onion

how is it that we can peel a bulb
endlessly, and never reach its
core?
is it then vacuum encased we
mistook for air, where nothing ever existed,
and salt for irrigation, merely at its pores?:

to indicate, (simply)
more,more, more

that day (that day)

hush up the days which tend to boast
and you might remember the unfed ones
in comatose:
that day that day, when the bookmark wouldn’t stick;
that day (that day), the adjunct to the rest
that tick.

curtain call

Will we still recognize each other
During the final curtain call?
Will your drapes last longer than mine
Amidst our flashbacks and all?

bluebeard

the numb release

from your reticulated embrace returns gradual
favour to my pallor,

introduces a bluebeard hangover
with a parrot
on each side,

re-telling sceneries.

serpentskirt

an arrest in sudden
heat by light of a left voltaic-pounding
snatches life’s penultimate breath at the lip:
the smoke thread is pulled taut along this
snake’s belly, where the next is only caught on
a serpent’s skirt.

if tomorrow is not future enough

i was informed
of a
void deck reality
by the lyrics
in my head-
(phones):

"you and i
are not meant for the future.
all we have is
now."

then the rain came,
and the clothes had to be
kept.

perhaps tomorrow,
at Compassvale Southgate

if tomorrow is
not future enough

we shall all meet again.

not a poem

these days
i find myself
preferring
to do poetry
in my head.

this is therefore,
not a poem.

my position that dusk

I remember that evening.

It was like numerous other evenings when I could only be so lucky to have been spotted, and to have squinted, as you gently landed your distance on my face. We were in such hurry, almost desperate to realise the inevitable: I was racing towards ‘the next happening’ while you had more important surfaces. But in that instant, I had already come to understand the depth of your story, and my position that dusk – like you had meant for me.

Such was my happening.