Category: poems

summerhill

The house I am in, ancient
echoey
and paper thin
~
 rattling on the side of a road
 ~
 awake at dawn crack
through the dusty window
singeing the wings
of dead blue bottles
on the sill
~
my blue eye
lashes
my lower lids lap
dreams
only to suffocate from light
their dark throats closing
shutting sleep out
 ~
and the cack-cough-a-noise commences
and the commute comes relentless
and I try to be still
 ~
in a room that rattles
on mis-set bones that crackle
settling dreams that shattered
on the precipice of still

turkey

on the phone to my mother
one month before christmas
she wants to name the turkey
 ~
‘don’t do it mam
you’ll just get upset
when you have to carve up his meat
like last year’
you smile at me
 ~
in my bed
you are sleeping
and there’s the guts
of a bottle of wine
in me
drowning butterflies
I can’t say your name yet
it panics me
I almost can’t stand you being here
 ~
you are about to be so much more
than a name and bones
and meat to me

Limbs

it would be strange if we switched limbs

–

on a night wolf-cry hot
the part where lipcracks
turn to mouthflesh
 and forearms cool foreheads
~
while the sky lights
quiet-as-milk
Laced fingers and funny bones
behind ears
the tenderest of skin
–
lover
big moon
ghost in my garden
friend of mine
 –
it would be strange
if we switched limbs