began
deep in the grey,
where rhythm knocks
minds first
of song
then word —
sparked
then bloomed
carried
on primordial pulse
into the now
resolving
in us

Non-rhyming poetry with no specific meter
began
deep in the grey,
where rhythm knocks
minds first
of song
then word —
sparked
then bloomed
carried
on primordial pulse
into the now
resolving
in us

the taste of a word
on your tongue,
lingering
with the scent
of old memories,
spice-laden flavours
of your heart
laid down
in the precarious grey
depths, waiting,
synapses sleeping
occasional fluttering
spark
cherished
those inner vessels
in which we store,
distill
essence of remembered
time
and self
aged like fine wine
or mouldy cheese
breathing in
the scent of it,
breathing out
vivid in ink
faster we spin
and faster
shit
look at us
grief swamps
his
lungs, drowning
gentle words
before they land
… one
worry spins
your
gut, flinging
help aside till
care flakes brittle
… two
rage boils
our
muscles, curdling
nascent smiles
while seeding hate
… three
wild glee bloats
their
hearts, spiralling
blinding peaks
torn apart from ‘we’
… four
faster we spin,
stretched –
fraying, torn
fragmented
breathing…
in
out
eyes open
we
in out
eyes open
and they
in out
eyes open
as one
our world
exhales
one in the throat
smooth and round
choking adamantine
impervious
one in the belly heavy
misshapen
sharpish corners prod
intruding
one at the feet
sinking
into sucking mire
yet still
scope tickles
deep
at sparking core
rolling these stones
carefully
nurturing
opalescent gems
become self
I want
to
cry…
but I
can’t
remem
ber
how to
cry
I just
sit
and I
stare
bathe
my
eyes
in
the
air
to
sting
tears
fall
ing
and sin bleeds
leaching into
the paper-thin vessels
of the mind’s
patterning
colour sickening
your sin?
his sin?
a sin within?
immaterial
life sickens with it
the loathsome shade
disease-mottled fruits
spreading a sticky
veil
restorative dormant
shy elusive compassion
reaching out
and inward
to forgive
to melt the veil
room again
to breathe