Friday, 15 April 2011

(disintegration) theorem

The cradle broke.
I didn't see it coming,
spoke no words,
let my body bend -
curve over the air
turn upon recrimination
allowed the indication of my being

Tear ducts
cinder dry closed sores,
the recourse of dreaming
frightens me -
let me be someone else...


Her bones are brittle
under sunlight,
calcify through the night
until dawn peaks,
when I may retreat
from my watchful stance -
perched on haunches.

My body is a tomb
for you,
before the day is born
before I ache.
My body is barren now
turned inside out,
I can feel the skin
lining my throat

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

letters of apology

Haemoglobin gloats,
floats upon the water
my son
crouches on the periphery
between life and
here -
my void of being.


should he burn,
his skin peel
to be reborn
in the arms of another woman,
a mother.

These are my questions...

through shadows
I crave
warmth to cast
deep long shards of sunlight
over translucent skin.
Fever breaks as cold sweats,
rolling over the bow
of a ghost ship

Twenty-seven thousand miles
I shall crawl,
bare boned over grains of sand
carved sharply
to torture my journey
back to you,
always you,
laid sleeping on my chest


He is my gravity,
my natural phenomenon.
Through my feet
I shall drive
two twelve inch nails
to keep me grounded.

My apologies
scatter far
and wide,
across the vista from our porch
and I know
they are meaningless
scraps of paper
in my absence.

Monday, 11 April 2011

acquiescent in essence

Splitters of you penetrate
spitefully under the tips
of my fingers,
I have tried gnawing you out
freeing you from the confines
of my alabaster flesh.

I used to be supple,
now an intransient supplicant
washed out over blackened print
of divinities frail words,
where has forever gone

It is here with you,

I was to be your lover
under swathes of pale
blue Caribbean water.

The body remains
peacefully muted
on a bed of palm fronds,
lips parted
as if waiting for a final breath.

I wanted to bury her
beneath the sand,
you said there wasn't time,
eager to feed a hunger.

My tears are lost,
stolen by the sea
lapping at my feet
too much salt upon my tongue.

Am I cured;
simply raw beneath the surface

Laid in the crook of your arm
eyes closed against a day
fearful of the sight of you,
my courage prefers the shade
of long drunken nights

Whispers roll as waves
across browning skin
hers or mine
I cannot tell the difference anymore.

We always were
acquiescent in essence

let the lying lips be put to silence

Don't presume my innocence
before you speak my name,
we never expected recrimination
through a halo of lies,
the ilk of nature
over nature
courses deep into the night.

Women walk
draped in velvet and taffeta,
callous - weathered
beneath breath they speak
in nakedness,
slow constricted vowels
these words...

"Let the lying lips be put to silence;"
Psalms 31:18,

...ripple across lips,
pulled back
exposing missing teeth,
rotted from the festering venom
pooled under serpent tongues.

I have been split
forked across to halves
or beings,
brittle boned and swathed
in moulding cloth,
here is my birth...

Symmetry bemoans duty,
I made my mother cry
in fits of delinquent temper
as I fell from the peddle stool.
A reflection
cracking under the weight
of a heavy or heavenly virtue

I have turned to stone

Imagery carved under skin
in ink and ash,
we knelt at your alter
alternated positions
to ease your tired back
from the groaning pain
of teaching us our lessons


I can hear music.
She danced  across the water
drifted far out to sea
to sit upon rocks,
calls out the name of
begging for him to come -
collect her sin and take it back
beyond the river.

Her vision distorts
contorts with the wind,
aggrieved by the storm
swelling upon the horizon -
akin to the man.

We feel into you
backward until staked
upon  doctrine
upon recollection
gut symmetry.

I am not your passion,
a recreation -
a biological echo of your sin,
the apple of your eye

"who will make me a liar, and make my speech nothing worth?"
Job 24:25, 

pusillanimity's twin

I had been sleeping with butterflies
until bees sprung up
form between my petals
and stung you on the mouth.
Suede lust,
animal skin holds its scent,
life captured
as its ripped from a carcass,
snared in a man trap

It was a man.

He was a man before
we anchored him to wooden stakes
through his limbs,
I tied the ropes myself
until my hands bleed,
I liked the calluses,
chewed the skin
to keep the sores open

I wear red ribbons in my hair
they dance on a breeze,
conjured up by our cajoling -
howling and foot stamping
under the gaze
of a waning autumnal sun.

Lucky me,
I found my revolution
hidden beneath my womanhood,
under my left breast
before I removed it,
turning black in the sun.

But still she didn't come
to stand beside me.

pennyroyal oil tea

I have woven webs
of intricate lace and dust
into my wedding dress,
my wounds are painted in lipstick
and blush,
evensong burns on my tongue .

(Y)our  church rocks
in the wind
under the force of earth
 venting spirits
caught in her belly,
children never seeing light

day – night – dawn dusk,
dreams resting on fingertips

Superstitious women    
forced heather into my hands,
they saw me
standing silent at the lake
watching fireflies,
pathos in indignation.

Twisted claws -
my hands un-ringed,
cramp claims them for its own.
Where has my potassium gone,
magnesium sulphate mutes my voice
when I am lost at sea.

When I was younger we sat
drinking pennyroyal,
kissing the sun before I discovered
running with the wolves
through fields,
snow covered from September.

First frost coming
before the fashion of men
under my quilted blanket,
should I have folded back
upon myself to accommodate need
 restless under the many folds
of placid skin

Pieces have scattered to the wind
torn from my book of prayer,
I cannot remember
(Mother) Maria whispering in my ear
words of Latin tangled in my hair,
I remember her palm
across my face.

Tenderness or torment

My mind twists around your
even voices,
sane so they say
standing over in contemptuous robes

The funeral possession is slow
low to the ground,
I can be cruel
I don't know why.

Birds circle over head
waiting for bones
to become frail,
we shall all lay here alone
at some point,
slowly disappearing
into the earth

oil (crude)

I want to peek
At your oil,
Let it soil me.
Feel it slide across my skin
The slippery slick
Sick substance.

I want your sin
Spread not thinly but thick
Deep and sleek into grooves
Smooth it is not-
Abrasion gives me more
Understanding of myself

Teach me.

I felt the removal of you
From the inner confines
Of my fake womanhood,
The wake of your
Tears a wound
None can stitch

I have sown my mouth,
Knitted south the infusion
Of my being
from this place.
The space - vast
Cast by the long shadow
Of you

Your peak oil comes
In a rush,
Not lengthy
But briefly.
This is a lifetime
In my time.
I am your unnatural disaster

the washateria

I can't get it clean
This unseen stain,
Perhaps I should refrain
From staring
Caring that it exists,
Consist of irresponsible

My mother taught me
That paying attention
To men intentions
Was the explicit instruction
Of a woman,
I learnt this while still tied
To the umbillicus.

Often I were fastidious
In my work,
Would not shirk request
No even if
It created less of me
To free from this circle.

I turn in a decreasing
Circumference of living,
Sinning sanity and staining
Now my mother is irritated-'
More inflamed
While I am shamed at my

I have all the money I could need
But won't buy a washer
To clean my dirty laundry
At home,
And though they stone me
As I walk along the street
I cannot retreat into shadows.

so I sit, watching the problem
Through the wet, wash, rinse
Spin cycle,
Knowing there is no repentance,
I forlorn at the washateria
Watching my reflection.