1. |
Become the Ghost
06:29
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BECOME THE GHOST
Fringe benefits,
a wealth of dilation, possessed and wrought.
Embracing as enemies, here witnessed
by the sorrowed and the whimsical,
by the trickle and the flood,
pining and a lackadaisical
manoeuvre merge and unfold.
The entrance to everything is dim-lit and haunted.
Falling ever upward through this empire of casualties,
now and often dropped swiftly into phantomescence
pining and a lackadaisical manoeuvre merge and unfold.
Picking at pieces of numb-cut razor tongue debris,
I begin to wash the winter off my skin.
“Aloft,” we cried and rose into the sun.
Given already to fits of sedated shadow,
when you die I will become the ghost.
Curses! Foiled again!
A potful of ashes held high in our fruitless hands.
The myriad absent will ring out and fade.
You’re gone and I am the ghost.
We’ll do what we can.
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2. |
On Laden Shores
13:30
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ON LADEN SHORES
…never seen again.
Hold out your head full of light as an offering.
Reach out into whispers caught standin
just beyond the hole in the horizon,
hanging now and filled to overflowing
on your high and endless walls.
Turn round and drift back to the sun.
Committing every piece you hold to memory.
…never seen again.
Empty your hands of the burdens you’re gathering.
Slip through the æther and come out the other side,
having always with you that broken horizon
to put up at home and to fill with closed eyes.
Come down and spill out for us all,
collecting every piece that unfolds into tragedy.
…never seen again.
Spread out your wings in the night,
and fill your lungs with the weight of the abyss
standing just there, before you.
A break in the silence hangs over our endeavours
and drips down onto everything.
“You are dead,” so reads the inscription.
“You are dead and you don’t know.”
…never seen again.
Cast your fortune to the deep.
With nought left but the cold breath of the abyss,
you pass through empty fathoms come beckoning.
Spiral down. Don’t breathe. Close your eyes.
Writhe. Claw, then finally, breathe.
You disembark on laden shores and break uneven ground
and plant a figure there whose shape won’t be discerned in this light.
Lost at sea, ripe with plunderage, and so, weighed down.
Drive this listing vessel to the ground.
…never seen again.
Laid out on broken shores, still now and haunted blue.
Float your way up listless rivers and back to your home,
where they are waiting, and dying,
but you’re never seen again.
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3. |
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LUCID DEGREES OF AUTOSCOPIC RUIN:
This is one of those days.
I wake up again and again and again.
Shuffling around in the back,
forget I’m out walking
but I remember reaching out to touch the anchor.
It melts to ribbons in my hand.
Piano chords trickle down the hall,
each note a strain,
like blood soaked cellophane.
Hard wired into water walls,
she whispers the sequence over the phone.
I get out of the car.
Escape is a wave of silk and clay
Throughout and backward, it’s always the same;
a river runs through you and I drown in it.
This time I go out with the tide.
That sickly soap will not rinse away
I become a baroness, trapped in my own womb
of vulgar memories of commonness.
I try to attain as much as will not paint me rude.
Clouds fall in on me
The photos are of funeral smiles.
Everyone I’ve ever known is there.
They watch as I fall out the door,
as if I’m a stranger.
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4. |
A Map of Dead Stars
13:14
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A MAP OF DEAD STARS:
We cannot cross for the sun or the cold.
In perpetual dawn we have crawled.
The scribes of the ancients do guide us along.
We Live by the old tongue and follow dead stars,
adrift in dark distances, and measuring time by the moon.
In the past lay, as always, a red sun.
Count out the ages as our tenth father before;
adrift in dark distances, and measuring time by the moon.
We gather and wait for the tides to melt away.
We are awash in a soft light. We are the clouds gone grey.
There comes a tremor as of strangers in the distance.
There comes a tremor as of strangers who were never there before.
O, lossless bliss, whose mangled will not to survive
quite so much as the rest,
does take a scorned and withered hand
to watch it go free as it sifts through the loss itself.
Such vapours & apparitions,
meandering from whence they were poured,
on a sphere not unlike your own, adrift in black distances.
We move with the dawn; here torn asunder and there left to rot.
We cannot cross for the sun or the cold.
Those who are left cling to the dawn,
adrift in black distances, and measuring time by the moon.
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