Into Space, Into The Stars

Released
Well pleased
In a swell
Cold thundering
To behold
In this set to
Of black and white
Where the stars
Meet the night
And we’re just ghosts
To the endless everything
That we dance to and sing
Hands held
And with bling
That bleeps, beeps and growls
With the rotation of owls
That locks in clean air
We’re emboldened to share
Bring me to them
With a postcard unsent
Unreceived and unsighted
We’re remarked without friends
Released and well pleased
The air shakes again
To the blue we descend
And it’s hectic
Perfected
Though
Doubted
And
Still

Poultices

The clashing of earth of which we consist
under the thrumming, hot hum
of the winds in the mist.

Children of men, and women, of course;
a melting pot of mulch
shakes against a divorce.

The moisture which gathers, well wept,
perspired and bled and well dated
out of woodland, slow crept.

We’re a mass, a gaius of a sound
that moves to the walls
exponential; pound on pound.

Bundled

Wrapped in a sack and tossed
into metal that then rolls to
somewhere new. I’m eloping
to an invisible land, that is
glittered and shimmering
beyond cold, clutching hands.
Then the sky is alight with
fireworks and children laugh
as they fizz. I’m drunk and
laughing too and it all seems
okay. We eat and play and then
I’m bundled away, again, to
somewhere familiar this time.
Where the laughing is just a
memory; an echo through a
stone-baked past which snakes
behind me.