My heart these days feels tiny in my chest,
like Jonah in the whale
that doesn’t know he’s there…

 

It feels crushed, contained,
fibrillating, strained at best
pumping gut polluted air…

 

Outside the cradling rib cage,
beyond the white boned wall:
four winds and wilding seas.

 

No flame to light my guiding page,
just the siren’s haunting call,
and a pale horse upon the breeze…

 

Shod hooves come thudding faster,
my heart beats ever small
as dark shadows fall like death…

 

I am a portent of disaster,
the thirteenth trumpet call
of the harbinger’s last breath.

 

 

 

 

Well I drunk the sun-down,

then I drunk

the fucker up again…

I played the forlorn clown, then I filled my

fucking cup again…

I cursed the silver moon

and the TV’s fucking news again,

I spoke my words too soon, they

novocaine’d my tongue again…

 

So they dashed my stupid face

on the wall

against my will again,

I wished I’d won the race

that they may never kill again…

but my brains that stained the bricks

were scrubbed

clean of all that did remain…

 

and no one cared at all

that no one ever knew my name…

 

 

 

Some birds sing to fill the air

that all of life might hear,

some song drifts without a care

to find another’s ear…

 

yet in some lonely, darkened place

where silence slowly creeps,

it matters not for want or grace

that music wakes a heart that sleeps…

 

and in its waking sings again

to light those Sunless halls,

with shards of notes in sweet refrain

that out of nowhere softly call.

 

 

 

Four ambulances,

strobing lights through my curtains,

humming under the ghostly blue.

 

It’s three in the morning,

I’m woken by the sound

of saving life.

 

Strange enough that I

just killed a man in my dream,

then green men appear.

 

Two red men

kneeling and pressing,

the green ones are ripping packages open…

 

Like wolves in the chests of prey

their teeth and faces black,

white bones cracked apart.

 

Now I’m on the balcony

half naked in the dark,

my dream-kill, bleeding out.

 

The wolves fall silent,

the green men pick up their spill.

The carcass lies gaping, split.

 

The bed is sweating,

my dream is waiting,

I’ll kill again…

 

When this world spins without its season

why should we care at all,

that leaf not turn nor acorn fall.

While birds take wing not knowing reason

and winter cheats the robins call…

 

When soil and sea withhold their gift

while nets and ploughs still toil,

as lunar tides becalm their shift…

celestial flares, flame down their spoil

to cast the hopes of men adrift…

 

When revelation pyres the page

to sets its words aflame,

rogue angels fall with fiery might

and raise earth’s core to molten rain,

that none again may see the light.

 

 

 

 

From where came This Sun?

that undid my sleep,

that lit the edges of my dark…

 

that snuffed my rest where it begun

and took itself to keep,

what gave this day it’s cursèd spark?

 

What prised my eyes upon this light?

that witness I should be,

what turned my head where’er it say…

 

what raised our fists and tongues to fight

for all that would be rightly free,

and not by might be cast away…

 

From where did all this darkness fall?

that shaded what was grown,

that blacked the edges of our light…

 

that snuffed the hope among us all?

that it be never known,

how lesser men denied our right.