Love as a grenade

Love as a grenade:
take something away and it’s
fire in your hands.

Love where dreams are made
in shapes we read,
hanging before the lonely sun.

Love that scans with
sodden eyes the
rolling, toiling hills of a horizon.

Love that locks
these fingers and breathes
each lumpen, pockmarked heartbeat.

Love that pins a
spluttering wheel of sparks
to a fence: it spins until it dies.

Love that strains to hear
that momentary gasp of
language that would otherwise be missed.

Love that leans into
pillow all the stronger,
gutted that a morning may be all too much.

A Place

There’s a possible world where
these walls are taller
and these floors are sharper
with their delivery
that will be unending, obviously.

There’s a world where the flowers
are bulbous and mean
and sweat at the mention
of water even when it’s
never ever cold.

There’s a life that is
a riot of bowling pins that
always lie flat
while we do the opposite.

There’s a place to bump these thoughts
against a wall
but it only frowns in reply;
pasted with gold it can only stutter.

There’s a crack to there from where we lie
but it’s hidden and
we can only palm and sniff at its suggestion
of being.

Baseline Test

Bluer still
Like the sea
Before it breaks to white
Crashing still
Without reply now
And empty sky
Empty sky
Without a moon
Eclipsed by time
Watch it go
Watch it go
Watch it go
Do you feel anything?
Bluer still
Like the sea
Before it shakes
And I’m gone
And I’m gone
Gone still
Where the Earth
crests to a bulb on a horizon
a bulbous, glowing
beast that has no
desire but
to spin and spin
in this glitter-ball sky

You’re not even close to baseline