And As For Love?

"Ice-cream with coconut mushrooms",
"In driving rain to Windsor",
"Your head on my lap so gently"
What do these things mean?"
He said

a leading question.

" " I replied

He said he felt it. He knew it. He had it in his arms.
I said: " "

I took of your flesh and drank all your tea
but I don't feel it

Guilt surges. I never intended not to love you.

I talk of it as if I knew it well:
I, this cold
I, this warm
this void,
this blossom
too jaded,
impure
I, listless melancholic,
and in wanting:
talk as if I had it

Pysanka

Who is asking?
I'm not here

Barren as a pysanka
with all it's early promise
hunted by a serpent
and found wanting

Still quite hollow
If you tap me

Weird Dreams Part II

So I'm lying on this bed, right. Surrounded by photographers and agents and hangers-on. Because that's what I do, like. Being Gisele and that.

Through the window I see two dogs prowling. Rabid grey hounds, eyeing me up hungrily. I don't understand why, it's not like I'd make a very meaty meal. Suddenly everyone has left and I'm half-naked and windowless. The dogs make a run at me, snarling, I can see them baying for my blood, I can actually see it in their eyes, yeah? So I sprint out the door, sweat beading on me and stand out in the street. I can tell I'm their rabbit , but I stand still a while, terrified beyond reason, as the black one with the torn ear steps near.

Fuck. Now I'm swiping, battering with. What's this? The cardboard innards of a toilet roll? I kill one. It drops to my feet, the blood spurting-out, flowing and curling round my bare toes.

I'm running. Being pursued, feeling jaws clenching and nipping at my ankles I turn and furiously stab at the other one. I'm hitting his head hard, I hear his skull crack. In terror I turn a corner and grapple my way up a hill. I'm standing in the street in what looks like the Desperate Housewives set and noticing specks of dog's blood staining my slip, pesky stains.

A limping beast rounds the corner. It's snout is hanging off, it's scarred carcass shows the wounds of battle. I could have left it there. Walked away.

But I run back and kill it, smash it apart with the cardboard tube, leave a corpse in my wake.

Mess is decadent for a while, at least
Then irksome, troublesome and woeful thereafter

So

I am so bored of you
so wrecked of another
so drastically planning
my escape

riding one great wave yet tossed
so silently into the unformed sand
marking its caress with scars and purple prints
a lesson

I have two more this week:
one a gaping burn from the oven tray
another half moon sits in the crux of an arm

the second was immaculate
conceived unknowing
half smiling but too wide by half again

I have fallen
it is more real than anything so far encountered
more true than anything they give me
a part of me unlike any other