The public pool we broke into each summer was filled in long ago. On days bright as this I still swim in it with you.
Never forget: every moment ever lived lives on— even long, long after it is forgotten —it lives on.
Under an old oak tree a husband slaps his wife’s ass. She turns her head over her shoulder, peering down at him from the slope they both lie on. “Did you like that?” he asks in a silly voice. She narrows her eyes, looking annoyed. He does it again. “How how about that? Did you… Continue reading Happy memories
I came round today, but when I reached your door I balked... went and sat where we’d drunk down the block, and I thought, I hadn’t come to see you, but to return to a place we were at when my ears were still smooth, and the hairs on yours were still black. A place… Continue reading Your door
Tip toeing through the eye of the storm, my Aunty passed in a shadow – her white head buried in a black umbrella. A blur to her as I turned to watch her leave the past behind – in pursuit of 400 sleeping tablets. Tip toeing through the eye of the storm I sped, hoping… Continue reading The eye of the storm
A wild wind swashbuckles in, irrepressible— vases deflowered, scuttled tea boats, dressers laid bare! Mended dishes still reminisce, cast aquiver in its wake.
Return me to the yawns of slumbering pets to purrs stretched endless across my neck Now echoes only—in groans of dinner bloat the squeaks of gasses escaping middle-age in wheezing bedrooms, in pulmonary strain Return me to nights anticipated to shapes and sounds uncovered every morning Now known in the grinding turn of the ignition… Continue reading Return me
I was thinking of a place the other day Somewhere that you and I might go to lie with all the rest of us: him, her and they Under should, would and could we’d die with modal auxiliaries, buried deep away Remaining then, just infinitives: no past or future tenses left to put conditions on… Continue reading Pronoun cemetery
Here a garden lay Its blossoms were so very sweet Soft petals—where now lie tough thistles—fell gentle onto heads of lovers who will reminisce of times we too could have known... ...though we never thought to come
His heart beat tears, and not blood; a lifetime of feelings swelling veins, suffocating his body. He dreamt of cutting it out, and sealing it away somewhere safe to dry. But was afraid he'd flood the world; that cascades of salt-sweet memories would drown us all.