the twilight of the night, voiceless, yet screaming. can you appreciate her delicate embrace; a mother snarling at injustice, retching up her pain as tears streak her face.
The warmth around my shoulders,
soft as flames in the evening,
conceals the sting in my chest.
My jumper soft and safe is no longer,
now only the writhing buzz of bees
trying to make a hive from my emptiness.
But honey – I do not like the taste of it.
‘Who will slay this troublesome claw?’
I ask Night’s cloaked face.
Night snorts out a star, and says,
‘Claw? What claw?
I see only
a man digging the pit
in which he will die from his efforts.’
‘Do you mock me, Night?’ I say.
‘No, I do not mock you. I pity
you, for thinking that I do.’
And then Night turns its collar up,
strolling off into the Way.
You will see Orion in me. In my rather too much leg. Tucked under neck, toes sticking out towards rainbow galaxies. They itch to track you, unfurling from the spine, down and down and down. Slinky jumping from the arrow head, pointed at your wordy heart. Apocalypse: the constellations shriek. They don’t want to save the world. They just hate the ugly patch our orbit takes. A screwed up sheet in a universal waste paper basket. You will see Orion in me. Orion is no longer. Orion is me.
pounds down on the road.
The impact charges up my leg,
vibrating muscle, fat and skin.
The other leg comes down
and the force pushes the ground to breaking;
it can’t even breathe.
The weight of will
wishing to beat it from my mind
I drink in the air
and the wind cries with me,
flying by my side.
My strong legs can’t go on forever.
Eventually, the track will loop on itself
and I’ll end up back
where it all began.
I can picture it now;
myself a spectator of myself.
Watching from the start,
cringing at the beginning,
then appreciating the work it took
to build the foundations
I have now.
I cannot run for eternity.
But planets don’t stand still, either.
I want to climb to the stars,
feel the roar
of ovation in my ears.
Let euphoria take over
as my body balances
on the point of a needle
as it sways back and forth across the dial.
Precarious. Rash. Bold.
I am all these things.
As I wake,
I sink my hands
into my jarring heart
and replace the bent, broken cogs
with new ones.
I hunt the moon
as it searches the sandy shores,
looking for the key it will never find.
My licking flames
touch its hide,
illuminating it for all the world to see,
but so lost
in its task is it
that the heat worries it not.
With a whine of despair that only hints
at the true longing
in its crater flecked heart,
it extends its gentle, pale
hands down to tug at the ocean,
pulling the waves back like blankets
cast from a bed.
Come now, my friend,
I cannot remove your shackles,
but I can take you from them.