Mr Relax
Mr Relax
enters;
brim, trim, slim, a grin
departs
as if a whisper flown
and sewn into our skins.
It wins us over, and over,
and over,
so.
this. bliss
trickles;
hiss and kiss the coals,
souls turn to him before eyes –
wide at the centre,
tied to let enter
and paddle in their pupils.
Myself? I can’t stand the man,
preferring to hold too tightly to little,
than letting the lot wash over,
wash through,
wash me clear and clean of identity
that long I’ve left to grow like mold
in my cupped hands, in my clasped hands,
both dark and damp environments for fear to grow,
and convince you that it’s medicine;
too sick to even understand the prison that it puts you in…
I’m listening. I’m giving in.
I feel my smile-lines deepening.
I know that I’d be happier if only I weren’t grimacing,
and trying so damn very hard
to carve each pebble on the path.
Tenure
Let me tell you who I am,
and what I do –
if they’re distinct? –
then you can make up your own mind
if you’re living true;
being me, in you.
***
An early bird, I feed the dogs,
and head on down to an empty gym,
enjoying the absurdity of exercise at dawn,
finishing my workout before you’ve even woken up.
A pot of coffee on the go, I catch up on the news,
rifling through my email, making notes so not to lose
the feel for how the day will play, and pander to my goals,
so by the time I enter in, I’m prepped for all the roles.
It’s after five, but not yet six, I wrap up to head home;
I use the walk to file and form the things I’ve come to know.
We walk the dogs, we cook up food, we catch up on our days,
we wonder about the future, or we roll about in play,
or find ourselves absorbed in tasks, and all can be okay;
variety forms edges to our long-extended stay
upon, within, beside this earth – for which we shall adventure,
and document through artful means
that long outlive our tenure,
so that we may be remembered by the art we leave behind;
impressions of the time we took to organize the mind.
What we owe
Given all the time we’ve had,
and were it now that needs and musts
come to the fore, and bear their wares –
a fierce demand that forms implied,
in lieu of calling it by name,
or of looking it in the eye –
then we in turn must inside-out
and empty all our carriers of coins;
the tax is high for what we owe.
The only thing we learnt to grow.
A better day
It might have been a better day
had all the stars and paths aligned,
but think of all the whats and ways
we’d miss if all were as designed.
Poffertjes and Chocomel
Remember how we’d cycle down
and round about the bend?
Through avenues of trees, we’d weave,
and huff as we ascend
the path through dunes, the sea in view –
a promise at its end;
where poffertjes and chocomel will welcome us as friends.
Swell
I caught myself
falling
face first with eyes closed…
and it felt like dissappointment when
I managed to regain consciousness,
regain balance, retain my teeth;
I wonder were it better if
I’d dashed my face into the corner,
breaking something, or many things,
so that I may be permitted to stay home awhile
to recover from the falls that neither
bleed, nor bruise, nor swell.
Valiant
The flow between the swift and high,
in slips, and steps, and slides, together,
make this a feast for those who yearn
to taste the thumping force they weather;
dancing through the dash of storms,
wherein the thrawls of crimson valor,
name themselves as Kings, as Queens,
as Gods to those who tap and stagger.
Outgrew
Imagine it.
And imagine then that’s all you had;
a slither of reality –
no. Ideality. –
existing only inbetween
material connections,
like sequencing the static,
making messages of snowstorms,
reading not between the lines
but all the edges of your letters,
drawn out to both confess and hide
and seek and lie and whisper
halve truths, whole truths,
broken thoughts and details,
alluding to a truer you
that once you knew;
at once, outgrew.
Give
Give over to the soul who tolls,
and steals you from the sandy tower,
rings hard and true on every hour,
demanding that you give again.
Give everything you had reserved
for dire needs and empty shelves,
and spill it bare upon the floor,
to be adored, to long for more.
Give in and let it drag you far
and low beneath the peak and crest.
Come rest where memories bury deep,
where waters take and give you sleep.
Just so
Is it any wonder how
the lesser now at best allows
a sense so dense that sheets feel tense,
and heavy on the belly of the everyday disguise
that rumbles with a hunger, and sends tumbling his eyes,
lolled about and rolled throughout the wetness of his mind,
a blind grind, spit n’ shined disgusting kind of kind
that doesn’t know it’s mocking as it’s fucking from behind;
it’s as designed, it’s as designed,
the better the devil you know,
lest find yourself accomplishing transcendence from ‘just so’.
