run
and sweat to be heavy
and wonder which holds more salt

I beat into my brain
I am not the unlucky one
just outside, are people unhelpable
they are sleeping sitting up
and here I cry because I cannot write?
because I long for the wild?
because I despise my ceiling?
how archaic! how shameful!

and then I miss my mother
and the hill I could be waking on
the smell of burning toast in cobbled streets
where the sky was always bigger
the sirens more rare
where forests were held near

I miss my twenties
and the dreams I would make
untainted
I miss the permission time gave to fail

it is hard to believe in trees these days
and days trick
suspended and fled
I have not found home
cannot go back to what was
so in seeds I seek potential
with a car park for a yard
there is a key to for flight
to join all the nameless
who undoubtedly
are racing someplace.

Snooze

Environment feigns timeless
the power of blackout blinds
3 am streetlighttrafficmoon glow
or dawn chorus
unbeknownst
to one of us

my awareness missed the moment:
your movements in leaving bed
a sense of betrayal sweeps
not at the act of absence
but in my foolish contentment
mistaking warm back 
body presence
still, still there

eyes missed the little stove light too
since silk weighs upon them
the whir of blades
birthing coffee dust
appear as a dream imposter:
an alien or helicopter

but what really caused my stirring
is the tip tap on your laptop keys
like little horses in the dark
hurried, hurried
suspended…hurried…tap.

I twist my wrists to click
pull sheets to brows
yawn, stretch, curl again
inhale tiny steaming brew pieces
through nose, to heart, brain
and sigh a smile of snoozing bliss
grateful to share a sleepy life
with you.

Fever Storm

My back is a sea garden
a coral reef, burst
jutting out of shallow depths
beached, in the surf
where my legs of heavy driftwood
cower from the break

the tide becomes a fever
it crumbles
my heart of shell dust

breath faints into grains

the wind offers shivers
as waves borrow my heat
only to return it burning

I question strength to swim unaided 
I question credence in the shore
and allow currents to take me
curled and lifeless

Poseidon must eat.

Autumn Poem

The essence
of the air this morning
would go perfectly
with a warm croissant

I wonder if these sense memories
we attach
to childhood moments
might ever lose their power

I don't remember enough
years and names
places and pains
are lost in me, somewhere faded

but then without effort
a breeze takes me back
to the breakfast I had
in May of ninety—eight

I can see every detail
of the photos on the wall
I can hear my Mother's voice
shouting we'll be late

sometimes it's a song
that reminds me of when I loved someone
or when the evenings come earlier
I smell leaves I once walked on

I cannot smell an orange
being peeled by a stranger
and not think of my Father
sitting by the fire

I cannot hear
a blackbird sing
without being six, in England
jumping off a swing

and I hope this process
of nostalgia creating
keeps on storing up
as my years build through me

I hope I'll be eighty
and the angle of an autumnal sun
will transport me to this afternoon
drinking coffee in bed with you.

Slipping Away

I’m slipping away
you probably haven’t even noticed
but I thought I’d let you know
just incase
there’s anything you’d like to try
to do about it

I’m slipping away
to a place far from your heart
and honestly I’d rather not

I would have liked to stay
atop our island, in love
but
things changed
and now I’m on my way
away
a little further gone each day
and there’s not a thing I can do now
to stop it or slow it

but you could
if only you cared enough to.

Marine Layer

There are voices in the fog
the child said again
there are shapes 
I can’t explain
and many ways to dance

we could dance 
my father wished
with lands disregarded 
and oceans skipped across
or borders thought away

there are answers
shut in cells
it seems like they are hiding
but that is just the limit of eyes
and another fault of time

there is a mother in every part of me
although my body has never conceived
I play that you are already made 
peaceful in the higher dark
unaware of the wait I make

claiming hummingbird’s paths
as custom made signs
is a selfish game
somedays
and others easy to believe in

I ran in to your memory
again this morning
it gripped my heart with cold fingers
that would not release
and left dents for a long while after 

science remains unsure
how eels reproduce
and such a thing brings me hope
at the secrets under all the mysteries
bigger than this.

Crop Circle/A Murder Of Crows

There stands the wind beaten shack
once it was blue
now faded to the tones
of the never ending field

a murder of crows
have no concern
for where the sunflower seller goes
come winter

the caws grow closer
they are saying something
but the cars are too loud
she went the other way

the sun seems tired
there’s a violet in the air
like a starving snake beams slither
then pounce and pierce the skin

think of all the things
that can’t feel the cold
this door could swing a thousand years
with no place to be sad

reason is buried here
irrelevant to the road
each crop and harvest being nothing more
than a dandelion in a breeze. 

