This myocardial infarction is your hand wrapped in mine,

This pain in my chest is the morning light in your eyes,

This hole in my soul is the sound of you snoring,

When you smiled at me, I thought I would die.

This aching head of mine is the sound when you left,

This disinterest and distraction came when you'd gone,

This revolution in me was spun on your axis,

Without you with me, there's no point in the sun.

***

HER NAME SAVES

sleeping, seeping head seeks place to curl up and die.
Too tired for this.
Shouldn't even be here today.
Clouds close over the skylight like poisonous gases.
Willing me to collapse and shut up.
Too much of myself given to others.
Haven't kept enough in reserve.
Pigeon shit of the glass and empty bottles on my desk.
Voices and robots beating my ears.
Want home.
Want bed.
It's been almost three o'clock for five hours now and I don't quit 'til seven.
Wasn't meant to be like this.
If only they weren't there, I wouldn't have to be here either.
Still isn't three.
Can't make brain do work for me so I have to be here.
Want weekend.
Want to see her again.
Thinking about watching tv with her in Scotland, doing crosswords and talking.
Suddenly not feeling so bad.
Suddenly, as if by some miraculous fortune my eyes are alive.
I can feel her energy in my fingertips.
She makes me alive on these dead days.
I hope she's kept enough for herself.

***

Genetic junkyard

This genetic junkyard
Is where I got my parts
From my dented nose
To my mismatched toes
And even this old heart

From this genetic junkyard
Is where I found my paint
In this old tin
I found my skin
Though the condition isn't great

This genetic junkyard
Was once my liver's home
It's kind of rotten
And I've forgotten
How it's scarred and likes to moan

From a genetic junkyard
My lungs were to be found
But they don't work
And sometimes hurt
They make this wheezing sound

In a genetic junkyard
I once found this throat
It chokes me still
And makes me ill
Like the rocking of a boat

This genetic junkyard
Was where I got these eyes
They're pretty dull
And don't fit my skull
But nothing's the right size

From a genetic junkyard
I even found these hands
They're a little small
And my head's too tall
It hasn't won me many fans

This old genetic junkyard
Is where this John was made
I'm not worth much
And because of such
For my life I'm quite afraid

***

Autumn

gust tickles old leaf
whisking into the heavens
dancing to the ground

sky burns in old light
clouds gather round dying sun
cold nights crawl forward

***

E6

I feel your movements on top of me
Each muscle in harmony
Every bone a symphony
The timpony of your heart beat drives me
And the chorus of your eyes captivates my soul

I feel you sleeping next to me
Your skin is a crisp, clear canvas
Your shoulders painted by an old master
The impressionism of your spine
The romantacism of the way I touch you

I feel your hand move across my chest
Each finger makes a piruet upon my skin
Your leg tangos onto mine
Your breath fandangos into my lungs
With the steamy salsa of your kiss

You are my muse, amusing art form
Drawn and danced, played and pondered
I wandered long without you here
Each tear and every wasted year forgotten
I'm yours if I can help to paint your future

***

E5

I can still smell you and me together here.
Your soul sleeps between the sheets on my bed.
The scent of your hair drifts across my sofa,
And I remember watching late night tv with you in my arms.

I can hear that little voice of yours,
And that cheeky laugh you do, while your eyes tear themselves from mine.
Your chocolate cake is still on my table.
I only put out the beer bottles a day or two ago.

I'm drinking you in, keeping you around in me.
The broken ashtray is fine because I was talking to you when I broke it.
And the light falls on the gifts that you gave me,
The most treasured of which were your words and your kiss.

***

 For Ellie

I won't forget that chocolate cake
Or choking on that curry
I won't forget that Italian
After the Barnes to Waterloo hurry

And I won't forget the little picture
Of Stevie's sacred strat
I won't forget the insults slung
Or my garlic bread paper hat

I won't forget the dimebag pic
Or our evening in the yurt
I won't forget that tickle fight
And the way you liked checked shirts

I won't forget the awful Bull
Where we had our first public kiss
Or how you stole that book for me
And the darts you made me miss

I won't forget your pedal steel
Or the brains inside your head
I'll never forget the taste of you
Or our first night spent in bed

If only it had been a time
When we'd both been free and happy
But as it is, I'm left alone
And I'm feeling pretty crappy

But I'll bounce back, I'll fight again
And you'll always be my friend
You'll always make me smile some
Because you liked a book called End.
:)

