POETRY

My Mother, The Lovers the sisters, A girl and Me

The blood and honey land, the one that’s sweet, between the lover’s elbow and her hip.
We secretly wish to pick up children by their rib cages, we all are looking with the look that there eyes may fly. 
I thought I found you in the wind that blew through my fingers and lungs.
I thought I had you on a thundery night in my mind made of glass.
I went and lost you in smoky whiskey kisses, saliva showers soak and sour inside.

Be Careful What World You Wake Up In

Hair dripping like the winter hay that kept your grandfathers horse warm.
Needle fingertips that are tipping and tripping on skin.
From her nose bleeds the artist ink, spilling for a thousand lives, a blanket to cover us all even the birds.
Be careful with her eyes, they burn slow imitating cigarettes, wondering in to soulless pockets.
The bones that tower out of the mouth, do not climb her spine,
It is made of chalk
And I heard there is a rain due.

Lost In Lenuta

I fell from you,
like the earth kissed the sun for the very last time.
A shadow and a ghost making love,
a scream from the unwanted,
the orchestra of childhood-less children.
I’m still searching for that piece of me that I left in your womb; 
a fading photograph with a fading smile will not fix me.
So I sit here talking to you
in the hope that a voice will battle the air,
and that you will appear
like a fox in the night in to my den.
Your only reply was a silent silence of ear ringing wilderness,
like before birth and after death, 
I hear nothing. 

Serpent Fight

My thoughts are of a home, a home where we once belonged.
The doors ajar, light bends in from the window, the floorboards are where the needles from Christmas trees have gathered.
The mirrors are all coved up.
A whiskey bottle was the fare, the empty whiskey bottle the reminder,
the cross and his friend look all but empty, hanging tiredly from their stage.
The bed unmade, the one I like to think I was made in, loved in.
My thoughts are with you, and are those of warmth, the same warmth you find from the liquid in your womb that has wrapped around my soul, like saliva on the teeth of dogs.
And now all I hold is hope and hope that you still have hope,
I fear the rope, the noose and your throat.
Your hand stroked my hand, and my hand and your hand may still yet touch.
We are tangled up, like two serpents, troubled and in love.

Awash

I lay on a beach with the sand digging in to my back like shards of glass.
The caves smoke like the barrels of shotguns,
with the ends of the waves stroking my feet.
My mind a desert,
my swimming tongue finally drowned.
Two children appear, poking me with sticks of driftwood,
I am wounded, naturally my body bleeds,
and the ink from my tattoo runs away with the sea.
The orphan in my cot I stay,
I am awash to this life today.

The Lost, The Found

The ground I walked cracked,
spiting my roots back out the earth.
I rock in the wind,
awaiting an autumn to shoot me east in its breeze,
Like a whaling harmonica.
And when I land, soft, as if I was the sun kissing the horizon.
I shall be yours again,
but this time only I can lose myself.

Silence is Thinking

I’m thinking of someone
and do not want to be touched.
Shoulder blades cutting the air,
the bowing in her chest, endless echo’s, the arching of her foot,
kissing the ankle of Achilles.
A swollen ache, wishing to never be.
Spitting blood,
spitting toothpaste

Sink

Sink

She Thinks


She



Sinks.

For Trifan Vasile

Night at the small 'Trifan'
You sweet dreams.
There is nothing you can remove,
his hands never detached, you can still feel the warmth.

The Cave

Rushing with the waterfalls, and slip of a birth away from my cave,
I am far from the evening of jewels and the morning’s diamonds.
Farewell tragedy,
Farewell empathy,
Farewell happiness,
you and I.
Clawing through endless oceans of knives and jasmine. Fill me, when my eyes close, of you in bare bones.
Take many forms downward-eyed women with swollen bellies, 
Heroin men struck under a rainy Zeus,
Children who brake the dance to stare, who’s fates are far from here nor far from fair.
Milk and blood storming acidly through the mouth’s,
Scratched eyes in sockets of empty faces,
Captured in beautiful chains and bars.

Dead Souls Day

Their hearts grown harder, their tongues shaped sharper,
ribbons on the trees, incense in the garden.
Veils over your mirrors, trying deflecting all of these shadows,
a back filled with daggers, a chest filled with arrows.

It’s In Everything

It’s in every baby’s cry and every grave walked by.
It’s in the barrel of every gun and in the soldier’s footsteps as he runs.
It’s in every orphanage, every syringe and every nightmare ever pinched.
It’s in the colour of your flag, and every cigarette that you drag.
It’s in the tiredness of your eyes and the grey that fills your skies.
It’s in the hopelessness of your bones and every truth that never spoke.
It’s in every love letter, every word and every heart that ever broke.
It’s in your mother’s tears as they hit the floor,
It’s in the breeze as your father shuts his door.
It’s in every secret that slips and spills,
and every laughter that comes in a pill.
It’s in the wind as it whispers and blows,
and it’s in the dust going up your nose.
It’s in the world, it walks this earth,
it stains the clean and loves the dirt.
He’s on his way he’s found a few,
He belongs in me and lives in you.

