Smoke

I met a caterpillar once 

She says

Clutching at the air

He smoked a pipe 

Left me all confused

You are just like him

She wipes a sticky mass of hair from her face

We are agitated and bored

Lying still

Breathing

Chewing

Counting

Turning a kaleidoscope of worries into black and white

She props herself up 

As if shifting her weight will change time

And space

It is all smoke and mirrors

No place to begin 

No obvious end

It really is a curious affair

I don’t think you intend to confuse me

But this adventure is far too tedious to enjoy any more

Her words lacerate my skin

Of that she knows

I shut down my muscles

Close my eyes tight

How could I be without her 

Indeed, who would you be without me

She says triumphantly 

Inhaling

I breathe

Clutch at the air

Wish upon a thousand stars that Caterpillar was here. 

Picture

It is hard to remember who we are

There is a picture somewhere

Crumbs on a plate

Huffing silver clouds

To pass the days

Hanging on an edge

Blue cold season storms

Snapping cracking

A bolt of lightning

Rumbling through bones and veins

An uneasy marriage 

Thought and body overlapping

Crimped limbs aching sighing

Stones cracking in the grass

In the night

We clutch at dreams 

There is never an end

We are capable and cruel 

Lost

Cold

I am scared she whispers

Everyone has gone away

We are in this maze

Praying

Huffing silver clouds

To pass the days 

No way out

Innocent traces lost

Huffing silver clouds 

To pass the days 

It is hard to remember who we are

There is a picture

Somewhere.

Reprieve

The flowers gape

We are looking up

All too hasty

For an end 

Or a reprieve

There is barely a difference any more

We do not flinch

The flowers gape

We are looking up

All too hasty 

For an end

Or a reprieve.

Star

It’s hard to remember sleep

How did I get so confused 

Dialling the wrong number in the dark

Hoping for a thief 

Or defender 

To pick up my soul

Curious trips

Messages that sing and soar

Rain that cleanses like soap in the mouth

Flimsy shinings

Traces of lines 

Running in the night

How did I get so confused

The loneliness of insomnia 

Wraps its arms around me

So tired 

Traces of lines

Running in the night

She holds out a hand

I am really quite good at solving puzzles

But you

You are a curious creature indeed

A stilted story

All this nonsense with powders and pastes

Her voice sings

Mine is flimsy

So tired

More Wasteland than Wonderland 

A collage of lines

Running fingers over skin in the night 

Three am callings

Trips and messages I can hear but cannot reach

It’s hard to remember sleep

How did I get so confused

I hold her hand like a star in the night. 

Thud

The wheels turn on the cold grey floor

We are lying still

Mind stirring

A pot full of embarrassment and decay

Wrapped up in a silent crisis

We gobble the sweet powder 

Down

Crying

Laughing

Who knows which way is up any more

Alice giggles

Turning tricks

At the table once again

I’m a hundred and fifty you know

Together we barely scrape an eight ball

Flying high

Like a kite

Struggling

Breathing

Mind stirring

A pot full of embarrassment and decay

Wrapped up in a silent crisis

Thick as rain 

Wet hair 

Fingers sticky in anticipation 

Of the next hit

And the next

Thoughts 

Falling through forest veins

Like wheels

Unruly

Cold

Grey

Floor

Thud. 

Balance

The finches balance on the line

Trilling hopefully

Ushering in a new day

I am cold

An old bouquet

Rusty and worn 

Lying prone under the table cloth

If we are still enough we can magic a picnic

She wipes the grime from her fingers

I am bored of this checkmate dead end board game

Alice daubs the orange on her lips

It is sugary and sweet

There are too many hours left to work through 

I wish for dreams on sleepless nights 

They never come 

I tried painting white fences and hammering in nails

Nothing drowns out the emptiness of being 

The scrawny leftovers of day dangle on my lips

Too tired to speak

Too heavy to move 

Pulse drumming in head

Unwanted

Unloved

Waiting for ever after 

Signs to interpret

Wishes to honour

Like tassels on an old dress

We are a single line of ancestral thought

The finches balance on the line

Trilling hopefully

Ushering in a new day

I am cold. 

Violate

The sun bites our skin

Antithesis or anti-climax

It’s impossible to know

We have spent far too long 

Wishing words

In the half light 

Cold milk and Lucky Charms

Turning blue like veins 

In the half light

Alice giggles

It’s how we find our way 

Repetition

Pause

Anything to black out

Misremember

The violation

Chasing powder

Mixing consonants with syllables 

Turn the sour sweet

A magical delight  

Kept only for ourselves 

We are mere babies

Lost in a sticky universe

Too scared to look 

To touch or feel 

Too old to be special

Too resigned to care

The sun bites our skin

Antithesis or anti-climax

It’s impossible to know

We wish words in the half-light

Close our eyes

Pretend to sleep

The world can wait until tomorrow. 

Parched

The stories melt like ash on our tongue

We are parched

Lying on the floor

Thinking of endings

Milkweed afternoons perish like spirits

Snapped in two

Tiny limbs dangling from the edge of our cave

Waiting in this space of being 

Drifting in and out of consciousness 

Days months years 

We can only imagine the rings in the tree

Felled 

Broken 

Sore

Too tired to cry or crawl any more

There is a small light

A radiance 

Time burning like a flare 

In the background of our mind

Old dreams failing and falling

A thin rope and sad disguise 

The rain comes

Washes away the clover 

Painted carefully on our hand

We are born in words 

Not being 

The stories melt like ash on our tongue

We are parched

Lying on the floor

Thinking of endings

That never come.

Tilt

Alice tilts her head

Leans into the static 

Which has haunted us 

For so many days

We are on the floor 

Lavender wrapped around our neck

So tired not even the powder can seduce us 

And yet we inhale

Deep breaths of longing and loss

How quickly time fades 

Trickles like a burn 

From the palm of our hand

That’s where all good stories begin

She wraps her sticky fingers in mine

I don’t have a life line

I think I will be stuck like this forever 

Nothing urgent to be seen to 

Nothing worth raising my head 

The sweat of newsprint on cold food

Hard to swallow 

We are always being watched 

We force our eyes shut

Press the lids into the sockets of our skull

Try to remember what electricity tastes like 

Shh, I whisper as we make birds swim across the screen

When the time is right 

We will let the world in. 

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Illustration - Tove Jansson