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red and blackyou have recoloured yourlife, from greyscale daysto red and black,gloves and nails,a streak of forgetfullnessmarring your forehead,cupping shadowy eyes andfingertips glaringbloody scarlet.you mimic the seasonsturning the daysinside out, or into yearsin your confusion. imagine,one day, when the sky issoft and not diamond,unreachable stone.you run your fingertipsacross cold steel.you savour the days,my lonely one, and tautenthe skin aroundyour pale lips.sometimes, if the windis right, you pick upthe phone and dialreality's number.she always hangs up on you.
beneath a garish skyall the world's a-slumberbut the moths battering at the window paneswith tender bodies anddusted wings.we, my love, are gathered below,haunting the chambers of the starsin wind-swept caverns;gazing through the windowsof the mansions of the moon.the sun is caged here,it burns through your skin,beating against my hands.i set it free, flutteringinto the dawn,and so we lie,in the chasm between seconds,breathing taut dreams.and so we lie, bereft andtangled, beneath agarish sky.
caucasian sunthe sky is swathed in sandy cloudsand all the world is lying still,splayed in the sunlight.you, too, are bathing in its rays,but they are too hot for you,and you cannot curl away.shadows are forbidden to you now.a lizard scuttles by yourbare foot, dwarfed. your eyes are shut,refusing to worship apollowith your glare.the red-raw wound streaksacross your body likefire streaks acrossarid forest.your gift; your curse,but which is which?charcoal-streaked cheekseyelashes beribboned with tearsyour unflinching sagacitybinds you here.enough isenough;said the lightning to the seaand you were taken,bound,murdered daily.they will not set you free.trickster, friend of man:you are wrapped in hope.
weathermanand the sky just keeps tellingall the same goddamn lies -i scratch myself to sleep,smoking incense for something to do,and wonder if the stars aremosquito bites in thetail end of the universe -twilight whirs away in my earcicada-music, sunset in sepia.the world turns, suspended, andi am more than the sum of its parts.greybeard clouds murmur sticky philosophiesand caress the burgeoning talent ofthe witching hour -and when i wake in the morning,my dreamcatcher is clothed in dewand a fluttering moth is caughtamongst the beaded webs.
libationshe was sat in the middle of the road when i met her. it was the sort of summer day that sticks to your back, dips into your skin and reminds you what eyebrows are for. sun - yellow; sky - blue and cloudless. temperature - 38 degrees centigrade.she was sat in the middle of the road, and my car skidded to a halt inches from her. she didn't even turn around. the street was empty, silent but for the cicadas and the sound of a staticky radio.her hair was yellow, tucked behind her ears. i pulled over and got out the car, yelling at her - sick with horror at what might have happened. she still didn't turn round, just sat there, cross-legged, skipping bottle-tops across the tarmac. i guessed it must be hot enough to be burning her skin. she still didn't turn round.the anger fizzled and died, and i found myself sitting beside her. there was a rut in the road ahead. she had a slowly diminishing pile of blue plastic bottle-tops beside her, and she was throwing them like tiny frisbe
001bucolic fantasies inarabian nightmares -i see you, smoking,wreathed in a tarry mist,the fire burning deepin the pit of your stomach.your head is a chimney,cast aglow, rusted androtted, gaping kisses.you breathe the poison into me,jaundiced teeth, spursof bony lust. words crawlacross your skin, labels,and you shrug them off.they coat your soul like oil.
sun-skimmingvineyards drape the mountain;the colour of your eyes.you stoop to kiss its feet,mouth blistering under themediterranean sun.lengthening shadows caressyour cheekbones, grazing skin,stealing back the bronze.your hair, wild and tangled,is skimmed with sea saltand i can see love on your lips.
the mechanics of lossthey told youin a biology lesson;you were blood typing,you're a positivechild of the western waste,child of eden, firstborn,fleeing the pharaoh's curse.death is what happenswhen cells run down,worn away by the relentlessanger of dust-motes.she, with her silk-stretched skin,did not stand a chance.do not look back.your road is littered withsalt pillars, castles andribcages stretching upwardstunnels desperate to drink the sky.forget your grief, i say,- lying through my teethand everything else -she is another story now.watch: my handsbecome shadows on yourbedroom wall. see:wolf, bird, hare,mythology movingand the rain tricklesgently, gently,sweetly, gently,falling softlyfrom god's eyes.