Between the lines

Dark side of the moon
we’ve laid our flesh
side by side
on this palette of life.

She sits on midnight buses following trails across the city, she’s wrapped in a blood red shawl, notices nothing. One small laced boot protrudes from enveloping skirt, cold carves blue veins on iced skin. He runs an empty beach at midnight mind returning and returning to the same small space that’s lit up in his mind. A kiss in drenching rain, a face open like the light, a grown woman curled as a child upon his knee. His eyes see nothing of the pale horizon: sleep has left him, ahead stretch miles and miles of empty life. His fingers ache from tearing reams of paper, lines of words are blurred beneath his tear filled eyes, but it’s not his demands, her words, it’s the things they’ve never said, the language lost between the lines that causes tragedy.

Knives indented
twist and turn
in fresh flesh
leaving drops
of bright red blood
glowing droplets of infinity.

He runs the empty beach to find, stars, stardust, shells, sand through his fingers, like her hair, closed footprints washed by the tide, he has searched a million years to lie beside her only to give her up from pride. He follows footprints as they disappear under the swell of encroaching tide; his pounding heart is tightly shut within his perfect chest, muscles tight from toning day by day , he takes a breath it comes in sobs.

Seagulls fly
flattened against
offshore wind
wheel and climb
to hover.

Somewhere lost in time and place she changes pace and follows footprints barely visible beneath the sand duned wind, and their roaming is orchestrated by the musical whim of an unseen conductor.


Sky cracks with inertia
rain flecks roofs
crows spin and squabble
over dead carcass
of the year.

All that’s left is laughter.


We are
the thread through
the meaning of this.

We meet in bars
in restaurants
listen to others
talk to each other
of others love.

We have no words
to describe

You are caught up,
nestled in a woman’s
perfume, her dresses,
her deep secret smiles.

I am on the loose
a free falling
without a parachute.

I sit on trains
on buses
listening to arbitrary

Walking the same
road wearing
different faces.

I am glued
I am unglued
I invite you,

to be my
the thread through
the meaning of this.


Seasons come and go
yet still I wait:.
Easter with her purple flowers
summer on the run
autumn bathed in russet hue
the footsteps at the gate;

but you’re not there.

At least it’s true I know,
your face, the angle of a smile
your eyes in candlelight
just how you whisper in my ear
the curve of skin on bone,

know all of these.

Years fly past
armies flutter to their knees,
you prowl around the edge
of dreams, and I‘m always asking

where, and how you’ve been.

Seasons come and go, yet now
I have no hope, none at all:
of lying in your arms
talking underneath the stars
drinking wine from wedding cup

and I can’t imagine why
our worlds collided just for this:
an empty bed, a puzzled mind
a shadow on my heart
the footstep at the gate

is only mine.

Love dust

The full moon blooms
as other moons have done,
but this one comes, huge,
straddling the year:

the days grow shorter
minute by minute
winter a hand’s span away
in October’s solace.

When the full moon comes
to herald the ending, what
will I have done to exorcise
love’s dust?

Here the full moon comes
hung between the crab and
the goat, I’ll take a piece of us
into the garden and bury;

in peaty earth. an incantation
at the ready, underneath the roses
I should have dead headed.

Yes, I‘ll take the last piece of us:
morsels of our hearts raw shredded,
by passing time and other loves
caresses. It might be now we hide

our eyes in shame, at passing
years and potions of forgetting,
….que dieu nous pardonne……
for all of loves erratic wrongs

when the full moon comes.

All mine

I can see it now,
though before I knew
it to be there.

You had no hesitation,
just clubbed through
to the raw intensity.

I find pieces,
jigsaw them together
in differing constellations.

Yes, I can see it now,
divine deftness of your
calling, mouthhole of extinction.

It has no ending,
my own annihilation,
my own brass rubbing.

Fingerprint of pulsebeat,
no right or wrong, light
or dark.

I let it out
on drunken nights
to dabble with humanity.

Am careful
to sedate with drugs :
write poems for it.


so far back
in time
we meet our
only in star dust.

for a milli second
mind destroys
perceptions of heaven,
leaving us spinning
through sleep
stepping high in
dream shoes.

love, like a temple
gates open for business
but there is no body home,
until inside
ourselves we watch
ourselves open into
bright, white,


We stand amazed
at ordinary intricacy.
I take you for a ride
into the inside,
your hidden light
dazzles us.

We have no language
to travel this
far back in time,
can only pause:
wonder with our eyes
wide open can’t deny
the holiness
of life,


I sleep like an angel

I sleep like an angel
with the sea as my bed
& the wind wails behind me
slotting words in my head.

I’m free as an eagle
with the land spread beneath
& the world is my table
filled with love for my bread.

I sleep like an angel
no dreams to disturb
the cavern of heaven
opens doors in my soul

I sleep like an angel
on the wings of the dawn
& nothing can catch me
on the boat of my bed.

Wind horses

I feel wind horses
in the trees neighing
messages from highest
branch as windows run
heavens tears, I snap
fingers, check pulse,
feel beat of heart for
dissolution let the light in,
only then can I decide
that love’s grown too
many weeds, and there is
no harvest. Music glistens
on the walls, lyrics turn to
anecdotes and this moment
congeals like dried blood
somehow so red and vibrant
in the starting.
Tomorrow’s in the children’s
eyes light dancing from the
street to meet them, and maybe
yesterday has gathered up the
years thrown them to appear
as trees with spirits in the wind:
light listening.


Life revolves, rears up and hits
us in the face with unexpected

You leap and twitch the switch
that sears us, you turn the heat on
like cathedral choir

so dry and empty of sound the walls
rebound and crumble.

The things that matter wallpaper your
brain with their absence, so you chew
me like old gum.

I’m fabulous in isolation, watch the sun
rise, rolling like a beer barrel towards its birth
in blanket sky.

The angels wait patiently till you decide
whether or not to decide, to be loved
by me.

The same song

Day follows night
sky hides it’s scars,
you, over there:

& I’m a fossil
of your love,
beautifully petrified.

It’s the same old song
full throttle need,
love dances around corners

always out of reach.

Mornings somersault,
tide line on a beach
driftwood bravely stacked

in some lost winded corner,

& I’m a fragment
of your smile,
the corner where my tongue

impregnates your lips
to semaphore all of this
without speaking.

All the waiting makes me scream
huge boils appear on gilded flesh
running sores from the breath we

inhale, exhale,

but the night spins on to day
a whirlwind of lost time, &
beyond all thoughts of this,

just you and I.