bare
exposed
alone

carving space
in my head to escape

i try to move my legs
but i can't
think of how

the space in my head
fills up with water

i try to think
of a way out
but my head is drowning me
in its panic

my skin is white in the light
of the window

usually so beautiful
but not tonight

because

not a thought
gets to be heard

and the yard is cold
and the lamp is yellow
and my eyes are crying

please
leave me
to drown
in my closure.

we managed
to let all of our love
fly out the window
like a caged bird
free from its boundaries

but now
the cage is empty
the house is still
all is lonely

and i
dont feel
the same
anymore

written and scraped

i stared at the wall
between us
one thing after another
written
and scraped
into the surface of the moon
reflected back into the oceans depth
was the beauty...
it made no sense
no sense at all-
how we could be so tall
and see so little.
blurring my own eyes,
with my own tears.
the silence
at the end of the tunnel.
a jaded stop.
you thought you'd find her
but found yourself
alive
but barely
breathing through a straw
eyes red
reflecting the sky above
the ocean moving beneath it
scrambling your faces into glassy fragments
moon crumbled
the silent tides
the purity
of nothingness
nothing left
but your faces falling
into the depth
7 days
7 days
7 days
until they surface again
7 days until they call for help
7 days until they've given up
and we can no longer help them
see what they've done

the long walk

I was never quite broken
but I too, know how to pick the pieces up
some days the pieces are all teeth,
pulled from the mouths of children
other times they are flowers being picked by a fist,
a book, searching in itself

I have carved shelves out of my heart
to try and bring an order to things.
all it did was make space

some days I walk nine paces
turn and fall ten
walk nine paces turn and fall
I die every single time

the whistle of the train train is a hospital
it is ebbs with the sounds of dying and fixing
it turns every wheel inside of me
into a fire
turns every wheel into splinters

my belly is filled with cedar wood
there is sawdust still on the floor
I have been sweeping it up for so many days of my life
but each day I sweep up a little bit more
one day my floor will be clean

I clench my hands into fists in case I run into myself
I have something I want to give them

I won’t know what it will be until they are standing before me

I have taken the bones out of my body
and carved temples from them
look under my nails
there is nothing but dirt
I do not know what means
but some hours are spent
doing nothing but staring at the tips of my fingers

hold a mirror up to what I once was
you would see only guitar strings,
shimmering in the light

how I shone

For years we have been told that we do not belong, 
that we should shift out without complaint while others 
are shifted in to take our place. When the peculiarities of 
community and place are swept away by the tides of capital,
all that’s left is a globalised shopping culture, in which we engage 
with glazed passivity. Man was born free, and he is everywhere in chainstores.

the chance to see one last sunrise

the chance to see one last sunrise:

he stood, silent
burning,
burning,
burning,
waiting,
waiting, for his lover
where was she?
why wasn't she here yet?
he was on fire
clouded vision
last chance
to see
one last sunrise
before his vision
blurred
forever