Stop Driving

Stop driving.

The engine is failing,

and you know

that road

is the wrong one.

Sometimes Not

Here, and yet –

sometimes

– as though I am not.

Rules

I spend every day

breaking all my own rules

just to follow yours.

Your Fingers Will Be Burnt / Who Else Will Have To Fix It

Look at the picture:

there’s a hole in it;

a scorch mark

ever-growing

and –

if you’re not careful,

your fingers will be burnt;

not as if by a match:

as if by fire from the earth,

and then who else

will have to fix it,

but me.

Wish For You

You are a shooting star;

a thing

to be longed for,

and wished upon:

you matter –

no:

you are cosmic matter,

and yet you do not know it.

I would wish for you,

always.

I Am

And I am

standing

right here.

Ghost In Me

What’s this unknown thing?

This living ghost that haunts and

yet breaths life in me.

Love You From Afar

Love is like a puzzle

you spend an age trying to solve

from a picture that seems

afar and beyond and out of reach.

Knit Me a Jumper

Knit me a jumper,

open a window,

for all this hot and cold.

This Book is Nearly Done

This book

has been long,

and the end

of most books

feels like a sadness,

but not this one –

this one’s closure

has long been coming,

and at last it is

nearly done.

Small Talk

The talk here is

small,

even when it isn’t –

and it isn’t,

ever.

Nothing Healthy There

Yours is a thing,

unhealthy.

Like eating

without achieving sustenance,

drinking if only to forget;

cuts

which cry for help,

walking on hot coals –

or egg shells

– if only to feel something.

There is

nothing healthy there,

but –

of course

– you already knew that.

Our Time is Already Too Late

It is too late:

we have

already arrived;

you have

already let the words out.

Our time is only finite –

not reversible.

You have

already let the words out:

it is

too late.

Pieces

It turns out,

these are the pieces.

Not to Say a Word

What do we say

on that day,

when the words

‘I love you’

are a free,

abundant gift,

but all the other days,

tell us not to

say a word.

Being Right

I have little habit

for being wrong,

and this is no different:

I am right,

and although

we do not say it,

I know it to be true,

and so do you.

Big Words – A Haiku

All the words are big;

even the ones we don’t say –

in fact, those are huge.

Beneath Our Ribs

Our chests

are balloons,

filled

with all the words we

hold inside:

they are waiting to

burst,

with the sound of every feeling

that sleeps

beneath our ribs.

Every Rhythm, Each Beat

Every rhythm here

is a line of poetry

to be read over and over

until each beat is

committed to memory.

To Bring You The Stars

These two small hands

would pluck the stars from the sky

to bring you light and warmth.

Forget the unending burns –

they are nothing compared to

the fire in the centre of my chest.

You Are a Deep Breath

You are a deep breath

on a cold morning,

a deep breath

in a moment of panic,

a deep breath

when taking a risk,

a deep breath

before speaking my mind.

You are a deep breath

for a full chest

and remembering I am alive.

It Starts With This

It starts with this,

and is

as it was:

seas reaching out ahead,

cars which drive on,

cities unfolding before us,

bears and beasts

who move yet more together.

As before it ended,

it starts with this,

and this is better than a firework,

better than the other,

better than nothing.

It starts with this.

Russian Doll

This is a Russian Doll.

Outside,

you simply exist

in a thing which,

now,

is nothing more

than known;

waiting beneath

is everything thing you feel

but dare not say;

in the centre I stand –

waiting

– furthest from the light,

but closest

to your depths,

like the centre of your chest.

This is a Russian Doll.

Exactly As I Would Have Written

You are

exactly as I would have written:

every word,

and every

stop;

every space a breath

to make this last

a little longer.

You are

exactly as I would have written –

words on endless pages.

Better One Than Wrong

Better one

as one –

and sometimes two

– than two

where one is clearly

wrong.

Let the Clock Strike / These Two Hands

Let the clock strike,

for it will regardless.

On-time your company

may well be wrong,

but late

and soon

it could be right –

if only the new day’s

sunrise

would shed the light you need

upon a path

made of better

ticks and chimes;

with the sounds and moments

you deserve.

Let the clock strike,

and

these two hands

at once

come together.

In Three Small Pieces

Skilled in deliberate words,

to say

only what is possible.

Skilled in accidental ones,

to say only what is meant,

and held inside –

three small pieces,

deep in the centre of the chest.

Both are beautiful;

we should

probably discuss the latter.

If These Shards Pierce, Regardless

If these ears

were to ring any longer,

the sound

would shatter glass.

Better

to let it out,

and know –

and perhaps still be

cut

another way

– than to say nothing

and let the shards pierce,

regardless.

Footnotes

For you

I would write essays;

in fact,

I often do.

You may only

be able to pen footnotes,

and scribble

in the margins,

but

I will take them both:

at least

they are written

in your hand,

and

I can hold them

when you

are not here.

For a Moment in the Dark / Light in the Depths of My Chest

For a moment,

there is a light

in the silence,

and I can breathe

round the pit

in my stomach.

For a moment,

there is a voice

in the dark,

and I can feel it

in the depths

of my chest.