Anisoptera

Think karim, think pain of effort:
extra lb, sticking elbow; gains from hell
and predilecting over live to tell the crowd
of it, legged and lagging heavily and heaving
as you go, rough and huffing up the blow in
contientious dose, portentious pretension;
an offer being offered in mid-mediocre
tension, post-transcendent ere post-actively
precising parent harms, poor receptive charms,
charletting. blood is the colour of you calling
out for having put to ink what won’t dilute in
simple terms, on basic techings: a to lack and
l to hack as I remain uneven.

Hod Complex

Says he do[es], breaks a horseshoe in the mouth of rush,
The pressure precedent: a heavy in the way of hang,
Nonheld that has me belly full and shoulder strong,
Tier traumatic and a hold on to the umph and ar and
Have it. As it has it all turns head away from hurt;
You are ten stories high if you’re a foot, and I keep
Diminishing. Danger country run down as the rum
Down that we up, the hateful nature that keeps
Nurturing a lift horse in the mouth, Trojan of a
Consort tearing up and in between, past and out
To get me as the urge it comes too close, it ventures
Deeper – lucky struck as breath and breathing of
A gospel in hod form, psychometric transformation.
Complex word in worthless taking of a meaning for
Its mark, a harm if you must have me. Love is simple,
You know: & forgiving. It is only by encouraging the
Quiet act that we speak up, learn to cover for what’s
Missing. Eighth in row, overflowing – and ashamed
To find a purpose in what mercy he keeps showing
Me. Admittedly: I shy from all that pushes me toward
The centre; as commitment meets dissent and I dis-
Tend heraclean muscle pretending I can tick, I can’t
Take it. There’s a joke on the world that says it must[n’t];
This is how I know we shall.

Hemophobia

from a fear of blood
forms a fear of turning.
who I am and
who I care for are
two things I keep pretending
mean the same, keep meaning
to change me. for a tongue’s
worth of a compliment it
burns, the memory of being
loved returns to me,
pours heavily running through
spit that sustains me,
a hit job as threatening: ‘draw
of my heme.’ but
your red is distracting. it’s
not fitting I should
be afraid of my own,
but as your wounds have
shown me – it is
better to be bruised than
to be bleeding.

LETHARGOS [rutneck augur and the silver fleece]

Wheel, chair, lamp, desk –
The edge of the experience as it
Returns to me,
Post-actively present,
A piecing of the weights that
Must be los(s, t), shame as it
Regains an active form,
Relative pressure.

The grind of open shells and black cocaine,
Explosion in the way of what’s remaining
Close to the ground, and inspiring.

Is it that the crawl sees,
The crawl moves through me –

Tumourous, tumescent and much
Sooner than expected:
The death of tripping flesh,
Limb of obscure distress
Awaking wildly.

Next to the bed where she limps,
Sits upright, is reminded:

“Come you slept to this chest of
white bone, split to the point
that not rest, not my hand –
not he there who observes us
and knows – could relief?”

– That I could (and he can) raise an
eye to my own and be fled, drench
to the bruise and there lie, laze
and lifeless; a sore to behold and
be held by this sorceresspulsion.

Pulse (made to pulse) and feel
Slow held against my own flow
Of remission.

A means the one as one more,
A one among many exploring
Myself bound to steel and a warning to

Lo! turn’t the wheel;
a blow to the spine’s not for long,
is then feelless. the strap as
the evil contraption that sees us
unable to cope, un’way to escape
til a stroke stays the hand
that’s resisting.

Untie,
Praise the lace for its thread and go free,
Shake’n’grieving.

The ancient saying is no strand could
Withstand false sympathy.

But good rope is thicker than blood.

And some hangings (as some loves)
Must go by destiny.

halfsame

I’m halfsame, halfdifficult;
wasted youth on principles
of flesh and its repentance.
you are all that represents
the fucks I’ve missed out on,
the weights that I keep carrying.
halfinsane, hands in hand that
hurts me. I allow it. it’s his name
I cannot bear now, the nervous
memory that somehow stretched
still curls toward the centre.
to spread apart, but never enter.
to perpetually be denied.
halfmade to know me better
than to think that I would let her
take sobriety for shame,
hesitation for an exit.
as the nearest door grows outward
I call out, breed the habit. halfdead
and halfflaccid and alltripping.
is a name half the worth I keep
taking for the privilege it’s not?,
the claim I keep forgetting I’m
entitled to. just because she said
she wouldn’t doesn’t mean that I
should take to what she tells me
for the truth when half my
everything is lies that I’ve grown
used to. yes you are and yes I know
you. you are death and I suspect
you to be fond of me, and verily
be calling for my flesh, mistake me
for the worst among the best, the
least amidst the most it may be.
matters not: you will see me.
hanging and
halfbleeding and
a genius. twice everything
you saw yourself ingeniously
rubbing between palms,
feeling between fingers.
there’s a way to double up so
tell me if you mean it.
half from language half
from nothing I will read,
write out the sacred prophecy.
halfthesame this world will burn,
will return to us the nothing
it amounts to. halfmyself
I will acquiesce.

submundus calais

as if half-born.
as if half-torn or forgetful
of the tone we’ve brought about,
two words we said aloud that
lead to being here. preferring
not to. kindness in an act of
hanging close and closer to you,
in one gurgling preter you over
worlds of better chance. smarter
evens. once at odds with grievance
subs collide. dreams become it.
someone can learn to call this
love, and act upon it. demand it of
the comforts we keep back, the
pressures we feel pressured to
accept. wherein man submerges
here, his death emerges there.
it is certain. harness is a word
for safe, a safeword for secure;
so long as she holds me and
she bleeds the shadow through,
the fever pours don’t worry.
keep forgetting how to swallow,
how to tie your tongue in nothing
but the feathers your spit out,
bones you keep foreboding.
there’s a tension to us that’s
unloading, that is turning
to a ruin of the bodies we
discover. treading light,
and pushing gently.
there’s intention to the
jump and you can’t
save me. there is only
something vague that
you can cling to,
something sad I can
remember. it will come.
I will change.
for the better.

Milorg

The crow sings, the crowd looks on.
From a fixed point to a stage break,
A feather to an accident,
A hand upon my chest is like
A blow upon the brow,
The beak among the black and proud
To show of earned and worn,
Speak of storm and stagging.
Here I am my löwe, with horns bleeding.
A taste upon the tongue has made
A ritual of feeding, a challenge
Of the chase that has us hunt while
Out of form, stalk without enjoying it.
That nature hurts, and hurt keeps seeding
In between the devil’s balm
And the joke we make of healing.