неделя, 15 март 2015 г.

the ground

what is beneath me is a pillow,
on it a warm red blanket
and a green velvet cover

there is a calm quiet feeling
i have found in my own mind
where formerly resided chaos, fear and lust
they visit me, the three ghastly brothers.
the come alone or sometimes together
but they no longer stay for long
for I am now here, fully
and I am sat, the ground firm beneath me
and the feel of soft warm velvet on my thigh.

the lake

the lake swallows me
whole never wholesome

there is a silver-threader night in black water
that exists nowhere else
and is enthralling in its silky shimmer

there are no stars underneath the water bed
yet that is the light my eyes long for most,
the pupil strangled by the iris, shadowed with remorse

here lives peace, in the cold, dead silence of words passed
and the wet feel of cold feverish sweat

where weeds clutch the throat,
      and the throat croaks a prayer
             and the prayer dies
                    for no sound and no air lives under the indigo surface of the lake.

Brighton, 2015