Let me bleed out a moment’s release,

from this contemptible inner peace.

my tears are too clear of midnight ink,

my thoughts are apathetic and indistinct.

I look for omens, cracks in bedroom mirrors,

for owls, magpies - among nests of unfamiliar

I churlishly spread my coquettish legs

seducing any passing stranger’s death.

To be touched - trembled by fi...

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They say that the worst kind of grieving

is when the lost antagonist is still alive,

whether sudden as a spring swallow’s dive

or a slow wintered bewilderment in the leaving.

Buried, burnt or butchered cruelly out of heart

that did endure with vexation and veneration,  

fear of being alone or guilt of being causation

of their final yield to the wind that blows love apart.

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You:

I walked out on a white world,
I changed within it, as the cold remembered me and let me in.
I stumbled towards the cover of the sky,
And found the corpse suspended in the liquid jar.
I bled onto the soft carpet, and the blotting paper puddle oozed
until it disappeared beneath a new layer of lies.
I was the corpse,
Was I looking at my future or my past?
Nothing...

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