***

The Thing

Ok, so here's the thing:
Me and this girl had a thing.
The thing is, the thing's now over.
Nothing hurts worse, right?
But I took the thing way too seriously,
She's the best thing since sliced bread,
But I went overboard with the thing.
I'd kind of got used to being nothing,
But she made me something.
And I went headlong into the thing,
But the thing is, she wasn't ready.
Now I think about the thing,
It must have been an awful thing for her...
So the thing died.
But there might be a thing again,
Even though she thinks I have a thing for someone else!
But the thing is, I don't.
Things are funny things.
I wasn't looking for anything,
And the thing happened to me.
But when I felt great in the thing,
The thing went away.
Something to think about at least.
But I'll always have a thing for her,
She might still have a bit of a thing for me?
But the best thing for all of this is time,
And space so that lots of other things can happen,
And if anything does happen,
It'll be a natural thing.
And I'll know not to go to big on the thing.
Quick things aren't what I want.
So we're going to do the friend thing,
And that's the thing.

***

Returning

The Idle king creeps back
Crackling skin and faded eyes
A shrunken heart the size
Of grains of sands

There in his hands he holds
The tattered cloth of banners spent
To his back another dagger leant
This time his own

Upon his rusted throne he sits
Once more the God of his domain
Where only suffering and pain
Exist and even thrive

He feels no more alive
As icey waters rise about him
He hears the distant tears and shouting
And they matter not to him

That din soon drops away
As black tides fold over ears
He suffers no more from hate or fears
The Idle king has lost

So into frost and jet he sinks
Forever lost and dead inside
He'll wait an eon more for tides
To wash back and reveal

This twisted mass of maggots' meal
Full of rage and hate and scorn
A tyrant, charlatan, a king reborn
Who shall be a better man

***

The Story of my Little Bird

As I was walking through the Lonely woods one day
I heard to my dismay a little Chirup bird say
"Hello, I say, are you the man who walked into the woods one day,
And caught my eye as I did fly before you walked away?"
"That was I," replied myself "I wonder if you're in good health?"
Said the little Chirup bird that she was lost
And 'cause the smile I had beamed she'd seen
Had led her on a search for me
"For me?" I stammered in her own grammar
"For you" repeated she, underneath an old oak tree
"I saw your heart from wings on high,
And couldn't stand to see you walk on by,
When getting to know you I'd like to try.
But alas you'll see my wing is broke,
Alone am I in the mud and smoke,
Mr Chirup wants more from me,
Than I can give him so I'll flee."
And with such words I picked her up
In safe, warm hands which were then cupped
I carried her to my burning hearth
Made her strong tea and bacon rolls
My goal was only to console
But sweet songs she sang to me
Enraptured by her, I was no longer free
After a month or so the woods were just a dream
As in crytic tongues we spoke
And shared our outrages and our jokes
But then one night she turned to me
And with eyes of shifting tears she spoke free
"From Mr Chriup I did not flee!"
Aghast was I, into the fire starred
Feeling lost, alone and scared
Continued she "I sent him word,
Though all of this is now absurd,
But happy we had been, and very much in love.
Though I could not let him fly above,
The places I felt right to go.
So into snow I fled and flew,
Until my wings collapsed, and I found you."
No more sweet songs she agreed to sing
And I just talked of little things
But hearts still burned and urges ripped
And very soon the passions slipped
Gripped by lust, my head turned to heart
And love wrestled me, she became my art
My reason for each breath, each look
When my eyes fell on her, the world was shook
And for a while more we stayed
Happy, locking out dismay
But then one night not long ago
In my house my little bird arose
And said "I cannot do this anymore!
I feel a sinner in heaven's eyes,
And my heart is not yet the size,
To cope with loving you like this.
An every moment has been bliss,
Still I pine for the chirrup bird of mine,
Though together we shall never be entwined,
Part of me he still is, no, I am not free.
And I fear you're becoming my enemy.
Too sweet are you, but also too bold,
And all I'm looking for is a hand to hold.
When the lights go out and I'm in the dark,
Not to walk off into a golden sun.
I can only cope with a little fun."
And with such words the little bird flew
Out into a world of new and sacred treasures
Though I am left without such pleasures
For now once again I roam the lonely woods
And should that little Chirup bird return
A better man I'll be in turn
One with head on shoulders wise and broad
For to lose that little bird again
Is surely more than I can afford
But still I listen for her call among the sombre trees
Whether friend or love, she is now a part of me
Her voice as sweet as fruit and sweets
I look forward, sensibly, to the next time we meet.

