“Overlook”

i’d found stone rock bench platform plateaus
where you used to drink your coffee    cigarettes
and laugh at passers-by, sitting on yourself
occasionally eyeing an old-styled frieze
of judgemental swords and curling lips,
half-wondering what shiny sparking floors
hid inside grey white smog smoked walls.

you’d complain about the square
forever being full of something,
usually people, sometimes markets
utterly refusing to let the space be
and your smoking spot’d be stolen
by wooden huts hawking mushy peas
or mulled cider or chocolate tools

she’d sipped at broken wine,
minding her skin on the glass,
she’d told me it made more sense
when you were bruised, when
beautiful tiredness burst
behind your eyelids and cracked
your wrists with all the fury
of what you’d wished you could say.

on days like those we could lie
about the beauty in everything,
but now we can only tell the truth.

“Watching”

i’d found stone rock bench platform plateaus
where you used to sit with coffee   cigarettes
and laugh at passers by, sitting on yourself.

“The Valley Fled”

the valley fled from the thought of us
unimpeded by the wind or rocks,
axes brought to bear against trunks
and arrows notched at old souls,
curious in their repose at new faces
contorted with emotions they couldn’t
understand or know – the rage
of an unenlightened world.

“Rocky Freefall”

breaking rocks
in freefall through air
floating
past possible presents
distant futures
broken hands and breaking
chests, ink-pots shattered
spilling black down wrists
up arms and legs and limbs,
across waist-trunks
settling in the roots
of the problem.

“Patrician”

delving sideways along a desk of maimed nature
through notes of crushed-stabbed papers scrawled
with arcane, ill-thought, ill-felt runic ramblings
damning some and soul-saving others
making exceptions without feeling-thinking
who goes ahead and who is left behind
to bleed-black on volcanic dead-rock.