Names

I rarely name my pieces
during creation, waiting
instead for the final
word to set.

Why is that? Names
always afterthought.
I suppose it's the
piece that matters,
names are, after all,
incidental. You know;
"What's in a name?"

I'm tired of being
two-steps ahead:
full-on is a word,
or even a name,
it doesn't mean a
thing. So won't
someone explain
why it keeps
holding me back?

Someone teach
me how to slow
down. Backsteps
aren't possible.

It's so cold.

Southbound Musings

I

Have you ever glanced into
a puddle of water?
The excellence of your face
amongst the sediment.
You, too, have but one life to
live. Mortality isn't mine alone.

I drift through the
sea of drifters. Aimless,
formless, yet wholly
dependant on the forms.

A beleaguered response
then, from our broken
apathetic generation.
Sailing endless seas of
dreams looking for a
place to land.

We plot existensialist
revolutions and punch
young men in the face.
Utter esmasculation
countered by female
emaciation.

II

I dream of Steven Carter,
I want to be Steven Carter
but I can't - I wonder
if there's a blonde
caucasian athlete God
who wishes he was a
hairy Muslim intellectual
poet.

Sometimes the blood runs
over my hands and down
my arms, it's a matter of
gravity. What direction to
lean-to.

What a waster, what a
fuckin' waster. What the
fuck will you do? Father
shouts angrily down the
phone.

III

"I am not beautiful" is the
battle cry of all the beautiful
girls I know. They should try
living a day in my shoes, they'll
soon see their inaccuracy.

Fuck Tom G.
You damn right I'm bitter.

I am not in Love
I am not in Love
I am not in Love
I'm lying.

I am not in Love (with Her)
I am not in Love (with Her)
I am not in Love (with Her)
I'm dying.

Wavelength

We are Janus:
one whole divided. Riding
the cosmic double-helix
of flame and ash borne
of our hair. 'Friendship'
is a thing which fails
to compare.

Anna

Anna;
your eyes flicker 'neath
flowing waves of flame;
Again and again distance
leaves me crestfallen.
Odes to thin-air, nothing
to compare or prepare
me for this headstrong
rush to the precipice,
thrust by a gust of
venerated whispers;
Making The First Step.

Unfurled

Soft-filtered light burns;
the world burns Red. Red
is our desire, crafted yet
wholly spontaneous - singular
strands flow loosely over you.
And so it is, an upward glance
looking at those behind the
lens, but we are behind the
lens. We took this photo for
you, for us; for everyone to
see that you could mean the
world - we, we believe that
you could mean the world, and
be the world, and everything
about the world will whirl
whilst being hurled into
your Cosmic Love
unfurled.