I Am

Neck turns the head but don’t get the hair twisted. A crooked eye turns the sky upside down. Come forward with your certainty and let me tame you for you are wild in your clarity and I am life. Not given. Not taken. Make your presence an acquaintance of mine and I might lengthen your days of youth and ignorance. Or swerve contact with my eyes and watch me wither you to frailty like men who have learned too much death and bowed reluctantly to their successors.

Trash

Missed it. Trash. The slight of hand was deliberate but not intentional. The intent was the reach of my questions. I searched the hand because I thought it once held the heart. I might have been wrong. Beauty and trash have much in common when you see through them.

Fruit

Day one.

They would say it was just another day. Or you might look at eachother and ask of eachother things you never asked eachother…before…you never knew eachother….still you question their commitment and yours. Its not that you’ve ceased to care. The fruit still has flavour. Maybe not as ripe as it once was. You never liked to eat the core. But thats where you must go. Hard. The fruit is softening. The heart is hardening. You do not notice what is happening around the centre of your world.

Bite me.

The Count

Fated to believe that it really does count. That numbers add up. The crosses and knives cut deeper than words and silence. Knowing that the count starts before you, runs ahead of aspiration, and the novelistic length of your thoughts. That desire carries you as far as you let it linger. A kiss inverted. You swallow your own lies. But they taste good.

The Deep Thinker

Once upon a time I presented this painting, ‘The Deep Thinker’, as a gift. It was turned down because the person who it was gifted to, said the face had no eyes. And that it was tantamount to bad luck. I’ve never dealt in charms but I graciously took back my painting. It seems the only eyes we recognise more often than not are the peep holes for our iris to take a snap shot of what we percieve in surreality. In real life as we term it, we are blinded by sight or rather blunted. The optical illusion of the vision is only equaled by the delusion of what we choose not to see in plain sight. We are all complicit in the great deception and visionaries will burn at the high stakes of our unseeing eyes.

The Deep Thinker
Acrylic on canvas

Six Thirty

Six thirty. You were on time. This time. You were here. I was on my way. Missed the train. Missed the boat too. Burnt the bridge behind the rush hour. Always Knew I could fly. Just needed you to believe. I could fly across the world between your heart and I. On my bicycle. Travelling you has been my greatest journey. So far. So far away. Too high to climb your thoughts. I tried you like you were written by Hemmingway. You were sentences that served me time in the cave of loneliness. I fell down in battle. We grow up in love and loss. Played the hand too hard. Not soon enough. Only time wins it all. Its seven.

Continents

Was it fundamental to die before we ever got to learn about who we were? Our second birth gave us skin. We await our humanity on the third go round. The unreturned, who never knew sleep didn’t discern the need to play on the hallow ground or ween on the blood of sacrifice.

Basil chases the child who runs into walls. Transparent heart is planted in a climate of hate. Lucent as the dark covering, lashes closed the eyes they never used. See through your sounds, the blind mouth utters crimes of thought, a berry too sweet to swallow all at once.

Drown deep slowly. You are continents of water. Drown long and timeless. You are bodies of murder. Drown soft, you are but a baby in all your lifetimes spent searching for your soul. 

80s

80s was Mr T and Murdoch, Wimpy for the toys that went with the grub, scuffling at the laundrette, Cheetara, He-Man and She-Ra, Ghostbusters and Thriller, Christopher Reeves was Superman, comics were Marvel, Peter Parker made sense to this kid back then, had a Mary Jane of my own wired imagination that bought me a Batman action figure in 89, best friends were Irish, Egyptian, and Indian, literature was Roald Dahl and Hardy Boys, arcades were where we hung out, if I wasn’t at the library (Damilola Taylor and I would have been buddies if our years crossed paths), Street Fighter, Pizza Tropicana was the spot where Minesh and his brother got shook, gangs snatched watches and pocket money, I got lucky one time, more than once, BMX bikes were the wheels of dreams, indoors we drove Scalextric cars, soundtrack was pop, trust was Prince, Vicki Vale was the Kim that rocked our world, View to a kill, old Roger was my Bond, caught the whiff of adventure and grabbed the hat I wear in the present, Indiana Jones, red was my colour, had to be a Jedi thing, Murphy was Robocop and Eddie, the golden child, the leader of a primary school country dance, class of 89, Mary Anne, French as my name, teacher was Polish, she remembered me too, spitting image, Nintendo, a falling wall, kinda spooky channel 4 girl at the end of transmission, never thought much about the doll…..

Somebody’s Nobody

Diabolical…if it were a red day and I had a nice face to wear out with cursive words and beauty dribbled out the corner side of yellow eyes, where the tears hide the drinks.

You must have mistaken me for someone you know that you don’t know who knows you. I apologise on your behalf.

Home

Lick shot, sunrise falls on tongue, and I am pinched by delight, left side of bliss, chose not to cry out in pain as long as the lash was held by her velvet tone, ruby green, we match eyes in the void, between the world we made up at play, a schoolyard of imagination, where paupers are crowned with time. 


Not much left to see, to sigh, to say you were always at the centre of planets orbiting secret longings in the open and closed book of my life, indecipherable, I spoke only once in our lovetime to call you home, you belong inside of me, sheltered with my moonscraping day dreams that start where others finish their sentence. Lifers on the run, we race around the infinite questions, to chase a moment we never outlived, outloved, out of sighs, out of sight, seeing and knowing without and within your silence. I belong inside of you.