Speared

I need to tell you something

Arrays of cold clichés seep from open

Throats. ‘Couldn’t he hazard a guess?’

Etc etc – as I pull on un-ironed clothes.

The detergent haze, like a fustian parade

Binds the open hole at my chest.

Takes time you know, descending

Distances – pain assessed by days.

Unbroken lineaments of your talk

Lying loosely wrought.

The flinch of each caress

Throwing love against the wall.

Again and again, ordained with spite

I’ve said – refrain and, don’t reply –

All the rest.

I yet suppose

Arms wane out wide

Bleeding brethren blessings inside

Text messages scar my head.

Mind. That. Child.

I cry sometimes, you know that

Though?

Professional actor might

Put on a show. The stress,

The sores – they slowly grow.

Emitting lines with my midsummer’s

Sky ‘Arise, Mercutio!’

I split up and open in devotion

And lamentable lore – the man

Who knows

On twelfth night I die, raw red inside

Like a pomegranate shorn open.

The proverbial entreating moan

Arises

Perturbing laughter, like a sea

My mouth up-sown, smile graft on bone

Plastered guise, the puppeteer

In incredulity.

I know- you know you know

You know – monosyllabic chant

And it’s lowly float

At the conical coves of ear, my hope.

Flies as

Ironically dry as a fine white wine

Afloat, aghast

Upon your cup of tea.

At last

I choke.