Point Zero

The thermometer deceives
my emotional temperature
will break the glass
shatter the lines,
the pain fever lasts and lingers
relentless,
no liquids can soothe
the delirium, pulsing
though arteries
shooting shock waves into
the war torn heart
relentless,
alone
sheets tossed aside
endless nights with no dawn
just aching dreams of liberation.

This Old House

washing churns
toast burns
milk curdles,
the cat waiting for tinned tuna, learns
to delay
my empty hand yearns
for a lifeline hand in mine


tea seeps
alarms set and reset
dark cornered regret

vigile

Mine is a quiet funeral
knees bent in the grass
no chorus
no jackal lament to herald
the daily path to darkness
on the dirt road
flame grilled redemption
fuelled by the howl
of the night animals.

The architecture of separation

Eight years old
Short socks, scuffed knees
My bicycle wheels spin
Sobbing in the dirt
Joints grazed, hot bath seared
Bathed in antiseptic plaster
A holding hand
dependence of comfort

The same open sore space
Hungers for that hand
That knowledge of foam bathed medicine
A towel to fold away the tears.

Heartbeat

The mask falls to the ground
shatters, splintered pieces of defence
denial, spread across the floor
beyond this country
 new hope flickers
quietly nestled at the base of a mountain
behind a gate,
waiting for me


I scramble on hands and knees
broken glass memories
the pieces cannot be mended, fixed
the tears fall, and let them stay broken
unable to fight, I am broken apart


My face is naked, soft and new
without the stoic facade
the time is now, to become whole again
I walk to your gate
falling into a fresh sunset.

meeting

I lived risk averse

head bent

routine bound, tired hearted

he taught me 

a lack of lukewarm

a courting eviction 

from an ancient mountain

I fought to be placeless

he placed me

nameless

belonging

quiet, uncensored

I hungered for a rough hand

a soft place to fall 

amidst the rock crevices