Stain Removal

There are black stains on the shoulders of my jacket

I should really wash them out

But I can’t

I just can’t

They balance the black of my eyes

Like a map

Pulverized

Misread

I copied out the numbers

When no one was looking

As if they ever look

As if the numbers would make sense 

Make a tiny part all right

Numbers mean nothing

They may last longer

Than me

I think that

Sometimes

All the time

Boiling the kettle at five am

You look taller lying down he said

I am short I replied

Very short

Maybe when I am flat the numbers do not hamper

The thoughts do not taunt

Maybe when I am flat

My body grows

To true size

Real size

Drink me

Eat me

Fall down the hole

Never come back

I am not sure if white rabbit is a friend

I am not sure if anything is friend

I find the cluster of silver thorns

Like my story falling

In the supermarket car park

They are joined together

All five shiny

Nestled together like friends

Maybe I should leave them

Maybe I should tell

i am not ok you know i am not ok

I pick them up

It’s not as if anyone looks

I put them in the bag

The bag with glass wrapped in tissue that they did not find

And I understand the numbers now

I understand that they mean nothing

That I mean nothing

I understand that I can leave the stains unwashed upon my shoulders

It’s not as if anyone looks.

Finding Home

I hope there will be a moment when

When the circles fall from my eyes

To the floor

Get mopped away with sweet yellow lemon and a hearty wet cloth

Mops which wipe the brow of those who expect

And deliver

I wait

In the bed

Nothing moves

Not arm

Not leg

Just a head tilted painfully stuck to the side

Where the spit collects

And cracks my lips

No one mops that up

The spit

The clock measures

Time backwards

As it always does in this place

Ten minutes an hour

All too much

Not enough

Every minute must be held and blown like a little chicklet flame

Once the number is dialled the flame is given up

The shouts made

The hot drinks passed to useless hands

Spillages

No need to mop up

only me only me

I take the tape off my foot

My body peppered in welts and bruises

Lines tapped in thumbs and drilled in thighs

I hope they never find me

Just my blood

That is the currency here

I switch on at 3am

Like I always do

But I am held by wires and beeps

I try to edge to the edge

They spring from behind curtains quick as catching a fresh cup of tea

They move my green bag further away

The little piece of being I try to reach

The watch that tells the right time

Not the Rabbit’s time which sits on the wall waiting to trick and to fool

My sixty hours will fade away like bruises

I stand in the kitchen and measure

What they took

What they didn’t

What made them laugh

I sweep the grit from their boots now that I am back

Sweeping up chaos does not capture what I seek

What I have not found

That place which I can call home. 

Red Lorry

The red lorry comes for our records

The man who drives the lorry

Wears a red shirt

Caution

The words within are red

But not read

I am in the room

I can see through the keyhole

I pretend I am small

Small as Alice

As if I can slip away unnoticed

Like fog

Not really there

Not really touchable

A little flesh touching

The blue chair

I am fog

Mopping up the smell of piss on dirty jeans

Cheap ethanol and apples

Know your powder

Know your doses

It’s rudimentary

I watch them

Struggle to pluck up a little leniency

They are meant to be the same as me but I am very different

I am very different

The paper star is stuck in the gravel

Crushed

Never did shine I imagine

Just a little bit white

Not white enough to be the snow the red apple lorry drives through

It mixes with the wet grass in my shoes

alchemical magical delusional

shut the fuck up

helpless helpful all untrue

If I cried dust for you

Would you believe me too

I sit in the chair

Stack my words like beans

Heavy ones at the bottom

Drivel at the top

Words should be rationed like beans

Shined like apostles

Spent like pennies

I open the door

The red lorry has gone

I have not gone with it

I will never go with it.

Pennies

I keep her coins wrapped in tissue on the sofa

As if I spend them I will lose her

Even more

She is precious

More than any one

The rain falls

Sweet as apple pie upon my shoulder

Soft

Fulfilling

Not like the grind of his crutches

Which drill into my head

Into my throat

Into my home

Except there is no home

There will never be home

No place to sleep

No place to be safe

I forget

Try to forget

Them

keys coins door locks wedge sink bowl cotton burn fume blood nose pain gone

need to buy need to buy to stop

paper pen

List upon list of nothing

I remember everything

But nothing says it all

Nothing

The rain falls and marks my coat

I wake up

To nothing

Days counted not spent

Hardly matters numbers days

It is not tomorrow yet

Yesterday still tastes bitter

The bad apple in the pie

I push it down

Stop time

drink eat wash

On the sofa she is with me

Hand in hand we shine the coins

We will spend our pennies wisely

Know what treasure is

And what is really lost.

