tattooed with gandhi
no skin will lie,
bare butt piss
constant lemon stream,
she watched his fuzzy back
dark mat of curls
lined by her nails,
depressed bed
mattress coils gone
before their advertised expiry,
a week of this
longing and urgent,
walking back
she waited
a sharp twinge in her stomach,
the next day
could not come quick enough
clever blue eyed clock
measuring the width of harm
in ratchet clicks so solemn ,
childhood had finished
you saw to that
overtook my heart with years
as firm shrouding
growing up was a facility
in the forest where only some
belonged,
and i did not want to go there
it was a sentence
a finish
even ultimatum
to those near expiry date
flesh baggage creased and folded
eyes as dim bulbs,
i was the one on the bicycle
wishing to go past
shouting at the top of my voice
yet something broke the wheels
and i was left at the path
sat crosslegged wondering,
one woman with a cart lopsided
and one eyed horse offered me a lift
and i refused despite
silky touch of mane
as horse nuzzled my hand,
i was broken not forgotten
resisting time as an armed guerilla,
i would fight
and there would be casualties
as the snow melts
you open the doorway to onions,
crammed in a pan with cubed steak,
beige dress and apron strings
he saw the wineglass
an ashtray close to full,
he still wondered why she shaved
her pubic hair into a stripe,
going to piss in the small toilet
a room barely used scented of
kerosene and urinals,
you ok she called
peppermint ice cream tones with
hidden expressions,
scratching beard muttered out a reply
zipped up mind still a conflagration of thought,
i wanted to do an english stew
was your day ok
housewife animated advertising jargon
felt like exploding,
the car would still be warm
engine would start quickly,
murmured almost automatic familiarity
those beech tones just as wooden
full of grain and knots,
fifteen years it was comfortable
not likable settled,
he did not question or ask
just lived as he now did with her,
camus could of written a diary with them
in with charlie parker soundtrack,
there was no children
they had not found time,
you could crawl back inside yourself
but that would lead to tears
best left to what was
a grisly fetish
slave and domination
abstract interludes,
snapshots of a smoking buddha
fuck hole sanity,
without that crawling cuckoo
jacket on chair
assembled the winning smile,
she came and kissed
long tongue surrounded his mouth
lips soft journals of praise,
now feeling ok
sat back and spoke as if released
watching her
not knowing her
velvetmedia 