Verse

I like to make you watch me cry

I like to make you watch me cry.

I like to go somewhere unseeing, unhearing

of ‘darlings’, ‘tell me what’s wrongs’

and other sweet nothings

—a place so far that you can’t save me from drowning.

I like to go there and cry,

while you watch helpless

as salt mountains crumble

and roll down my cheeks.

 

I like to make you watch me cry

quietly in a sort of everyday horror

while we sit at the table in silence

as if what we’re eating is just dinner.

 

I like to make you watch me cry

because it takes out my pain and all its pieces,

lays them out in a live exhibition

that you have no choice but to comment on after.

 

I like to make you watch me cry,

because after that game we just played

where you take the things you love and tear them,

darling, I’m feeling cruelfaced.

                                   

Image—photography by Rosanna Jones http://www.rosannajones.co.uk

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Verse

Beast rally

We just want to rally,

to shout,

to hate,

to throw rocks.

Whether it’s for land, for thirst, for money, 

a man born on a shepard night’s silence

a prophet or a sage 

enlightened underneath a tree.
 

We just want to rally

to belong,

to break,

to feel higher

than them.

For books, for myths, for stories told

by long forgotten women and men.

 
We just want to rally,

to make ours

and not others’

to be known,

to be seen shining for fifteen minutes,

to be loved,

to be saved,

to be told that we are great.

To believe so deep

in our right to be,

to say it out loud, 

to live,

to kill,

to be beasts.

            

  

Photo by Aris Messinis

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How to leave a good man

How do you leave a good man who loves you? 

How do you leave when he doesn’t hurt 

but, you hurt nevertheless? 

—when he holds you 

but, you keep falling right through his chest? 

—when his words cradle 

but, don’t cause earthquakes? 

—when his promise is a fortress 

but, all you want is home with oceans and skies rushing in through doors and windows wide open? 

—when his love, only loves 

but, does not see. 

—when you know he will stay after breakfast 

but, he will never dwell your secret wells. 

—when he looks at you 

pleading, 

but, you remain a jagged mountain 

because embracing only makes things worse. 

And hope, is only as foolish as fear. 

 

So you stay hard, 

you stay ugly; 

and you let your life get blown along the currents of Venus and Mars 

while the rest of them throw rocks at your feet, hoping you will get back in line, 

or run. 

 

But, you stay still. 

 

You leave him. 

 

Because, if not, 

he’ll be the death of you 

and worse, 

you, of him.

                                                                                                                                            

Image—Lilith by Josh Brandao

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Because we’re all satellites

Because we’re satellites

set free in motion by the want of life,

 

we drift,

we encounter,

we love,

we fall under.

We collide,

we cry.

We drift apart,

and fly far out

until the leagues in between 

dissolve the ugly,

and aurify the pain.

 

Gold.

Wordless.

Honest.

 

When the satellites cross again—

as if by chance,

as if new,

as if it was meant to…

 

As if.

 

Until then.

                                              

 

Image—Orbit by Kate Banazi

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What went wrong

Love,

when you ask my long face

‘what’s wrong?’

– where to begin,

I don’t know;

Just now? Yesterday?

Nineteen ninety four?

Or,

the day I was born?

                    

Aqua de Noche, Amy Friend 2010

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Sleeping love

You’ve fallen perfect

composed in my sight

like a monumental piece of grain

a beautiful sage.

Perfect.
 

In my wicked greed, I want you to stay asleep.
 

From every direction I see,

every way I turn you,

you’re something I wanted, something I begged for

some day, some time,

down the line.

Perfect.

 

I can dazzle all the world’s love your way, but you won’t stay.

You’ll awake.

 

I know,

I know, that the thing that binds my sight

to you is your glorious flight.

Your wake.

You looking right through me

at something far,

somewhere I don’t belong.

 

I know.

I fear.

I feel.
 

It’s the only way.

So, my beauty, without me,

go sail away.

                   
 

Image – The Sleeping Man of Oguri Kohei by Nemuru Otoko, 1996

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The night of September twenty third

And I felt you break 

showering my secrets 

with a hundred million stars 

cast out new

throbbing to be

someone,

something,

a speck in the great, big sea.

                   

 

Image – Avery McCarthy

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