Of late conversations

 

I cast windows

From where you refuge.

 

The more I learn,

The more I escape.

 

Translate to me.

In languages, I speak none.

 

(Jun 2010)

sleepers of the night

For Jack who is dead, his rapid-shrinking carcass
acrobat on my wall.

Splat! ‘Here goes one more bloody…’
my brother flipped out
while I sleep
like a senseless: muse-bleat
flitting in repellent-fumes
Jack The ripper had difficulty breathing
while I sleep

my 21st birthday-sleep.

being away

 

Bruising waves of time

scratching stretches

book racks after poems

I hear from loneliness

 

 

the shaking brutality

of getting used to,

the inescapable stir

on feeding it to memory.

 

 

The knowingness of memory’s instinct

heavier than the burden of flies

on dead skin.

(July, 2009)