***

Ramble

Feeling empty
Feeling a bit lost
Unsure about everything
I shouldn't have said some stuff
Should have done things differently
She says trauma is good for my creativity
Great
Something special gets fucked
Just so I can write a few poems
Maybe a book
Doesn't want to hate me
Probably already does
Back to nothingness
And reading all this shit
She probably thinks I'm a psycho
Wouldn't blame her
She said it's her fault
No it isn't
I know this stuff only makes it worse
But why should I be silent?
I fucked something brilliant
Now I'm paying for it
Something tells me I don't have the cash
I'm sorry

***

Marmalading

16 bars and I'm bleeding
Fingers are numb but keep going
Strumming to the thoughts
Shouting in me
Dead and dying
Rats running across the roof
Black window shakes in the wind
Cracked paint and a bum note
Scales blurring
Heart sinking
Standard lamp is exceptional
Turns the chords into colours
Lights up my rotten thoughts
Two white angels
Dark trials waiting
Fuck them all and keep playing
Find the rhythm and fly
Caught in a web I spun myself
E turns into A
Slide and hammer
03:00 flashes red on the alarm
Can't put her down, no pick up
Bad jokes get me through this
Keep going on
Trap myself
Tapping my frets into the morning
Early birds bring the woodwind
And I'll just stay playing

***

Cold Korma sauce rubs itself against the air
Stickying up my eyes and nostrils
Fingers on fire, dull and listless
There's a groove in my leg now
Hard wood of the lively acoustic cuts down
Four strings and a naan bread
Look into the stars and listen for the rats
I'd hate to be whoever comes and jams with me
The zone ain't the half of it
Beginning to see in bass notes
Vibration wakes me up a little and I go again
It doesn't end on days like these.

***

Week

A week's longer than you think it is.
I've come to realise that lately
This time last week, all I wanted to do,
The only thing that made sense was a drink
Knock 'em back, smoke another, hate it all
Kick off and despise myself tomorrow
But it's been a week.
Ok, so the air doesn't taste sweeter
The birds ain't singing and the weather's bad
But it's always like that
Just now I don't notice it so much
New things have crept in to me
Painting, playing music, writing and stuff
The void is being filled, and I'm returning
To the little rut I made ages ago
Before I cared about someone else
And as ruts go, it's a pretty good one
And there are things on the horizon again
I like being able to look forward
And not feel pain and emptiness
Now I look back and think about it all
I was an idiot, I made myself ill...
There were a lot of problems
I'd do it all again, with a difference or two
But life doesn't hand out second chances like that
I guess that means I have to start all over
She's still very special to me
But what we had died in her and now
Well, it's not quite gone in me.
I'll miss the crosswords.
But give it another week
After all,
A week's longer than you think it is.

***

Weak

Not having anything to look forward to is the hardest bit.
I miss being able to plan my weekends around her.
She was so much fun.
That laugh.
Those eyes.
That voice.
That smile.
I should probably stop thinking about it.
But it isn't just that.
I miss the messages and the phonecalls.
Back then, I could handle being alone.
I knew it wouldn't be for long.
Now, that lonliness,
which for years I got used to,
Even when I was with someone,
Just keeps stretching out.
It's like she put a spell on me.
I can't shake the enchantment.
I can't escape her face in my mind.
I'm still not sure that I want to,
And I'm still not sure why I have to.
But I do.
So I must.
But it's hard.
And without her, I realise how alone I am.
I need to get out.
Outside, out of here, out of this town.
Maybe even out of this country.
I still can't shake her.
I miss loafing around on a sunday afternoon.
I miss the friday nights out with her friends.
I miss crosswords, talking about food and music.
I miss the way her hair smelled so beautiful,
I miss how she'd do that little voice to guilt me,
And I miss holding her in my arms.
It's been a few weeks now,
And I'm still not over it.
I'm welling up just thinking about it.
If I just knew what I'd done wrong.
If I could find some way of getting her back...
There probably isn't one.
I just wish I knew what happened.
I wish I knew where the fun died.
I wish I understood why she began to hate me.
Was I just an excuse?
Was I just supposed to be a fling?
Or was she scared of something?

Well, back to my escapes.
Poetry and writing used to be one of them,
Now she seems to own that part of me.
I'm wondering if it's time to give up?
But I still see her face,
And it still hurts.
I just hate being someone who can fall in love,
With words, opinions and ideas,
Before meeting the person behind them.
I guess that somewhere out there,
In that big, wide world, there's someone.
I just hope I can find her.
So that I can look forward again.

***