2018.1 - Spatchcock

It’s not often I talk about this,
The hiss of withdrawal enough of a
Buffer, buttressed with smiles, and
All the while I’m cataloguing, projecting,
Protecting, soothing, smoothing the air between us:
Must be seen serene, seamless.

“Are you all right?”
A smile lights me - too tight, they’ll spot
It’s not enough, and I can shore up my rebuff,
Bluff standing for honest,
Best bluster this one out,
Doubtless testing everything about us.

“I’m sorry!”
“That’s all right!” It’s not, see -
Careless normality has creased me;
I’ll lease three nights to regret again,
And yet I can’t. I can’t forego. I won’t…
No - I’ve sacrificed enough to chance.

I’ll dance instead of sitting still;
I’ll thrill to late nights and pay the price;
I’ll eat my fill and do it all again,
And deign to fuck regret, and fuck it to a standstill,
Grandiose and canted, cheat my way through ill health;
A wealth of memories will grace my final resting place.

I’ll say: “Just a twinge. I’ll live. Just hug me gentler
“Next time, eh?”
And they will rearrange their expectations,
Bend exasperation the way of my genetic assay, smile
While fending and feeding their own demons,
None of which, it would appear, are my responsibility.


I may have mentioned before, but I have a chronic condition known as Hypermobility Syndrome, and it means that even a simple hug can bugger my neck/ shoulder/ back for a few days if everyone’s not careful. Also: I like dancing, and the way I dance probably isn't great for fucked-up joints, but hey…

#11 Waves

They say that quicksand
Only tightens its grip
When you start to struggle upwards

That said - it seems to me
That you could sink quite slowly
And only notice when you try to rise

From this I can surmise
That quicksand must be warm
Blood-heat, really

There must be some comfort
In being so enveloped
And the first warning signs dependent
On your day-to-day.

Some may shudder at slowing feet
Others at the numbness of knees
You might take fright at the clasp
Around your waist
The compression of chest
The tightening of your windpipe
Or be one of those who only sees
When they've gone blind.

Today it was the loss of hands
That brought home my fate
Nearly too late,
I'm flailing calmly,
Grasping at branches,
Conjuring the memory
Of solid land

#4 Smoke Without Fire

Pulses quicken, sirens whine and blare
The sky is close, a touch is all it takes
Breath seems precious, nothing I can share
Pulses quicken, sirens whine and blare
Gasp for the memory of freer air
Unfreighted by humanity’s mistakes
Pulses quicken, sirens whine and blare
The sky is close, a touch is all it takes



I'm back to work after a couple of days off sick. The polluted air is thick here, waiting for wind and rain...

Cross-posted to the Cambridgeshire NaPoWriMo blog.

#3 Suddenly, at 3:45am

Migraine announces
Own end like an alarm bell.
Thanks - I was sleeping!