Try

I start at eight

Stop for coffee at ten

I collect a bag to fill me up

(i ask so sweetly who could say no)

I sit by the window

The stars shine in the glass

Yellow and blue

Buttercups and day time

Thank you for the paper

Come home and I will make you ham and potato for tea

She smiles

I smile back

Everything’s ok

(you know you know)

I am a little tired of this affair

It is hard to turn the pages

But the vanilla is nice

Warm and sweet

Trickling like tears down the back of my throat

trick trickling i tricked you

(i am sorry very sorry)

In the evening we will hold hands and pray

It will be warm

You will tell me to expect better

Enough now

Stop

This is no way to be

(i will say thank you)

I am a little tired of this affair

I touch the phone and brush my bare foot over the kitchen floor

I would like the ham and potato to taste better

But I really don’t feel you see

The words are not right and no one is there but I have to try

(nothing comes for free)

Tomorrow will be another prayer

Another pie

Another vanilla tear

I will sit by the window again

I am tired of this affair

But it does not tire of me.

Spindle

The smell of lavender seeps out in the rain

Delicate like sugar

Dusted on fairy cakes

I am hungry again

Like nothing will suffice

The old woman takes bags from the back of the car

Food for the children

Not mine

I am upstairs watching

Eliminating veins

Quietly

Studiously

As meaningful as love

I think of the word

Misadventure

Chew it over

With the lavender seeds

It implies adventure

The peak of a mountain

A smile

A photo

A pat on the back

A place very far from these cardboard walls

This half way home

Not quite here

Not quite settled

A place to sleep

Not dream

I look at the hole in the ceiling

Talk to it like a face

Look I’m dying

I know 

It might take a while though

Pack a bag

Settle in

Have a cup of tea

A broken biscuit

You might go before me

Waiting for the end of this adventure

My misadventure

I admire how you keep going on spindle legs

Nothing more than an ounce of seed and a smile

The little girl passes pennies over the counter

Her hair is wet

And greasy

Not loved like a little girl should be

Like anyone should be

It is hard to digest

The cloud is whipped like frosting

Spiders climb deep into the window frame

Hiding

I find it hard to walk now

Catching lavender in the rain.

Leaves

We search around for words

For being

As if we find a name

We will be

Time was when a new name brought excitement

We tried on letters for size

Dollies dressing up

Shoes of paper

Shawls of dirt

We stepped gingerly out there

Out there

Has rubbed away our shoes

Left us cold

Unamused

Any name seems tired

Rotting and sharp

Like sulphur

Itching up our nose

wake up wake up

Shake the leaves off your shoulder and choose

The radio scratches fifteen minutes

I can’t move to stop it

We pick leaves from the bin

Like pick and mix

Grind them up in our teeth

She is better at chewing

Sometimes she shares

A little glob of paste spat in my hands

I should be disgusted

But I am not

We share this

When there is nothing else left to find

No letters

No names

I look into her milky face and think I cannot lose you

But we know that this is fragile

Not quite sincere

That we will spit each other out

When the time comes

And the time always does come

My hand moves

Mutes the radio 

wake up wake up

Shake the leaves off your shoulder and choose.

  

Sugar

The streets are empty

Unsure unsteady

On my feet

Head clogged

After rains

Filthy water

Clotted and bubbling over drains

I eat the chocolate

In the corner of the dark room

The smell makes me dribble

The sugar makes me shake

The dark room is

The only place left for me

I am not sure it tastes good

But I need it

Everybody needs it

The rush

The hit

The immaculate fix

Nobody is fat these days

The chocolate gets old

As powder blushes finger skin

The man who fixes feet says it will be ok

For a second I believe

But a second does not fill one whole day

He cannot fill the holes

It scares me walking

In the wet

Dead birds

Half cut snake

The powder clots my breath

I labour to the top

As if from the top I will see

But the top won’t shake off the bodies

They slither and slide on every thought

One thought

Only ever one thought

I do not look up

I do not look into the eyes of that thought

That thought won’t stop

Without stopping me

Whatever that might be

Her little cotton dress

Gets soaked in the rain

It is white

Like a ghost

The rain sticks the cotton to her body

In fire

In fury

Her black underwear matches her black boots

Strong boots

Heavy boots

Boots that will last forever

She leaves her purple cursive script

Crumpled in the grass

Away from the birds and the snakes

I pick up her words

Her hand

It tastes nicer than sugar

Maybe we shall

Maybe we shall.

