Thursday, 4 December 2014


In this complex there is no sleep
In the life of the night
Breath falls on unhearing ears and words dig deep inside the flesh
Can’t walk on water but have surely walked in wine
Striving for humility, thinking of fast cars and balladeers
And the feeling underneath
Whilst vanity boils within
Indicators of assumption shared
Hide the schism, hide the fear
When I find my voice
It feels alien to my ear
But when I touch the truth it sings
Echoing in the hollows
Between Ivory and blubber few taboos remain
 but none have claimed me for their own
now we have reached the season of the storms
and I am unoriginal
exempt excommique walking brick paths
watching the chipped masonry float away
we all build our fascias
of stone or flesh
we all squirrel something safe within
but time passes differently here
since that other power breached
and those etched tablets expired an age ago
the titles that defined us, shaped our response, hang in the air,
pretty lies that slash at transformations which shun the frame
the person that I was glows and blurs
the thing that I am becoming moves in spirals
headed south bound

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