a shimmer

of pain

mirage, you are

in your hot, hot heat

like quake, quiver, ripple

rise up

an apple

and choke, chafe, writhe

as I

breathe deep

and hold on

tempest

and in that infernal sob
something echoed against mine
quite possibly it was kindred
but i could be mistaken

gusty and precious and stormy it was

fair, fairer, fairest

I am terrified of this place:
the mirror stark and unforgiving,
dust balling in great swathes on the laminate.
Standing stock-still, eyes diverted
to middle distance and no further.
Lets not look upon it
'case a choking tear alert
and beacon unending disgrace.

Yet when the urge swells in me
momentarily I forget, it matters not
that cold, ugly shells encase.
But the sugar wings are shards now
delinquent in their grace
The shame, the shame of
vulgarity never ceases to amaze.

The Rubaiyat

The Moving Finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on; nor all your Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all your Tears wash out a Word.

Isn't it a fucker when karma is spent?

See the person you prayed on high would rot in squalor and shame
So early win the prize
And you're okay, you guess, not bad thanks for asking,
But haven't bagged the rosette, haven't a trophy to raise triumphant.

To say in passing, arms aloft and apathetic eye:
"Look. See. it was you all along,
Bad apple, not me.
I've won my reparations fair and square."

Why aren't you in a bedsit, like I pictured:
Making tea with soured milk,
Eating your cellophane cuisine alone
Touching yourself under soiled sheets as you dream of me?

Fuck your precious "love"
Your unending "commitment"
All of your abortive words
You of all people do not deserve them

You know what?
I want nothing of you
not love, certainly not love!
Getting even would be enough,
but it doesn't seem to be working out that way.