disconnected (draft)

j-w-waterhouse

my type, feather

light in quiet

breath, drifts

on a whim of fancy.

nothing

              but a song

half formed on a fingertip

dream in a mad breeze

              promise.

sent, like a road sighing

somewhere

             beautiful and real.




lying low, daylight hangs

between us

there is nothing but nice

chit-chat and the memos

that remember everything




                              but this.

changed

SoundArt - deviantart

 

every door slam raised voice barrelled in a fist,

every time you dragged me to the ground,

kissed me on the up-curve of a crippled howling no.

 

how long ‘til the echoes of your will crushing mine

say no more. say no more of bone or break

or song strangled in brief light. no. don’t touch me.

transparent

a_new_day Francois Frassiner

you said you’d only let me down
which you did

soon enough i knew better
than to take you back for more

still

i miss hearing you play guitar
though you can’t sing

or echo

the waste of my embrace;
you pretending to be the good guy

independence

moon independence

I can’t see the moon. Beyond dark tree and thought branching
out into the universe, each busy with itself – She
has locked me out, left me to fend as best I can beneath her
awesome vacant space, lit only by the garden fairylights.

Too busy for my needs, she has a chaos of new stars to teach
about the destiny of planets, constellations, souls and all
the rest that can’t be named outright in word or song,
because everyone, absolutely everyone, is running scared

that everything might well turn out to be nothing but a technicality;
an aberration of the tick-tock let’s invent whatever
seems to be a possibility and worry later if it all goes wrong.
Stars too should know how to fend for themselves, so I accept
the obvious – tonight I’m on my own with the bloody fairylights.

in difference

FrancoisFressinier

Your touch doesn’t drive me reckless-crazy,
I don’t hear stars pound in your veins
but sometimes you’re a perfect shallow
anchoring my complex depth.
Calm when I am all wild moon and moor
screaming for the lost who spin and cry
like wind-chimes clashing in mad chaos,
you are measured, careful with my breath.