I’m entirely covered in a leather
besides the slits,
sewn up but seamless,
and it fits I guess.
It copes well in this weather,
cause we’re all angels in a storm counting elephants.
Chained and tethered to kite strings kerosene soaked,
and tied in knots only sailors could know to tight ropes.
Now we’re all on these strings,
but the wind blows us all the same way,
and no matter how we’re shook and scarred
we always remain the exact same distance apart, always.
It’s a special place in hell.
I can’t touch, smell, hear or taste you, but I feel I know you,
or a little cause sometimes I can see you,
on a clear day at least, and I’m sorry but I stare, I’m broke and I swear
disrepair knows home here,
but I promise you it’s true
every broken part of me smiles
when you do.
I have no ideas
on why these mirrors are always immaculate,
but if seeing is believing, I don’t believe in anything anymore,
so I see no reason for not smashing them.
I may be struck with seven years bad luck
but I doubt I’ll live through two.
So when lady luck comes to fuck me up
One day I just won’t be there.
Then she’s got five years in an empty house.
Five years a widow wearing black.
She’ll scream till she wretches,
‘till it’s too familiar to be a therapy,
and she’ll die and won’t be found.
If seeing’s believing
then stick a pin in my eye,
and if this is living
cross my heart and hope to die
an honest man.
My wounds dependent on salt.
I’m just bitter and lonely,
but it’s all your fault.
Now I’m all clean, but we’re not really.
We’re just as clean as we can get.
Stained like tea cups
that have seen more leaves than any tree has ever shed,
but a stained glass window
is still see through,
you just don’t want to.
You’re my favourite, my favourite thing I’ve met,
and I always shake with a loose hand
though I’ve everything to prove,
but if I held yours I’d grip too tight and we’d fuse
like two yews grown sideways colliding
and then we’d grow upward as one,
and in three hundred years
we’d be a hundred feet long.
But if I grew toward the moon,
I’d bet you’d grow toward the sun.
And you can stay just as pretty as day,
and I’ll keep out of sight.
Cause it doesn’t matter if you’re pretty in the dark.
No, it doesn’t matter at night.
I’ll roll across the beach, and on my own Ill stare at the stars
till I lose focus.
Cause I’m just happy to see
two bright lights
in the bruised blue black darkness
where one was.
Oh see how all the limpets lay on the rock
then more shells stick on top,
like a blanket
‘till you can’t longer tell what’s alive and what’s not,
Cause you just can’t see where the shells start
and the rocks stop.
We all live like this or we’re somewhere in the sea.
Not lost particularly but found
I figured I just wound out washed up on some beach,
and I’m just waiting,
praying someone will pick me for a necklace,
or just something to keep.
Make me feel immortal again. Please.
Put me in your safest pocket.
We’ll make do and mend.
Pick me for a wind chime,
and on still days I’d still sing.
Lock me in your rib cage
and throw up the key.
Together let’s grow tired of everything.