my mouth forgoes feelings
so I can feel everything else
the roof of my mouth goes numb
so I can envelop myself
in self-medication
a vacation
for the senses,
a sensible
meditation,
a softening
of the edges.
Tag: poetry (Page 7 of 24)
find a corner
that doesn’t look
too grubby.
s l i d e
down the wall until
you are twice folded –
bottom on the floor, arms
around your knees
try to resist the urge
to rock back and forth
fail
let your head fall forward
close your eyes
shut it out
shut it all out
pull yourself inward
stretch the aching
small of your back
make yourself
small
smaller
smaller
pretend you have
disappeared
just for a few minutes
just give yourself
five minutes
here.
headphone wire
like IV wire
like attached to a drip
like blood transfusion
like PTSD
like being tethered
like being trapped
like not at work
like not 2016
like 2010
like 2010
like 2010
maybe I keep writing about you because
I am looking for that one sentence I could write
to make you come alive for me.
I realise this would be misguided.
I know I can’t make you come back.
It’s just that for me, it feels like
you were never really here.
I have four poems in this anthology, Dandelion In A Vase of Roses! Available in paperback and on Kindle.
reasons why my body is awesome:
low blood pressure
very little trouble sleeping
haven’t vomited since January 2011
bones all intact
badass scars
cute dimple at old stoma site
super-efficient waste disposal system
tattoos
clear skin
soles of feet have a pleasing arch
mad hair that sometimes looks pretty good
ambiguously-coloured eyes
back curves in, butt sticks out
boobs
pretty good legs
GREAT hands
ticklish
baby face needs ID for buying alcohol
can smell onion rings cooking at twenty paces
Little old me reading a couple of my poems. Rare sighting! I’m running away and hiding now.
stand back:
I’m writing poetry
this requires two hands
one to hold the pen
one to grasp a piece of star
and determine how it feels –
what’s it like when those
jagged edges cut the skin
and does the blood glisten
as much as this artefact I
stole from the sky
stand back:
this is going to get messy
there is crimson on the page
crimson on my palms, crimson
on the pen and now crimson in
my mouth and the metallic tinge
is how I imagine stars taste but
I have to know for sure so I
lean down and touch the tip of
this fragment of space mountain
with my tongue and it is like a
silver shard of sugar tainted by
the darkness that has tried to
engulf it for a million years but
it has endured until now – now,
now it heaves its last breath as
it lies in my hand. I have plucked
it from its habitat and I have
killed it. turns out the darkness
was the only thing keeping it
alive, and it flushes gently,
dimming for longer with each
pulse until it is nothing but a
piece of grey coal and my
vermillion hands are glowing
as if it has given its life to them.
