yeah it's raining

 

Since the decadence of heartache,

All assumptions move aside.

Conscious of my old mistakes,

I've somehow maintained pride.
 

A ship lurching out the harbour,

I push towards open seas,

Abandoning cheap ardours -

Determined to be free.

 

supermarket of dreams~~

 

Our stomachs are bigger than our eyes
  in these small towns of concrete,
  and there will be no victims here -

Our tongues are bigger than our stomachs,
  and then the ascent is halted
  by the Bus of Convenience.

Our stupidity is infectious.
  Key sympton: a hundred dark nights
  in this Mall of Absurdity.

Yes. Our knees are stronger than our hearts,
  so we chase, as pixels, onwards,
  to the Supermarket of Dreams -

 

And Vulnerability

 

And vulnerability is never an excuse
For an absolute lack of self-respect,
So whilst you remain a petty victim
Of your own crude nonsense: I go on.

 

poem written 9 a.m. on train this morning blah etc

 


      We drank neat whiskey and wore your parents' clothes,
it was late, and you looked exceptionally handsome -

      And although I knew that lovers were either fools,
or cowards, or both, I let you kiss me anyway -

      August sank over us, riverbanks splintered;
then I caught you snatching a wink from a stranger -

      But with the gates of my heart wide open,
my brain closed shut; and I was blind -

      September came; it smirked,

      shattering the whole dumb charade.


      We haven't spoken since March,

      And today I saw you, at Waterloo Station,
holding hands with the winking stranger -

      He was sipping coffee, you were laughing,
he must have quite a sense of humour -

      I wanted to walk over, to say hello,
yet somehow, I couldn't quite unstick my feet -

      In a daze, I'd missed my train,
there frozen amongst the scream of London -


      So I stood beneath the clock, watching.

      My sad heart, it hummed -


     

One more. Gotta go be social.

With a full heart and a half-empty glass,
I shall walk down the long lawn,
Across its shadows and patches of light,
And when I reach the house at its end,
I will remember the walk,
And how soft and damp the grass felt
Beneath my bare feet,
And how I knew I would find you
Waiting for me at the gate.
(Even if you are, for now, imagined.)

Yeah, fake romance, again

   



    After the willed amnesia

        Of several glasses of wine

    I sink into the armchair

        And watch you

            Flow through each room,

                The embodiment

                    Of "beautiful,"

            A teenage Midas,

        And I'd rather not rhapsodise

            But with you stood there,

                Nonchalant, untouchable

                -- Darling,

                It's hard not to.