Moor Fool

I can sink,
Then sometimes float;
I can think,
But mostly don’t.

Political rape
Tore my cranial hem;
Then made to escape,
But more fool them.

Along A Weir-side Way

How slow the snake uncoiling
On weird cerebral lawns,
Grips those moles now grieving
And how the wagtail mourns;
Feet of gruesome coots are blue,
Uprooted and reborn.

His weir-side way gave us today –
Barbed our briar impressions;
His river’s course, unnatural,
Fallacies abounding wherever
Escapes briefly water or weather.
Too late the discourse and the dawn;
Too late misplaced starlings imitate
A feather’s fate forlorn.

A garden in his stomach then,
His bowels behold the bones:
Where self-conceited owls will plot
Their death, I walk the weir alone.

Open Verdict

I can see how it happens.
We have no need for oracles
Or, defeated, a dragon’s gizzard;
Sharper than a horse’s heart,
Thoughts pouring from a blizzard.

His better name then excavated,
His blood to poison changed;
His sadness – clouds, coagulated,
Their shrouding sutures elevated,
All futures rearranged.

Aftermath, less miracles –
Answerless, no explanations;
Denials instead, and driverless,
We move between our stations.

Stateless

First, a state did crack me,
And then the devil
Indivisibly did hack me;
In a dream, I hanged on a heath,
Poured my endless heart out
To thunderous friends
Suspended underneath
Where secrets will not keep,
For you cannot hold a pen
When peaty fens grip
With a potash-painted
Serrated beak.

In the ever-aching distance,
A final burning spire;
Nothing I can do.
Sky-ribs pierced,
Limbic cadences and seditions,
Marshland feet bound
With mallow and rue.

I soaked my face in the lake of the deaths –
I cannot say what I witnessed; instead,
A frozen rotten seagull wing,
A bald and bloodless silver moon.

I heard there is a market
Every weekday afternoon,
Where nature abundantly flows
In shapes of latent marrow
And ample, gravid legumes.

Amentiferous

Today is the same day
As yesterday,
And every day preceding too.
The weather may change –
The same bleeds tomorrow –
And slowly then, a view.
A skinny, catkinny frost,
All futures somewhat like
Frozen carp in a cube,
Suspended, inanimate
Within a lake unthawed;
A whitening sun ignored,
Bleaker the sky, and blanched,
Inscrutable eyes widely forlorn –
A stupefied state –
So too the perch,
The grayling and the dace.
And so too, yes, the sky,
White as a severed heron’s chest,
White as survival and yet
Still agonisingly fruitless,
I pack up my taxonomies,
Slowly headed for home
In my exposed, irrevocable chest.

Occupancy

There was a time enforced
I licked therein the back of your head,
Before their gums replaced my tongue
So turned my teeth to lead.

I cannot move for seeing you,
In currency, the emptying sea;
In pastoral ways, bloodhound veins,
Freedom formed from occupancy.

The decision maker’s dossiers
Have your headware stamped;
The prisons, schools and hospitals,
The tanks upon the ramps.

Even time, no less,
With your ages marked;
Should I rescind enriching binds,
Cerebral riots sparked.

Peripheries

There’s a sink that needs cleaning,
A festive wreath to pack away;
Death essentially demeaning,
I can’t see beyond what you did today.

Meanwhile,
The pure agony of existence
Is on the peripheries
Of oceanic ferries
Towards bliss, or heaven.

I can remember every moment,
Pernicious and horrible;
Impervious to me, terrible,
Memories in their tsunamis
And their oceans becalmed,
Crammed into the ecstasy
Of my every waking thought.