31 Strada Vaselo

Falling from their slow wombs, glowing like the first full moon.
The garden of many fields with flowers opening,
Mighty free faces with sharp crowns.
The eyes of oceans, smiles open vaults of cloudy diamonds,
The rocking bones, passengers between dream worlds with no fare to pay the ferryman.
Nameless,
Unwanted Vessels,
sinking sunsets off the edge of this earth.

I Want a Touch

You make my heart swollen, you make it sore,
I make you sad then sad some more.
Your eyes, nose and lips I dream to kiss,
but all these dreams are burning lists.
I run my hand through your hair, like a child in the orchard, 
I run through your mind your abandoned orphan.
I etch my way right across your chest,
but these nails of pain have no affect.
I rip the cross from around your neck,
and place these hands on your golden breasts, 
slide down to that belly that was my womb,
once was filled, now an empty room.

Guilt’s decent

If blood could run the other way,
at least I would be high and not feel this.
The last words you left me, 
the spectator, shaking your white flag at this little sunset.
Leaving the doorstep.
Leaving the orphan.
Leaving the bottom of your heart.
I heard your perfume was sweet and your smile could be to. 

You Were

My first birth,
My first light,
My first entrance,
My first sight,
My first minute,
My first breath,
My first mother,
My first Death.

The Rehearsal For Life

As well as lived, I too have died in you,
I am your bereaving light,
You’re my sickness as I am your pain.
Open your legs and forget me, for my happening was many summers ago.
In the shady forest, where happiness must wait in eternity, 
the ends of the trees are sharp, just a prick into the skin of this air
and neither of us shall breathe.
Steadily pacing whiskey bottles, soaking up the long paths at night.
And in this moonlight that made me, we shall rehearse life and death in all its glory, and all that falls in between.

Expect silver. 

Expect nothingness.

Summon creation.

Summon obliteration!

The Wardrobe

Shut us in your wardrobe, its darker than your womb,
a crack, the light, bleeds through the gap
like a slice of the lonely moon.

Hooks hang you up by your collarbones,
you have lost your smile, along with hope,
you drift through this life just like a ghost,
your mind is like a dying rose.

Sister, go to the light and away from this dark,
please cut your hair and not your arms
and send me to sleep by tickling my palms.

Regrets

Very sorry for something.
For bones, for skin, 
for the flowers that I have saved for you to give to death.
The needles, the glass, the splinters.
For the pigment of your eyes,
for never teaching you to paint the ocean,
the whiskey, the peaches, the cola.
For love and the hands that drip toward your women,
The claws that arouse your beasts.
For this endless breathing, and the places you pray,
the passing, the wood, the nails.

Harmonious Binding

Through the belt of Venus, I see you.
Your dripping amniotic slur.
Tearing you down from the cosmos.
The hope of a stone becoming a flower, the petals skin soft but sour.
We are beautiful together, red wine and blood.
I see us, under plashes of sweet Corona, in our unavailing efforts.

Lucretia,  
Lenuta,
Mirela,
Cristina,
Chiara,
Serena.

Sleep Paralysis

The night has stirred and stripped me, 
mouth mutters, mind multiplies this hue-less woman.
A mine of flowers, her stem not hollow.
The dagger and key.
Her pudenda still ringing of me.
A snowflakes survival in the palms of its darkest tempest,
Small bit of magic.

Kiss.

And showers fall as I sit in this shadow of her.

My Makers 

They arrive from the shades within me,
masquerading a effulgence. 
As if to mirror a death, I mirror them.
Alive and as equal as a moths wings.
My moons have swallowed me, the grey the white. 
Born from the neck of a woman caught in the darkest palms of a man.
The bars have rusted and sharpened,
like leather, like skin.
my maddened lust hung, 
all grown up.
Fresh blood sitting anxiously in veins, 
Dysphoric. 
As if this whole place is about to blow.

Lovely Bones

Your jewellery will have been sold,
your hair given to the ocean, the one you never saw.
All voices loud and soft have been buried or banished,
not ever could a whisper survive.
Perfume has abandoned your skin, for another cruel affair,
and the regret in your tears are mere drops in a thousand salty lakes.
Flesh has sown itself to the dirt.
Again, drunk and dark, Gods and Titans.
I ask, will you ever float?
Or have you been sinking for to long.
I can still see them, your lovely bones, crystallised, burning gently amongst the bodies.

They follow me at night.

The Garden

I am stored in the garden.
Where the birds once sung in the mornings, songs of love and abortion.
The wings thread gold through my ears.
I am a treasure unwanted, beyond and within these worlds.
Hanging with the rest of creation,
swollen bellies, broken clocks, dirty holes.
I ride your heart, as the devil rides my dim diamond spine.
Parallel, harmonising down this barrel, boundless and directionless.
Seeking only warmth unable to shake cold.
Brushing my skin to photographs, just to know that I am here.

This Is Where We Shall Meet

This is where we shall meet.
Between the sheets, where all things dissolve,
where the wind rushes past and cracks your teeth.
In perfume and piles of hair, you will be my greatest defeat.
That is us, paralysed like planets or hanging meat.

This is where we shall meet.

Yesterdays Womb,

Todays Flesh,

Tomorrows Worms.