Hammer

I hammer the boots

They were meant to keep my feet dry

But they just hurt

Everything just hurts

They have been fixing the wall for three weeks

It rests in pieces

Around their feet

They tap and hammer

Tap and hammer

The hammer

My hammer

Leaves splashes of hurt

On the boots

Like rain drops

A lot of grey clouds up there

Somebody says

I can’t see them

They are the words

I gather

Out of windows

Behind doors

Stolen by chance

Gathered like bruises

On brown leather

It is too much now

But not enough

The vanilla does not draw me in

Entice me

I settle under the arch with him

As much as either of us can settle

It’s ok ok ok

He has his bottle I have my bruises

This is how it will be always be

We know

That it will never end

Or begin

It is a bitter taste to savour

secondminutehourdaymonthyeardecadedecadedecade

I stuff the boots softly

With the paper

Stopped on the page

I stopped

Maybe they will become gentle

Maybe they will.

Bottle

It sounds like stars in the car park

Light over the ceiling

Look

Don’t catch

Not like back in the place

Where the damp ate your soul

Sniff the TV

good night good night

I wrap my hand

Lift the spider web over my head

The house does not look clean

Even though

I polish dust scrub

Two litres and one brown bottle

So many days

It is pointless to count

Something crawls over the ceiling

Baby bird bones

You’re a good kid

She said

never good never good

Power down

Progress is terribly slow

The yellow wire snakes

Long

Easily

Elements exposed

It points to path 27

Thank you for taking care

She holds her head in the car

I could walk forever

Flip the book

She is sick

She is sick

tuck turn run for cover

She was a good kid

She was a good kid

Now she is gone

She is gone.

Stare

I have been staring for two hours

Like I will fall

If I move

It is absolute

If I move

I will fall

If I move

Alright girl, he asks

He smells of alcohol

Not breath

Deep inside

Fermenting

I say yes

I smell inside too

All this waiting and staring turns me to rust

we are

sitting

staring

a bench apart

not so far apart

no noise

constant noise

no place

safe

except the blue chairs

in the powder place

but i can’t sit there

and stare

and stare

I do wish somebody would call says Alice

I laugh because I know

We are unreachable

Unobtainable

Curious I say

That the foam around his lips nestles in my neck

That the blood goes through two pillow cases

Quite beautifully

Like petals

Falling

We sit and stare.

Black

Black

Mass collection

I see you

I see you

But don’t look up

I find ways

Paths to get where

Without passing you

By

There are no hands

No warm cherry pie

This town is dying busy

I get high

To see without being seen

There is a new wall

Red brick

Black lines

There is no getting out

They send cars and wheels and bright yellow jackets

I hunker down watch on the bench with the chocolate spread

The thin side of j reaches for sugar

I wipe it off with the back of my hand

Black hand

Weeping hand

Salty and sweet

I pick the words out of the bag

One wakes up

One does not

One wakes up

In that place

That place where

I make a noise I don’t know

I do not like

The water on my feet

That is not the noise

The spiders are inside of us

You chased the moon

My lips are sticky with their thread

Thread running through me

In me

Don’t tug the ends

I might drop off

Drop off

Dust the boxes

Polish the frowns

She used a brillo pad

I poison the water

Don’t worry

I say to her

Black

Mass collection

I see you

I see you

It all brushes off.

Touched

She cups my hands as she gives back the coins

It is just what I need

Her hands

Sweet as apples

I am glad you are here

In the rain

There is no vanilla today

But all my powder is filled

I shake it like icing

Over a cake made of straw

Hard to swallow

I need something more viscous

To help it down

Make it stick

milk and sugar

hot cherry pie

they demolish and dismantle without permission of the white hand

the door hangs off its hinges

somebody had the energy to run

enough electricity to bolt

they add planks to the gate

gate wedge window door

stuck inside more stuck

I skip over puddles

Trip over stones

The phone is in the box

The phone is disconnected

The phone is not rung and does not ring

Radio silence

I am not five by five

The stain gets bigger

cemented stuck wedged

Lethal as raspberries and pears

It all means nothing really

Alice is dirty and lost in my pocket

I feel her there

When I put the coins back

When I remember her touch

When I remember everything I need.

Solution

I make stitches out of the dry grass

Neat

Tidy

The angel lifts up her arms

He paints over her name

To make it more

The shells rest on the shelf

He sits on the stone

Making black lines

The man who cuts the grass nods

Stops the mower for one moment

The cut grass smells nice

In the back of the truck

It looks like a bed

I am tired

It is hot on the bench

The stain on my trousers goes crisp

Unmovable

The man with the cigarette drives by

He scares me

I wrap my hand and make the bed

It is nice

Fresh

Like cut grass

I am drowning in black and gauze

The TV flicks in the toaster

Red and blue

Six hours a life time

Six letters posted

By the red letter man

I have been watching the same picture

Forever

A trail of powder dust and bones

I will buy apples

Red

Keep your words in my precious bag

Black

Forever

I make stitches out of the dry grass

Neat

Tidy

They will not hold

Turn me to gold

I lift up my arms

Lost in the solution.

Element

The butterfly wings move like lungs

Breathing

Tiny feet scare her away

She is halfway through her day

A hundred soldiers upset the bridge

They run

I run

But the soldiers move

It is their duty

I have none

Do you know where I am I ask

He says yes

I am not sure

I think the moon is in the curtains

But it’s just the light

Electric. Wire. Finger prints

All the right elements

The woman lies under the bridge

Coke. Pills. Police

All the right elements

They rest their arms on the car window

Like she is worth words

I sit in the chair

The garden is nice

Green. Thick. Moist

All the right elements

She asks me to talk

I find I no longer have words for the thing that has become my story

There is blood underneath the butterfly wing

I stroke her

She is almost at the end of her day

I cradle her. Talk. Soothe

Fill her little head with a cushion of words

Banter like wing beats

To stop her hurting

To help her rest

Do you know where you are I ask her

And she smiles

Her wings gently fold in my fingers

We are here

We are here

We are here.

Shell

They draw a line around my leg

It is not a line in the sand

The sand is where they think I go

To collect the shells

The shells which sit pretty underneath my skin

If they touched and licked they would not taste salt

Not salt from the beach

Salt from inside

Tears

Not vanilla

Bitter

Like plane fumes

It is a hyper real day

A day where the sky is blue

The line scrubbed off

Billy the liar waves hi over the top of the car

I wonder why he does

I said no

Once

Twice

But I still smile

Wave back

There are worse people than Billy the liar

The good people

The ones who cannot look you in the eye

They make you invisible

Put a thick black line around you

And rub out the middle

We are very different

We do not want to touch you

Or feel your touch

I laugh

I don’t want to touch me either

The hand

The sink

The water

It’s not really mine

Pull up a seat

Rest a hand

It won’t be real to you in a while either

The butterfly wings sing

Cabbage moths fluttering around

A crisply dropped pharmacy bag

Is that mine or yours

A little tonic

A little moment

When the wings fan our faces like a cool seaside breeze

Pull up a seat

Rest a hand

We can share

It won’t be real to you in a while either.