mirror

mirror

  

life is never really shared

like a small room with too much furniture

the impressive view tucked behind the curtains

the door locked with no way out

there’s little air to breathe   

mind the gap

the walls are adorned with other people

they come and go   only you stay    only   you stay

they’re crammed into such a cramped space

all talking at the same time

all asking the same question

and they all bring you the same gift

they tell you it’s a window

that it lets in the light

and when they smile you smile too 

evidence

 evidence

 

Oct ’73 written on the back

back then it’s another me that’s been

been left out in the rain, now  

sloughed, an old skin I’d walked around in

inside out   shy to light   exposed

tight fitting too thin on a frame

angular and sharp-boned

then slack   had enough

wanted to give it back – gone

 

others came seeking themselves

in cut and paste memories in which he plays

a bit part   uncredited   not quite a cameo   yet

there are fingerprints   DNA

the necessary narrative fallacy

a chalk outline on the floor

a photograph   but

nobody

the unconsoled

 

the unconsoled (an extract)

a room mid-morning

there’s a monitor a sofa a bay window

with double glazing and other religions

neighbours’ houses back-lit a tree looms

a woman comes in

a man follows

they dance they argue they simulate sex

they sit on the sofa and watch Netflix   

finger food   surf   monthly installments

the audience become restless muttering

cough   a few stand up to leave

this in itself becomes a performance

a phone rings offstage goes on ringing

unanswered

a child begins to cry in the auditorium

unconsoled ...

quotient

 

quotient

 

She divided him into parts

little sums with deductions

She believed were additions

resolved him into simple elements

picking him apart like a straw man

until She could slip him into Her handbag

where he now lives with the clutter

in a broken-zipped side pocket

a husband’s paraphernalia

of lost keys and small change

mouse bones and a white feather

a leaking pen   a paperclip  

The Flow of Light

 

The flow of light

 

There’s little time for us now

now that your life is beginning

beginning to take shape

to be shaped by other hands

hands held shaken   kissed waved

waving goodbye a train taken

a leave-taking tunnels and bridges

arriving at destinations

unforeseen departures stations off my map

away from the backwater of my life  

the flow of light beckons

the dissolution of vapour trails

in frail blue skies

the glint of the sun on the tracks

carried away like a wave

the now taken out of sight

lost to a bend in the river

no looking back now

a shadow falls

 

the sun also rises

Decaocto

Decaocto or how long – a story of fate

 

Sunlight sliding through a window

a universe of dust motes

busy as atoms colliding

a door left open 

a collared dove calling

 

on the kitchen table  

a cup of coffee cooling -

the faint tracing of steam

unspooling in fragrant air -

a piece of string      a knife

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moirai

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eurasian_collared_dove

Alecto

Alecto in the revolving door (an extract)

 

1

How many years down the drain?

She’s on a roll now, a roller coaster

All her past clawing its way up the slope

Ratchet by fucking ratchet

The disappointment the bitterness the loss of hope   to

Launch itself into the present

She’s giddy with it nauseous

The push the rush the gush

Does it work like that?

To “do the right thing”

But to do it so badly

Held to account for unhappiness

Yours and mine 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alecto