BONE GLOW

Your bones glow fiercely

Shining pink-red through

the opal of your flesh

It is in the dark places

You find pleasure.

 

The moon in June, the red roses  and the

Incongruous blue violets championing

The lost cause of true love are left

Kicking cans down the gutter.

All our poets squat in the offices of academy

Playing Scrabble in broken lines

Or crochet colored squares on Castlemain porches.

Chins dripping with kombucha.

No longer lurching to howl and jibber at

Clapboard doors for one more apple breast of

honey or a fist of crumpled bills in the overheated night

Watch alleys that once were forests.

Dark emus, peck amongst scatters of old bones

And the rags of abandoned love,

Casting shadows like impossible coat-hangers.

On the dim margins, spider-walking over the sucking

Mud of saltmarsh estuary, flocks of shadow saxophones

Wail like acid.

Wail like the inchoate longings of sadly beautiful boys,

Or bone hollow girls starving

for the expectations of an Instagram future.

Tears splash down, blurring flickering screens,

While fingers dance the lies of confident achievement

And buy wellness, excitement and fulfillment on credit.

Abandonment of life as a fulltime occupation in favour of Facebook..

Ice freezes out hope, reduces all futures to a craving maw.

Your flesh shone through your clothes

Shadows radiated from you – the shining hub.

All those boys you have burned;

The girls you have left quivering like flayed flesh;

The sofa stained with the leaking ichor of desire;

This is all that remains after you have slammed the door.

The coffee rings on the laminex, like a drunken olympics,

Are time stamps recording to much waiting for nothing.

To much disappointment at the frayed ends of a furtive night,

Whining like a rag rug dog tied to a dumpster in some Salvos car park,

Eyes catching fire from the lights of passing cars, has left me

Hollow as a bird’s bone.

 

Sitting in the park

An old lady on a plaid blanket

Shows rheumy eyes

And a dissatisfied mouth

To anyone who should

Look her way.

The dreams she once had

Lie on her shoulders

Like immensely  heavy dandruff.

One day she will die.

Maybe she already did.

Her bones turned

Dark as charcoal.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s