Butterfly Effect

I keep finding stones on the floor

I sweep them away

But they come back

They always come back

Not soft

Not like pillows

Or sleep

That thing that murmurs

In my ear

That takes

Me to the floor at 3am

I write in pencil

It disappears by morning

Not important enough to stay for a few more hours

The sink has taken me again

It is not important enough to be seen

I walk up the hill across the grass and the dandelions cling to my shoes it is nice

Nice until I reach the bench and see the dirt

On my toes

On my hands

In my head

I walk away

I always walk away

Incomplete

Undone

We were not allowed to speak

That’s what I want to say

I stand in the kitchen

The jitters as old as the plans

There is nothing left to be scared of

But it wears me away

Still

The grind of wings across my skull

Changing everything and nothing

I am turned to stone

Falling on the floor

Without noise

Without sound

I fill my ears with her voice

My hand with powder

My body with dust

I stand in the kitchen

Not sure

Keeping old lists

Forgetting new thoughts

I look at my hands

I look at my face

Falling like stone on the floor.

Organ Donation

He wears a rain coat and carries the heart

In a clear plastic bag in his hands

I stretch my body and groan

Here it comes again

I know the story

Know the signs

I open the fridge

Find the plastic tub

And cut

The refrigerator gives just enough light to see

But not to see enough

I count out seven

Line up

Taste

Wipe

And do

What I do

You know

I stretch my body and groan

I am in the library

We have

Books

Music

DVDs

Coffee

And

Help

I go there

I find the books the music the DVDs

Press the button for coffee

But I cannot find the help

I hold the counter

The car drives by

Experts in exhausts

I can’t stop it

Flag it down

I wipe my fingers on my shirt

Drink some water from the tap

Close the fridge

Here it comes again

And as he comes again so my heart falls in the bag

Stolen or safe

I am not sure

My blood drips off the rain coat

Disappears in the puddle

Up the straw

Into the nooks of the fridge door

I know the story

Know the signs 

I stretch my body and groan.

Tea Party

The clouds are coming

The flies rush in

Water flows underground

The mannequin stands at the window

Unclothed

Watching time fall by

A finger writes

In dust on the car

Bulky as skeletons

Empty like bones

Blown away on the flap of legs

bzzbzz

In one window

Out the next

Leaving something

Of nothing behind

I fall to bed at five

Resigned

This chemistry is screwed

I think

One cup gasoline

One drum beat

The mist of time falling by

Pass it on to dolly and bear

They can drink it up for tea

Put tiny cups in tiny hands and stir the tiny spoon

Rub tiny gums

And smile

Don’t look in the mirror

It’s good

Until you see behind

It’s time to seek the lord I think

She laughs and dances all wings and feet

At the bottom of the sheets

Chocolate spread and watches

Fairy cakes and glass

I need to break the window

I think

But I cannot stop my heart.

Boundary Lines

She carries a bag

Fill me with love

It is see through

Full of junk

Other people’s mistakes

Unwanted

Unknown

She looks happy

With her bounty

I crawl and scratch inside my clothes

She keeps me busy

For a second

Only ever a second

Then the words come again

Fill me up

Not a bounty

Black

Heavy

Sore

I try to sit

To lie

But I cannot find comfort

Maybe I keep it away

Comfort

As if when I find it

I will know what is missing

What has been missing

What is lost

I beg on the pale wooden chair

For the green piece of paper

For the seven lines of ink that makes it stop

For a second

Only ever a second

I get it

Hold it in my hands

I am very good at asking

It is an empty bounty

Not real

Not one that will fill me with love

i try to say i try to say

But the words disappear

Blown off in an empty bag

A laugh

I leave the chair

Thick

Heavy

Take the seven lines of ink

A step

Quietly lock myself 

Back inside.