today-in-pluto

Where dance begins

Two mating comets fling the dice
we pick them up
vitruvian you
vitruvian me.

By the lights

An arm touches my back
as i hassle through traffic
i turn
and we stand still in the avalanche
and stay alone in the street
and it’s not a hand alone
it’s a part of your scent
reminding the cars and bullshit
to stay at home
or awake and corral in their own way and elsewhere
in a gaseous dance of steps beyond this time
we smile at disgrace
and walk back to the world
where the street has emptied itself of talk
and the day grows back our limbs.

I knew a man who lost it once… or twice

i sit my arse down
and feel the office nudging
a bored embrace inside an overlit room
hell drooling on the back of a flea
spewing and rubbing its stomach full of bloated dead waterfalls
one eye standing up and looking down into a smile that i send back up
a joke is cracked about local sex around 11pm and our screens twitch
enough to ignite all the hatred and desire in the world
and if i stay here
i will finally just call you up
and ask to borrow your tongue to write my will
all hearts turned sideways and sleeping
so
enough room to dance about it all at least
even if all this will come later
the surreal worships of speed
baked in heels of bear trap misery
enough to drink another coffee and sneeze perhaps
or enough to turn over and become a beetle
where sweat becomes each other’s air
without choice
death flying by our eyes like so many commuters moaning at the same time
and a buggered cup of sun pouring into the arguments i’ll never know
where a timed piss allows me to exhale
and a sly nudge brings me back…

time to go
time to go bud
the tap says

even if it’s time to be using my hands again
where if time repeats
i’d rather it was this way
and gladly

another world becomes.

Human season

Fury calming space
the gravity of your pulse
and poems in the shower, read by your skin.

Interviews in the wasteland

Inside a departing city
there’s a million or so deck-chairs laid out on the lawn
all mesmorised heads watching a screen the size of most mansions
where i wonder what the summer is saying to them in the darkness
through so many red and greenish paper specs
the answer is saying to me: stay here, you fool, no: scream into the dust
i look
and see all the colours of exchanging gods on the screen
where meth has mated with 3D shrieks
although
i’m not slumped into a chair
so i merely search the day
for languages
that can explain and fit
the heat

i walk away into a dull sand of sweat coloured bricks and steps
my throat is dry and i’m sweating like gypsy piss
giddy for my interview like a nocturnal animal enjoys a noose
inside their eyes are watered down
an ageless woman behind a cheap desk gives me that look
so
trained, so
affable, where inside this place there is only her body
i say the normal things
and we exchange a smile
that
unsaid joke in the chaos of surprise and conversations we’ll never have

the next room is painted mortuary white
and the gifts of dead minds are hung on the wall

back to the fields!
the cadavers say politely
dressed in alarm
with jack-rabbit tears in tight and
uncertain handshakes
unable to ever know
their own name
or
able to just run.

Walking

When we walk with animals that are chimera
we know ourselves
if able to see the murder
that single worlds create.

Bodies

Side by side our lives would become one long poem
that nut in the village
who used to salute in the middle of pelican crossings
to some unknown god
like strike after strike where only one part of a longer work transforms the sea
in the same way that each decibel word is a sun of its own
and blows away the mirage of pain
that reckless element that we are told breaks us
creates us more than we are told.

In havoc, in grace

The trees grunt around 2am
my bones shatter yours
among the lawns and miles of river
half-shot from the lung
jesus knocks over his beer
it begins to hail
better than our words or guttural dreams
among the early light of cars arguing
and the stare of dogs in haphazard light

Dismayed enough to bark with laughter
that rolling hymn of bone upon night
where we rattle space together
gripping it with knuckle, palm, fire, and distress
opening the lightening to our day
that remind us of seasons between
better made for the shadow tax, or
whatever days we owe.

The undersong

the march of dissent against song
the truth inside flesh that is unburdened
or uncalled upon to walk loose tightrope
i hear it when i’m at work
i work in the gutters, filth, comradeship, and
stomachs full
of presence
i
like most
enjoy the summer more
when surrounded by air
away from the weeds of masquerade, and alert
to the sea we walk into, hand in hand in hand
belching ballerinas happy to slash and devour the sun
where it takes the lowly smile of a similar ghost
to make body from the sleeping bones of animal and dream
in that hesitation of dance we die
in that shower that taught me how to shower
in that reverent trip on the street
in that flying of guts from the lips
that dress
that look
that despoilment of fear in the arms of life
made from the breadth of our swim
and not the sway of litmus skin
before it has decided to kill, eat, or mate or
delude the rain into becoming lava
where no animal is vermin
where the dusk throws boats across the ice
and there is a semblance of time, among the grace of friends
fed by the funeral of lies, which, we all know
and must use again tomorrow
but care nothing for.

Night guards and day thieves

Tonight
i must

Listen to the moans
of bursting lips aligning white knives
that drool beyond description
of suns slamming into other suns
tearing each other’s fur among shadow
lighting its face
with a smaller
blacker face
to the sound of red taping beside me
as i travel home and swear at my organs for forgetting my headphones
where in the humour of madness
before the axe comes down
and dances
again
slow
reversing the rain
as all eyes go up
into fields of black orchid
charming the hemlock of life
and removing jaws from the soul
where
there are always other
jobs
i remember.

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4 thoughts on “Ten days on Pluto

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