Skin and Bones

And suddenly, I see you
And you have no clothes, or skin or flesh
I see your bones
And I see the layers above them
And I see you in the most cold, biological way
And I imagine your shoulders moving,
Your mouth, your arms, your face
I see your muscles contracting
I see them pulling
I see them moving you
In the most literary sense of the phrase
And I’ve broken you down into pieces
And I’ve seen the blood moving out of your heart
I’ve seen you without any boarders, barriers, walls or dividers
I’ve seen you as skin and bones,
I’ve seen you as all that we are.

24 hours

24 hours left
You and me
Me and you
Until we leave
In two very different directions
To two very different places
24 hours to talk
24 hours to kiss
24 hours to see
In how many ways
Our bodies can tessellate
And sleep,
Your knees behind my knees
Your chest against my back
So for a while
We can pretend
That we are going in the same direction

20 Dec 2009

Portrait of a Shirt

In the day, it belongs to him
Its soft crispness accentuates
The angles of his masculinity
Its uniformity defines his place in the world,
his belonging

In the night, it belongs to no-one
Discarded quickly when lipstick stains
Begin to grow on the collar

In the morning, it belongs to her
Its size, shape and gentle creases of wear
Veil her femininity
Between the bed and the bathroom

Her perfume will remind him
Until it fades away for good.
While she hides away,
Mascara stains appear on the cuffs

Bidding a goodbye
That lasts long after she's gone
It lasts until the laundry's done

five-thirteen a.m. (insomnia)

I know you can read my poems
I let you, so it's OK
I try not to censor myself because you can read my poems
(I know you can, I don't know if you do)
I try to keep them real,
Expressions of me, my thoughts,
My varied, sometimes contradictory truths
That change as often as I do,
Never staying quite the same for too long
But always recognizable as each other
(Me and my truths, we are one and the same.
Or at least we were, at some point)
I try not to censor myself
(It's a bit stupid, I don't even know if you'll read this)
But there's one poem I kept for myself
(Just one, I'm not too greedy)
I wrote it when I last left you.
It's not depressing, soppy or too strong,
Just facts in poem form.
I know it won't stay mine for long.
I'll put it where you can see it soon enough.
But for now... It's staying mine.

16th Nov '09 (5:13am)

Dada Poetry and Fun with Wikipedia's Random Article!

Chanelling Tristan Tzara and his Dadaist poetry magic, I decided to write my own few Dada poems using the 'random article feature' on wikipedia. I'd click on random article and use that article as inspiration to write one line on a piece of paper... which I would then fold up and put in a scarf. Once I had 12, I pulled them out of the scarf at random and came up with the first poem. After I recorded it, I wrote another 12 and mixed them in with the first 12 (now 24), but pulled out only 12, recorded them, and wrote another 12. I mixed the 36 together but pulled out only 12 and wrote the third poem. A triumph of randomness? Perhaps.

DADA POEM I
It’s the act of tearing an object
Maybe I’ll find some money on St Teresa’s Day
Until I find you again –
An outdated, faded fleur-de-lis, barely visible above the doorway
Flies out to one of Cassiopeia’s stars
Why do I want to see you again?
A small village, in a small county, in a big forest
Limbs all akimbo
Body in limbo
The river winds its way through Vorarlberg
Enough to let me fly far, far away
Almost over!
Angels for Oliver!
Crystalline Mountains and freezing rain!

DADA POEM II
A small village, in a small country, in a big forest
Icelandic patronymics in Hollywood Viking films
I bought a bunch of crossed products
Until I find you again
Small villages, cabins covered in ice
Crystalline mountains and freezing rain
Stars swing in the skies: I’m dizzy now
Limbs all akimbo
Body in limbo
Nepalese villages, mountains and rice
Maybe I’ll find some money on St Teresa’s Day
It’s the act of tearing an object
Out of one of Cassiopeia’s stars

DADA POEM III
You used to want to buy a boat and sail down to Sicily
There’s an Indian butterfly in my doorway
I wouldn’t die for your sins
A flower sits on my window sill, turned away from the train
The flame burns longer than you think
What happened to that?
Stars swing in the skies, I’m dizzy now
It was a perfect day,
The creek flows 5 miles south
Cable cars between table tops
Third time lucky
You’re pushing me.

Alone

I'm sitting in bed, alone
Thinking of all the things I have to do here, alone
Listening to the man upstairs repairing
And, yes, I am alone.
And although I'm alone,
I'm thinking of you,
And I'm thinking that I'm not really alone,
And that if you could,
You'd be alone with me.
And we'd be alone together.
And we wouldn't really be alone,
We'd be two people,
Not sure where we're going,
Not sure where this is going,
Not sure if this is right,
But enjoying being alone, together.
Enjoying the perfection of the moment.
And just waiting for the snow.


October 17, 2009

A Dream

I thought I'd forgotten you,
Left your ghostly presence back home
In a chest full of old clothes, broken toys and cheap books.
I thought I left you in that niche,
An alcove where to hide lost love and heart-ache,
Distant enough to let life continue,
Close enough to refer to lessons I should have learned.
But you were here last night.
I saw you.
The rest,
The circumstance,
My subconcious eye decided to leave unfocused.
The photographer focused on your smile.
I'm sure you were here.
How else could your face have been so clear
If you were not right next to me,
Your features clear as day,
Photosynthesised into my mind by night
As though your face was next to mine.
And as I woke, I saw you there
Your face was on my pillowcase.
I pressed the snooze.
Went back to sleep.
When I woke again, you were gone.
Were you real?
Were you here?
Did you kiss me as you left?
I'm not sure,
I'll never know
I just know your smell lingers in the air.