April

From Ultramarine 2014 to buy click here  April is here withhandfuls of pink blossomdove calls, summer talk,babies on park benchesIris pushing from winter glomApril is here this yearwith memories of you. Nothing stirs in the darknesssentry of nightfull bodied with the moonshe walks on  empty city streetfinds him listeningSpanish eyes, dreadlocks to his waist,kissing him feels fineshe looks him through and through to finda heat wave of amnestysugar in his pocket,unpeeling from his arms a dusty drivealone again she dreams of red stirred firesalone again she dances. April brings recognitionher senses roll intoa temple of desireshe opens the doorlights incense,brings perfumed offerings. This moment sunlight glints from leavesacid green buds bursting into livingrake tilling, small child singinglight shut off with clouds Sunday sounds the garden is a myth of future flowerearth simple richnesslilacs, fuchsia for her hairgrass like tormented wickerand the white doves calling.  At the corner of the waste ground amongst the tin cans and sheared debris of other peoples parts you light a match for change.  Around you nature tends its carnivorous garden, Venus fly traps devour passing insects, and weeds grow rife to camouflage florid flowers: at the corner of the waste ground amongst the tin cans and other lifetime’s debris you light a match.Sprite against a white sky you stood for some kind of justice, words spume, speckled spittle chapped lips, frozen voice, tight with your meanders desire branded on your brow nothing cleansed.  Ashes fly into a fickle wind, a dead match flares in no man’s land: in the corner of the waste ground I watch you turn and flicker, gather other peoples debris raise your face to a cold wind and with no expectation of conclusion, you light a match.