treacherous snickets

This act of enthrallment and attraction
This willful summoning of you
Into semi-precious consciousness
As an image
Can only be achieved
In these moments of loneliness
Caressed by my solitude
When you’re not there
Except in a photograph perhaps
As I willingly collapse beyond the time drawn mirror
Of your beckoning stare

I have felt you in the dark of summer
I have left you in the arms of fear
You have come upon me in the art of drowning
Sunk me like a fucking stone
Slashed my wrists with tidal razors
Infiltrated me to the bone your scream
Is like an iceberg
Wrecking my cathedral ship Marie Celeste
Whose ghosts have burned themselves with fright
Cracking through me like dementia
You have whipped me back to life

Tread rashly little Muzie 

On these tepid dreams of slim remembrance
I don’t love your photograph
I recognise its capture in the frosty emballage
Of fragmentary depiction
Which is not you but bares your face
Neither do I love those quintessential demons
Of possession
Your memory your taste 
I have knelt beneath your mountain
I have dwelt within your grace your elegance your vicious repudiation
Of all things true
To the stony mind
Of petrification
To the haunted dragon of courtly repression
To the vaunted myth of indecision told by clowns
In self help books
Which lead me up some treacherous snickets where monkeys hang
Like stagnant icons
Dying just
To be abhorred
And all the time this lying dust and clay-borne heart of mine
so wants to tell you – there is no longer a doubt
that I
Have become screamingly fetishtically bored
Inside and out
bored by my lust by my greed by my sloth
no, i will not keep calm
and you can take your mask off.

29/02/2012