I’m a lonely kind of poet
And that’s good by me
Singer and songwriting
Leaves me with a fright
Some kind atmosphere
Tenderness blithe
That’s social tonight.
I hope that you leave me again,
Leave me here to fall into me:
Mine then left on an empty table
Water stains here my heart.
I want a house designed all in black
I want to cover any colors, exposed
With ash, stain, darkness,
Shou Sugi Ban
– A blackness that cannot be rubbed off –
I will tint the windows
And dim the lights,
Burning only black candles.
Nothing new will enter this house
Nothing fresh or alive
Nothing that will shed light
On the depth of this hallow
Forever written in black ink
Upon black dyed paper.
I will eat only black beans
That will sit upon a black plate
Of black rice beside black olives,
Occasionally a loaf of pumpernickel
Will be permitted within.
I will wash with black soap
In a tub of black pearl
Dried by a black towel,
And my sheets of black cotton
Will rest quietly below
My duvet of black duck feathers
For my black soul
To sleep, evermore.
I carried your tobacco pipe
Like a diamond on my mind,
Two puffs and a closed grip
Ricochet all security
Through the back door:
Creak creak.
And we pass it on
As night songs
From a holy tent with a view
That lisps night skies
Through dreams of a far off land
Whispering endlessly.
But hold me, hold on
Hold the flowers
Growing here so wild
In the palm of your hand
Until it stains your closed grip
The colour of my dream.
When did my hands start to look so old?
I hope one day I will return
And it will wash away
And I will be let out to run
In the sweet grass that stains
My fingertips
I’m scared to understand,
Letting ideas ride deep
Into sleepless nights
And I wonder what ifs.
I don’t let wizards
Paint my low brow dark,
I keep satin stains
Along smirk marks of my face.
I crawl into your yellow marks,
Finishing a day old cigarette
That tastes sour
And makes me upset again.
Counterpose my excellence
Awkwardly adjacent
To a sprinkling good luck,
Nickel and dime water fountain.
I’m going back underground.
I cannot shake cobwebs of memories woven
Like the nest of an eight legged creature
Singing along to its tiny violin.
For whether I am last or first becomes
A brown bottle of almost never cared,
Sitting lifelessly on a stained cedar windowsill
Collecting dust and losing its eyes to tears,
Losing its words to years.
Somehow daughters never returned,
Sisters forgot the street number
Even though the sign sat twisted like a unicorn
Whose mane flowed so thickly in powerful gusts of wind
A rooster turned right around watching.
One cobweb strand reminds me of twin fawns
Who would wander by searching for blackberries,
Rich and prime and staining my fingers
Like thick lines trailing after a slug
Crossing a cement pathway.
I’ve grown used to the cobwebs,
Adjusted to being wrapped so delicately
Subtle changes in atmosphere
Cause reverberating sensations to flicker around
Along a one way street on the holy train.
It’s reached a point where I no longer feel
The sweet perspiration of an ice cold Coke bottle;
Instead, the roar of a monotonous dial-tone
Eager to tell me it’s all right,
And I’ve been here before.
Whisper to me in silence until rain forever stains.
I want to hear what your heart cannot speak;
I want to let bumps upon my thickened skin
Wash away with lines of another chance.
Wishes of a heart that came and never thence remains.
I can live here for as long as my number remains the same,
Until my idle thoughts formulate
What figures my fingers are much to scared to trace.
It came and left;
Brought no shame.
Did not add
To my name,
Nor flow with
My bulging ebb;
My jive.
I didn’t wave,
Nor shed a tear.
Forever remains
A lingering stain.
The terrible itch is creeping in
Under control, but so very present
focus, focus, focus
But I’ll dream a little longer
As I stand here naked under the shower
Move me closer to the stain
Drain my musings, and pop my pimples
Thrust me deeper into the present
With your parquet flooring, and tacky linens