precipitous

the sky grew lighter as the night came,
golden pastel threads and smudges
rich purple-red scattering
to grey. the royal turquoise ran deep layers

below or above, depending on your point of view.
and it reflected off windows that smothered the clifftops
blinding but balancing

the panoramic splendour made me wistful.

and something clicks in my mind
that is enough
it was enough a long while back
a small phoenix is hooking its claws into
something solid
its featherless body shudders in the breeze
but it seems more content with feeling the cold
than not feeling at all.
its blackblack eyes look up at me.
i am dizzy, being drawn into them unwittingly
like when you stumble towards the ocean, the rhythm of the waves dragging you in
and you can't tear your eyes away
and it feels as if you have almost no control over your body for a couple of seconds - then the next wave crashes, and the spell breaks - like that.
they are utterly neutral; as identity-free as the sea
yet something in them calls to me

or i call to them, depending on your point of view.
reflected in pupils that mothered the wind-smoothed rocks
grounding but terrifying.

in this precipitous state i know i would have trouble falling.
yet i am clinging to the sharpest of rocks
as fear washes over me in waves
it belongs to me as much as these calloused hands
and i cannot judge the danger any better than you -
we are as blinded but balanced as each other.

and some days the sky looks so much like the sea
and some days you look so much like me

you are less than one, more than every one

the cloth lung is the only thing that moves in this room.
netted red, the wall across from me deepens when the window
breathes in.
and every morning but one i have returned
and have seen the moon scaling the sky like a lizard on a stone wall

this time it was i who flicked the switch,
i let myself into the house
to the loungeroom
and i turned on the light

it was not you who calmed my heart
(though when i think of you i often will be calmed)
it was not you who reached between my ribs and pushed and pulled until i could breathe
no;
that was me.

and here in the summer i sit in my summer dress. i should be partially submerged in the tide.
and i hear your voice and it makes me smile. i have known it for so long that i can't help but feel comforted,
though it pains me to think you are so far away
and i am so far away
and even this far away we are closer than i thought, or you realize.

but still i wish to carve layer after layer of flesh from my bones
if i could be where you are i would show you
the filmy golden tissue that shelters my nerves
i would fold back the skin and glow
so bright you would have to shield your eyes

i would wish that i had the patience you have.
to let the sound come to you in dreams and in fire
and to wait, to see if she will appear between the door and the box of my old records
and stand resplendent and perfect in the half light of your bedroom/recording studio
and it could take years, decades. but you will wait.



this noun is well known, and indiscriminate - you are less than one, more than every one.
i create you and destroy you at my own whim, and you do the same.
i love you, i am jealous of you, i desire you, and i am afraid of you.
there is more to you than our imaginations combined could comprehend.

but this time, i put you aside (in an utterly neutral sense).
i unlocked the door, i opened the window.
i flicked on the switch, i lit the fire.
i shuffled the cards, i counted the numbers.
i stretched and shrunk, i expanded and contracted.
i made the incision, i stemmed the flow.
i grew the cells, i pulled out the hair.
not you.
i breathe.
i beat.
i breathe.
i beat.
i breathe.
i shudder.
i breathe.
i twitch.
i breathe.
i beat.
i breathe.
i flow.
i breathe.
not you,
this time.

i am no bug

rip into me, my hate
i am losing myself again.
don't let the time get sucked into my black black eyes
these darkened teeth disgust me

just the thought just the thought send waves of nausea
i fought i lost i fought i chose but never
(you mind, death professor)

in the mirror my neck looked like it was broken
(but my eyes were open)
in the mirror my neck looked like it was broken
(but my eyes were open)

tear it down, painfully crafted architect
tear it down and i will sink into a
black hiraedd
and the wound appears to fester, despite my clumsy ignorance poultice
it's one of those blind spots,
my arms do not stretch far enough -
so i made a call from the halfway house

you didn't pick up
you didn't pick up
you didn't pick up
you didn't pick up
i was surprised that you didn't pick up

then you picked up
and i am human again and my voice cracked but now is healing
and i am human again after i was made into less than animal
i am human again and i was bug

even now the fleshmemory makes me shudder
not just in disgust, in disappointment
but i am no bug



and the fresh blood will cleanse the wound
and the fresh blood will cleanse the wound

part 2

my soul is spilling out of my eyeballs.

doubt tends to sink in too quickly to comprehend. it digs at your stomach, and you make decisions without consulting the sky first. within a few hours you have thoroughly screwed up 10 months of architecture, painfully rendered. it hits you like nausea, but you don't heave. you just shudder inwardly and pushpushpush on.

so you walk barefoot along the road in the dawning light. three wealthy south africans jog past you, thankfully pretending not to noticed your dishevelled state. the sidewalk is still damp from the night's shower - that's it. you need to wash it off. then sleep. but the waking - there's the difficulty, now.

where to? somewhere else. home, real home, not necessarily a specific bed but specific company. that's what makes it, and will make it better.

but of course. it goes unattended, and festers. with eachandevery day the wound you thought was just a slight nick goes deeper than you could see from where you are. your blood is thick but becoming poisoned. there is no remedy here.


my voice cracks. thesoundsurroundyou. it wells up and overflows, my head tilts back. i am silent, sightless. the crashingjoltingrushingnoise burns the image from my eyelids.


disappointment and disgust mingle like water and oil. they drip down the back of your throat,

where to