2 New Poems

Birthday Wine
Heavy-lidded, waves on the water dark,

breaking in ink spills, proximate

incantations.

Up and down in matron's hair ribbons,

apron strings meeting the steak knife fate

intended.

One arm of blinding ivory, in rebirth thrust,

jabs the night air with charm of flour

jacks.

Memories of little green, scented smoke and hi-fi tone,

the trace lips kept clasped all years past,

present;

come in, come in, you were expected.

 

Disappearing Acts

Drawing creases of new bones, bedded alone,

in hope to put someone between them.

Closely tracked each serpentine swallow,

each shade and colour of sustenance, for the lowest.

Clean slates that bathroom mirrors are, they show

how little and how far in form, and I am in

strange worship of each new line, each new looseness.