I was looking for something to erase this,
powder, pints and early morning's chill holding
only oil slick appeal, the gravitas cascade
strained glass portraits of angels, robbed men;
seemed a vague resemblance to love.
Taking wafer-wine as charity, golden hoist
of the criminal class, robbers, liars, all;
I was lost to the touch, numb limb limping
through scorning back alleyway, in bell time,
it was just the same as before.
Strong gust at noon's day, light line across
confession boxes, shadow breaking out all over,
crawling through glass glintered ruby, false shimmer
in the blood summer; living a bit suffers,
the time lost to being without.
A Kind of Falling
Glacing exchange, rooms cross ruddy
apartment kitchen, brim spilling over,
shoes and blinkered refusals in the hallway,
like the sword spark, brief flint, we crossed.
A sense of lonely lost night, hiding feelings
behind amber glass, approaches never considered,
flop-awkward dance across the bit of bar floor,
the distance of errant clouds to home.
Tracing backwards, not quite the same,
between the light of Centra and the Tesco Express,
revealing laughter, bits of biography, nervous
handshake at the last of the night.
I never wanted much more, peck on the cheek,
in my wildest moments, thought about fish and chips
at a shop in Merseyside, the exasperated
grasp for the air in front of you.
Harbours and Bays
This day was held in sea shell, blue diamond's
reflection of the vastness sea, ocean of
wind sweeping gusts, across the false plain
grass, above the rocky scattered sand,
out to lighthouse lane.
Briny peace, currents cast full moon shadows
upon blind-bright pale of long-wasted skin;
the scent of clinging salt on breeze,
the taste of breaking waves upon your lips,
the sound of life being lived.
Appearance of flop-eared dog, casts about
frigid goosebumps on themselves, internal
chill touching the heat of matter, never
could shake these things off, memory too
desperate clung to the water.
Thoughts Over Bar Pints
Clinging to table wood as a child to
mother's aprons, strings kept close held;
anchor in open water, deep swimming azure,
there was something about dark beer, glass shattering,
sets heart's eye a-twitch, to some people,
but, oh, not I, not I, rather be indoors and warm.
Dress shoes heaves as tower block constructions,
shaver's lip nick dabbed with the alcoholic's pen;
there was something I wanted to write about you,
closer I same to saying once, words hit as
dry ice on docking floors, denied myself
a taste of sweet civilization.
Now there's echoes about me, bar band clanging
pop song chords through a hallway body stacks,
closing about the grim chimes of Catholic bells,
reminders the ashen taste of Sunday;
friends were there too, living out their tragic
loves to the same dancer's tune.
I could have spoken with them, but, I just
wanted your voice.
It was the finding of dusty bookshops,
paper yellow creaked, untreated nicotine
teeth, words on the shelf spelled out
how it was we were to feel.
Dubliner sighs, case kegs moving off
flatbeds of ricket trucks; I kept
a verse volume close-pinned to my heart,
feeling changed too quickly some nights.
Fence posts, chest-height slabs of stone,
meaning of separation cut in loudness grassy
green; sunlight reflected off the cheap
wood grain, the illusion of something thought to