Tis Late

Do you still feel a chill when my ghost hovers near,
or wonder what life might have been but for the fear
of what lay before – beyond that ivory door?

I learned to walk like Oneiroi: their company
has become something of a second family.
Like their changing form my mind knows no better home

than those distant reaches where oft the nightmare beasts
repair for their repose, to parliament or feast
upon unwary souls (I am not one of those).

But fly now – tis late – & tomorrow may you wake
in some familiar place; this I pray for your sake.

Unite for Human Rights in Iran

Oh, How Published!

Four poems in the Mitre this year:

Conversation Without Meaning

Dearest Monster

All the Waiting to be Born

Tiller Towards Trouble

Information about the launch party is forthcoming.

The Flip Side of February

I went walking half asleep,
wondering whose long legs carried
me down the dull, frigid streets.
The cold was like music to
me (I am synaesthetic
you see) & in my reckless
abandon I must have stepped
beyond the reach of Reason.

I was in good company –
o what great eyes, o what sharp
teeth! Still the pacing of strange
feet bore me through the snow &
sleet, until I floundered on
the flip side of February.

I Am Not Worried

While our many lives drift in time
& the gods smile on our defeat –
when even mountains are worn flat
for all the shuffling of their feet –
dreams may yet come, & for all that
I think I shall not cease to rhyme.

At the last hour called “Judgement”
when pale the forms shall rise from graves
& greet that final, endless day
with arms outstretched for Jove to save
still my lost soul will sing away,
in sorrow or in merriment.

While it is too early to tell
what year, how long until the knell
is sounded at the last for me
the rest is fairly plain to see:
though I might not have mouth to sing
I am not worried by such things.

Ἐνδυμίων

The moon, her midnight stillness
a portent of long white days,
pallid & resplendent hangs
over the land. Like velvet
the quiet evergreens stretch
along the dim horizon –
the last refuge of darkness
in the shimmering season,
impermeable to light,
& to reason disinclined.

These are not Cartesian climes
but the whole is more akin
to ideas of waking in
the sleeper’s mind, like inklings
of a jagged shore on the
farther side of bliss, the thought
that perchance we are remiss
for all our dreaming, while our
clenched eyelids shut out cold winds.

Still the night to our windows
sings with words of shadow &
ice – not music but frozen
impressions which now glisten,
now fade like slow lightning. For

long moments the vistas of
some distant otherworld are
superimposed onto ours.
Winter makes Endymions of
us all, & of every place

Latmos.

To a Drunk

I have genuine admiration for those who give
innocence & joy a plausible voice: such words
never come easily, though sordid eloquence
pour profligate through parched lips, & from the gibbet
even mutes might sing.

As for myself
I am trying to kick the habit of breathing
& am experiencing the usual symptoms
of withdrawal – a droll sense of urgency when
the blurry world begins to fade, & in that bright
confusion I forget what I had set out not
to do.

Who knew
that despite the threats – the mad ingrate maunderings –
that frail, long-suffering life still durst not recant?

Who knew
that glib poets always could wallow & descant
& still the dread Muse would not deign favour her wards
with the blessèd reward of her Lethean darts?

& since the weight of words is not so palpable
as other things – like the girth of your breasts or the
stale stench on your breath – this I will say, & in no
uncertain terms, as to where our true differences lie:

I mean everything – indeed I have lived it all;
you are a bloated vulture, gorged sick on offal.

Snap

Do ghosts freak out when living folk show up on their photographs?

Weeds

The sun beat hot
on those hard streets.
Like weeds we crept
through cracks in concrete.

How am I supposed to know
if there’s still time
or if I move too slow,
or out of line?

This was my blood offered to you
to drink while it was warm.