close

precursors                                         to                                                a                                                  smokeless 

         ruins                                                                    of                                                                 which

 

 onto, 

    eviscerated 

    pearls                                                                                          are 

cannon                                                                      fodder                                                              is

drag                                                                                           my               

to                                                                                        my   

the                                       crumbling                                             mortar                                    and                                       eroded

on

back                                                     at                                                       the                                                   icy 

the 

nitroglycerine                    and                     powder                     that                       stick                       to                       the                    spores                         on

:: 

inhabiting

housing

the

clamber

the

of

whose

which

i

peculiar

into

brick

biting

stored

misplace

as

 

still,

still,

still,

contact

walls

propellant,

i

into,

within,

insides

shells:

cast?

used?

loneliness,

hauntings,

clay.

brick,

wind,

chemicals

memories

ledges

standing,

waiting,

wanting.

close

precursors                                         to                                                a                                                  smokeless 

         ruins                                                                    of                                                                 which

 

 onto,      

    eviscerated       

    pearls                                                                                          are 

cannon                                                                               fodder                                                                               is

drag                                                                                           my               

to                                                                                        my   

the                                                   crumbling                                                         mortar                                     and                                                                      eroded

on

back                                                                    at                                                                         the                                                                  icy 

 

the 

nitroglycerine                          and                            powder                            that                              stick                              to                              the                           spores                              on

cordite use this onep2.jpg

your echoes press into the found bones i wrap with feathers

singed by the conflict we celebrate in memorials.

this calcareous frame, numb and cold, drains the colour from fingers visited by pinned needles and splintered nails.

white on grey: ghostly traces shiver - deep marrowed - and apoptotic cells continue dividing until there is   no    more    blood.

necrotic debris falls softly from graves beneath my sighs.

semicircles on the sides of the builder's line   trace an ephemeral witnessing,

sensed through a body putting together a future felt within the touch of concrete.

here, collisions are replaced by caresses, and stones - by pressed chests on each other’s breath.

within the fumes we are claiming our house, our building, back from the burning.

it’s freely given by intention, by trust, by compassion, by the complexity of our humanity.

we don’t need perfect symbols, we can be - messy, leaking and obtuse and still get it

- together

and gather

our inner contours, in lips unsealed, in half opened recesses of folds                         expanding,                          possessed by defiance,                           becoming unstuck from

the familiar pain       of loss.

(                 and the distance they place between me and you shortens through the desolate landscapes coating our epidermal layerings.)

:: 15 minutes

As the anemometer reads the trajectory of airborne droplets between your breath and mine,

it registers an incomplete situation -
- but i keep re-membering,
putting back together the parts of things i thought i knew -

and each time they emerge differently,
each story as multiple versions of feeling sense through shame.

 

entangled and confused, you pathologise my queerness when you can't love it in yourself.

this is a gesture for these stones, holding out for rainbows:
we become our own witnesses, forgiving ourselves for the marks made by ancient bigots.

the wind’s laminar flow
levels through trembling strata,
into this space of holding,
where silent engrams await for recall
and the body takes over in a process of cellular interventions.
(our doing proceeds the conversations we can’t have with words.)

cordite use this onep5.jpg

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

after

wall after

wall

after

wall

after

wall

AFTER

WALL.

ghosts rise from the cordite fumes,

glass shards tear at the plucked feathered down and hushed glossal scratchings.

roofless, inverted triangles form gateways that flow between liminalities and libidinal impulses.

rendered visible through being seen.

their formless words dig through thought to find bodies that yearn for the softness of quivering membranes and viscous, mucoid borders.

on the horizon, dry tongues tie to a popping sherbert language, 

laying down their desiccated words onto fluorescent rice paper saucers.

(sheep look on and follow us with herd like amnesia - until they realise our hands can't feed.)

pillow cases laden with ash from the tarred feathers we carry

make space for communal emotive dreaming:

we are lovers to ourselves and each other, to a future, that was here, an hour ago.

:: in less than 6 feet

the burnt embers between my thighs leave skinned imprints in the form of willow chalked sticks cradling dull aches and lost fragments.
(of cold aluminium and steel edged moss:)
breathing in this lichen matter, the hard particulate scratches at my pores, grazing the fine hairs erected from nerves autonomously responding to

the drop,
the trace,
the fear.

phantom pain radiates from truncated limbs waiting to be found.

elbowing my way towards the strangeness of atmosphere and the floating phantasms that sit on these collapsing walls,

i talk with memorials and my amnesia expands beyond the familiar forgotten concrete.
dialogues lurk, under, where xanthoria parietina clings, loosely, just before i come to the full stop.

 

flying,
with failing rusted rods,
raised by flanked arms,
fixed on a point between the horizon and my gaze,
fear, memory and hope triangulate on concrete structures witnessing the scars of conflict.

in grey tights,
on frozen ground,
the sting of iced mud begs my feet to stay on the cement.
trembling fingers, concentrate on the tie between line, phalanx and rod.
the hairpin tries to unsuccessfully secure the orange outlines into the ground by found femoral hitting.

laddered up onto the dividing wall, thin cracks appear across a slapped face with rectangular openings:

the duvet, stuffed on the steel rungs will not cushion my fall as it hinders my ascent.

(the last time these flakes fell so wide i was losing what we had just created.)

as your ghost passes through, the chill leaves an indelible mark.

these feelings coalesce into a voice hurdling over the expelled pieces of longing i carry inwards.

 

beyond half way, still on edge - just here- precariously - the tension- unravels time that has already run out before i began.

clutching the nylon braid,   the reel hangs at a slow spin between what was and what can be.

cordite use this one9.jpg

cordite dreams