The Windy Fire

Today the sky is bleeding
it doesn’t hurt
yet
like the illusion will:
a reminder that
almost
anything can burn
especially this house, these leaves
every one of my dreams
you

the center may be far
for now
the smoke blowing south
has made the sun a boil 
upon ashed skin
and where daylight should be
a slow cast
like a flame passed through a ruby

it’s been dusk since 8am
a beautiful day for a photoshoot?
of your brand new face
and clean hair
for sale
I was ugly last week but 
today blue eyes dazzle pink
red light is often flattering

this whole city is a brothel
these days
(was it ever not?)
in fact, the planet should exhort:
sleep at your own risk
die at your own pace
it will all be over soon

the tree frogs don’t seem to care
at least I think that’s what they are
I’ll never see one 
will always hear some
and the image is sweeter to bear

but fuck
I wish they’d eat the mosquitoes better.

Catatonia

Catatonia
the anchor sings
as she buries her barnacled arrow
lethargically
in mud
never seen

she sings
I stay this way so that you can dream.

Holiday Romance

Romance is much like
going on a holiday
somewhere nice
hot
and sunny

you’re sure you’re gonna love it
before you’ve arrived
you invest in it
before you know it
spend your money
spend your time
you anticipate
you fantasise

you get there
it’s all exciting
you giggle and you smile
inside and ear to ear
as you float
past the pool
and skip to the beach
and moan in ecstasy
with your first dip in the sea

this brand new climate
feels ‘different’
on your skin
it’s what you’ve been craving

the hot sun
makes your stomach flutter
you deeply breathe in
this new
yet familiar scent

you find thrills
in all the little things
those usually mundane
like your bed
like the fridge
like breakfast
like television
or the shower
you have a view
you haven’t had before
and out there
seems indefinite

then
time goes by
like it always does
feeling both
like a flash
and like a forever
the new things become normal
your senses adjust

and unless this place
is fated
to become your home
soon
the sink is just a sink
your bed could treat
your back better
the pillows could be
more suited
to the way you like to lay

and now the pool is lucky
if you choose you use it
the sea bores you when it’s calm
but with waves it’s too rough

all of those details
that first left you in awe
like the light
like the birds
like the flowers
and the breeze
gradually begin
to go totally unnoticed

the sand becomes a nuisance
you exhaust the food menu
there’s nothing left
to try

maybe it rains
from the skies
that had promised blue

maybe you’re left
red and burnt
from the sun that promised warmth

you realise your room
that seemed special
and fit to you
actually makes you feel contained
and you long for something
newer
bigger
brighter
safer
or you crave where you came from
you miss your own apartment
you idealise your past

the trip comes to an end
as was predetermined

you’ll leave with pictures
some of which
when developed
might remind you of moments
soaked in passion and beauty
or perhaps they’ll turn out
to be a peculiar blur
of accident or failure

you’ll end up grateful
for your tan
once the blisters peel away
and almost absolutely
you’ll go
somewhere similar again
headfirst
seeking
the same old ideals
in a different place

maybe you’ll go
over and over again
sending postcards
keeping souvenirs
until one day
infatuation
proves to be love
and your home finds you.

Transient Love

My love for him died
when his roses did
the gift he gave
it’s life
limited to days
dried up and wilted
as was always intended 
for that beautiful bouquet
no natural way
around it

some things
are just meant
to be this way
blooming
quickly
cut from roots
thirsty
drinking up and up
transient
but no less pretty
despite ending up in the rubbish
eventually.

Blind Drive

Whenever I leave
I’ll be driving 
in to the hour
of the blinding sun
its distant depression
and this departure
always coinciding

and my windscreen will be smeary
so hard to see
clear
suddenly
a long time coming
even with the visor down
head tilted back right
shading my eyes
kind of

I’ll see only the lines
who guide
immediately in reach
the rest I’ll guess
and hope
(I guess)
seeking relief 
in each 
approaching
curve manoeuvred
and passing car missed

and on the way down
it’s a different veil

glares
now behind me
and in the mirrors
still 
hard 
to make out
what happened
where we were
what’s creeping up — 
note to self
don’t let the glass
get so dirty
again
(you could wait forever
for the ideal time).

There Is A Song

There is a song that swarms around you
with its chorus of lights who dance to it
vibrating, loyal, and magnetic
deep with gold and suspense
it's a symphony that follows me into sleep
and there tangles with your scent
a safe breath of life
so constant and inviting

I take your hand and it tells me secrets
I show you mine and they become written
there is a world out there in hiding
which I wish to take you to
with laughing rivers that call to us
parts of which only your dream eyes
are able to guide me through
there are meadows in wait for our rest

you’re a child skipping in weekend sun
out beyond curfew, dusty & grazed
pockets heavy with treasures to show
I’ll hold each one and hear its tale
with jewels of my lands to offer you
there is sweetness in your heart
even you are yet to witness
and wisdom worthy of the masses

your beauty is like that of the skies
impossibly un-tiresome
and never once will be the same
you have shone on my breaks
and brought healing to light
you have shown me your scars
and let me kiss them

I have wished for your dreams
and for my place to play
now I wish for your reckless joy
I wish to hold you in storms
to shield us from desert winds
I wish to run in the waves while we laugh
I wish to fly and fall down
to land softened by your sight
that dances my way to your song.