Monday, 14 March 2011
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
False Syllogism
I am a character in one of those primitive racing games, the colourful scenery flies past me and I am static, bar the occasional impromptu sideways lurch.
The finish line, the solution, the redeemer reaches me, I don't reach it.
I clutch the steering wheel tokenistically. I fool the passenger beside me: I am not in control at all. The grain of the view through the rear window is incongruent; the scenery repeats itself every ten yards. Unheimlich. I am stuck, I am a rooted passenger and this will not cease until the end of the road arrives.
The finish line, the solution, the redeemer reaches me, I don't reach it.
I clutch the steering wheel tokenistically. I fool the passenger beside me: I am not in control at all. The grain of the view through the rear window is incongruent; the scenery repeats itself every ten yards. Unheimlich. I am stuck, I am a rooted passenger and this will not cease until the end of the road arrives.
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
One Hundred Years
Butterflies float into my room
In fatal, terminal yellow,
Blossoming with weary gloom,
Abandoning the sludge below.
Asphyxiated by the riotous chill;
Like the returning foetus
With an impulse to kill,
Dragging through the dew beneath us.
My heart's anatomy erupts
In the morning's bleak beams;
Choking and spluttering
Over last night's dreams.
If this rabble resists my death,
Darling - please call when I catch my breath?
In fatal, terminal yellow,
Blossoming with weary gloom,
Abandoning the sludge below.
Asphyxiated by the riotous chill;
Like the returning foetus
With an impulse to kill,
Dragging through the dew beneath us.
My heart's anatomy erupts
In the morning's bleak beams;
Choking and spluttering
Over last night's dreams.
If this rabble resists my death,
Darling - please call when I catch my breath?
Thursday, 10 February 2011
Subsultus
I am drained, something sears through my chest. I cannot contend with this again.
Water gathers around my eyeballs and it must clear because I am a man, and people are looking at me.
I want to collapse and pass out, to erase everything, because walking through this town feels like a funeral procession.
There is an echo, you metamorphised. The view from our flat is irretrievable.
We exhumed our relationship and fought like stags, and I gave up, forcing my forehead against the wall to knock myself out.
I wake up like a murderer every day, I have repressed the memory of you, the concealed body. I am in denial, such have I hidden you, and then I wake and you return and my heart pounds. This is too much to carry, I will be caught.
The bloody tissue, my nervousness when I lie and touch my face.
France appears; books, illness, depression, the Tate, Andersen's grave appear.
There is always an indicator.
To sleep sweetheart, to rest.
Water gathers around my eyeballs and it must clear because I am a man, and people are looking at me.
I want to collapse and pass out, to erase everything, because walking through this town feels like a funeral procession.
There is an echo, you metamorphised. The view from our flat is irretrievable.
We exhumed our relationship and fought like stags, and I gave up, forcing my forehead against the wall to knock myself out.
I wake up like a murderer every day, I have repressed the memory of you, the concealed body. I am in denial, such have I hidden you, and then I wake and you return and my heart pounds. This is too much to carry, I will be caught.
The bloody tissue, my nervousness when I lie and touch my face.
France appears; books, illness, depression, the Tate, Andersen's grave appear.
There is always an indicator.
To sleep sweetheart, to rest.
Monday, 7 February 2011
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