Summer Holiday

We are so homogeneous

What happened here

In a room of twenty

I can see six copies

Of the same Murakami

Two more of earlier work

The empties are of

Hendrix and tanquary

Knockoff versions from your still

We will sit and watch the latest Sundance

Until we can bear to drink again

More gregarious as the day moves on

Discussing the world

Discussing ourselves

Knowledge assimilated

And integrated to the appropriate frame

I forget that my views

are not generally accepted

Wrapped in a bubble

of acceptance

Amounting to nothing more

Than different forms of oppression

A Romantic Day

It seemed magical in a way
Lights sparking from far away
Dancing trees, soothing, sway
All that was wanting was a thing 
to take her breath away
The melody of the world indicating
just a moment away
Expectant of you
The disappointment did not delay 

Hands to hair, boundaries in tatters
Your lips bring no doubts but a doubling of urgency
Losing touch of identities, we become a mass of needs
I grab handfuls of you in places which bend
Nothing is action, only desire

Jolted to by realities of form
A leg misplaced, clothing must go
We seem so strange, undignified
For a moment illuminated by innocent eye
I shrug it off and lose myself again

Some clear morning when the dew is fresh, leaving poker dot patterns around foot prints. When you run the the top of the hill in time to see the first sparks fly over the horizon and break the dusk into day. When the light hits an ocean so calm the sea bed looks a hand's breath away. On this day you may have clarity and purpose drawn from all the worlds beauty and push the despair and doubt down into the small dark places of your mind. 

Inventing identities

Here I stand
To the left my mountain
To my right the sun

Located, but not held
By confused spirituality
Attempting belonging by inviting tragedy

Drawing myself
I see only landscapes
River beds & trees

A meandering picture
of space and time
to which my heart belongs

Yesterday I had poetry
Today I have recipes
Tomorrow only pebbles remain

The day he left the rain started to fall
For three months the sky was wet
The people stayed inside at first
They pushed their faces up against the glass
And watched the rain drops through their condensed breath
They watched the movies they had made and read the books they had written
When they were finished they watched each other

The land soaked up the water at first
But soon the streets were rivers
The people raised their houses up on sticks and moved about by boat
They ate mushrooms that grew well in the cold and damp
They grew their hair long to stay warm

In July he returned
The rain stopped and the water drained away
The world returned to the way it had always been
But the people were not the same
They liked the mushrooms that grew in the cold and damp
They liked their boats and their houses on sicks
They didn't work so well in this dry world with streets and trees and rules

Its time for you to leave this place the people told the man
He was sad to go, but he saw that the people were people of the river now
He couldn't bring back their rivers or their mushrooms
And he couldn't shave their hair or cut down their houses
So he packed away his sunshine and left the town

The people missed the man who was once their friend
But they knew that life was better with him elsewhere
So they painted his picture in their hair
And feasted on river mushrooms

Things I did today while you weren't looking

Cut my own hair (looks okay)
Ate my food (like you told me)
Shaved my legs (found the razor)
Called your phone (you never answer)
Went to town (lots of people)
Bought a cookie (couldn't eat it)
Cut my wrists (needed something)
Watched a movie (cried a million)
Wiped my eyes (why, mascara?)
Walked the hill (like you told me)
Too many people (so much staring)
Called your phone (please fucking answer)
Went to bed (tears again)
Found my feet (in the cotton)
Threw my phone (screw you anyway)
Made it through (regardless)
(still love you)

Sometimes I forget I live by the sea
I hear the mournful cry of gulls
Thinking they are misplaced in this suburban scene
Without the sanddunes and the waves crash
Without the fish smell and the salt air
But it is me without anchor
Afloat and adrift in these streets
Without purpose or meaning
Longing for your arms because they feel like home