crooked cryptic codes
slip into elliptical slick discs
each weft, wove into a word
and a solemn solar hum.
awash in blue
it’s fluid, the sex, it’s fluid,
and it flows down the inside of my leg.
I’ve ruptured and come and opened
and kept nothing inside.
I realised, finally, that it’s absurd,
the keeping, the conserving…
secrets, a dark little space saved for myself
got sold to me, got cold and airy
i built it, i crush it,
and write a new chapter every night.
it’s a road descending, each ashen ending,
and i can fry, submerge.
“what are you holding back?”
it’s nothing, it’s nothing
so: part, fissure, purge.
crack, tumble, tear this.
it’s a soliliquy to blackness,
the unfamiliar changes
the unforgiving changes.
that ignore stasis, no heed.
that heap, the junk mountain
to be interfered with, de-structured
pull out a nook, another, a joint unstable
it’s time to witness
just the absolute
push, tug, lift and uncover
the layers and layers and layers.