Choice

I am lost in the chemical aisle

I don’t know what to choose

Pick the cheapest the girl says

The one with no shoes

She picks a bottle

Puts it in her plastic bag

It rustles in her hands

I lock the door

At least when it is light outside I can see the locks

one two three four

Dead bolt

I will stay inside

Far away

Thinking of how we ate the milky way 

I wish I could love

I wish I was more

The glue on the paper lights up when you peel it in the dark

Like stars

Life peeled away and given all at once

The sadness is a stone in my throat

A constant pressure

I have exhausted every thing

She found it

The powder

In my pockets

The substance which throws my heartbeat

Keeps me in the house

Far from home

Far from her

I am lost in the chemical aisle

I don’t know what to choose

Pick the cheapest the girl says

I take my shoes off

I watch my hand move

Deep into the plastic bag

And I smile

An empty smile.

Rust

My shirt sleeve turns russet like apple

Apple

Green and red

Red

A world

To bite

Lick and chew

I am lost in the smoke

Drowned in the hours

Changed

But not

more stuck and sticky than what they say is stuck and sticky there is freedom in the mud like clots like paint on myself on my arm slipping off my face in the water on the bridge on the bench painted white cross red cross russet cross shirt sleeve hanging wet in the wind on a hanger by the window not seen so tired so empty but weighted down drowning stuck

Feet swollen

Head out of line

All out of line

The prayer written and left by her feet means nothing

Black lines in the dark

Water disappeared dry and dust

Rust in the stoup

I hold the glass in my hand like a talisman

All I have lost

All I wait to be again

I miss myself

I miss myself

All she has lost

All she waits to be again

I hold the glass like a talisman

I will be

I will be

But not.

Silver

We drink silver

And eat stones

I clean my fingers in the rain

Put the sadness in my shoes and jump

We move like spiders hiding from the storm

From bench to bench

Rust falls like pepper on our bread

Feast of feasts

Rust falls like petals on our feet

Dust to dust

Hair falls out in clumps

This is a new day

But not

We run and the bridge bows

Head dips

Wood bounces

Water comes close to our toes

Electricity gnaws through us

Eats inside

nibble crunch spit

I lick the dirt

The silver sticks inside and makes me choke

The stones mop up the blood

My fingers wrap around your hair

Another day is lost

The car is in the window

They think they can’t be seen

Like me

But things can always be seen

A little alchemy

A little loss

A little static stops the thoughts

We forget all we know

A glass of pink

A pinch of powder

When we drink the silver

We cannot be caught.

Splinter

The glass falls like petals in my hands

A trail of candy

To nowhere sweet

I have collection points

Different places

Each place has a meaning

Each piece of glass a different use

But the same use

You know

I touch the edges

Trap the dirt on the skin of my fingers

Wipe my fingers on my jacket

Lick my fingers clean

I do not falter in my collection

I falter looking up

I do not know what the postman wants

From me

Perhaps I should give him my name

It’s only letters after all

I fold the bag in the dark

Ready for tomorrow

My collection

I look at my bare feet

Hot and bulging under the blanket

A little brown

It would be easy now

To touch me

To find the trail of blood inside

Maybe that’s what the postman wants

To touch me

The bag rustles like splinters

Acorn blades passing by the window

Tears I would rather not own

chopping cutting choking

I swallow emotion

Like splinters

No sweet candy

In my hand

I will wait for next time.