On the noted need to write more... Here are some more for your personal delictations.

The Journey of Jonah 29.08.05

I see these odd water

creatures flowing

about me, this place

where I should be not.

This containment seems

inescapable, damaging

me, my claustrophobia

tightening in.

But muscles move about

me, thrusting me away

from these acids and

half-rotten bodies;

and yet this place is familiar

clearer, but as filled with a

foreign world of many-legged

animals and bulbous eyes

as that in which I was lost.

People I missed, but the places

where I was not, they made

me believe all the more.

Barbarian invasions 09.09.05

Of the struggling social

event, much has been

written, considering that

we disregard convention

I would not put is past

us to attempt to resist

its degeneration, they

would prefer our resignation

these visitors. Instead we

wage our own offence

we attack with our own

wanton lusts and bloody

frustrations. The wine glasses

shudder in hand noticing a

subversive twist in conversation,

hair seems out of place,

you and I marshal our wills

to this, our last movement

the battle of a lifetime lost on

the fields of our consciousness.

Driven 17.09.05

That the moon

embedded in this

low sky is meaningful

charges me.

Its corona would

be a mirror to halo

my existence, forming

still that which

is nascent, burgeons

beneath the skins that

have and will cover

me, sun-caught protections

and the moon's memory

of that all the stronger.

Crestfallen 17.09.05

wave movements onto

and beyond the sand

along the crest of the wave

moves my conscience

disturbed by its own

spaces, by its intents.

Unsure whether it moves

or whether its position

is stable and the world

moves beneath it. My

inertia. My inability to

move is such, and no matter

my efforts I remain densely

unable to change.

dark night 17.09.05

bark scratched my back

as did your fingers pulling

me closer in, demanding

that i see and be inside you

but not – remaining out with

the wind-driven grass and

the wind's crooning voice

lulling us into a suspended

belief, holding us apart for

that extra moment and knowing,

knowing how passing it was

our whispered intents left

in the dark soils, burgeoning

still, some reciprocal growth

there i observe its movement

and envision its plural paths

overcast 22.09.05

there is a pall of skin

over the smoke of

your eyes locking

out the visions

that hold you to me

i am that solid, that

connected, that held

down and wept image

you need to see, but

dare not for fear

of admittance, i am a

recasting of sin, i am a

doubting of self, i am a

foil to all that once would

have made you laugh

but i am transient, the clouds

of me may move slowly

but move they do and by god

you will return pale and screaming

and wrapped in the caul

of a newborn child, waxy

and dim you will see through

these casts over you and there

the joyous cries of your

release will be that free

139. 23.09.05

Hearing your voice is

looking through old glass

the image distorted

the sound a shimmer

of what I thought

it would be

Moses' lost time 26.09.05

I had traveled hard

sandals tight against my

feet, scratching the sand

of this path, I strike

this staff into the ground

in attempts to hold

myself up, I am not so

young that this is easy.

But beneath me, their

prayers convey urgency

the lost ones no longer

trusting me but sacrificing

their souls to unknown idols.

Would that I were so easily

viewed, so easily pleased,

but He requires more than

blood and milk. I trudge on

and, having borne the weight

of these tablets, know that much

will change and I am bound

to suffer.

Rapturous Escape 01.10.05

There is pathology

in the depth of my

investment in you

each time I have seen

your red-rubbed eyes

and your tangled hair

I wish it were me you

had been crying over

instead I spectate, I

support from the

sidelines joyously

crying your escape

from his fawning

hands yet unable

to touch you

my grasp:

one more to

hold you back

Life Support

to nana

there are opaque tubes

replacing your veins

pumping blood

and breath that

you cannot

these are gene imprinted

images on me

appearing every time

when I would rather think

of you:

with your feet like

gnarled roots planted

in the sand soaking

up the salt and water

nourishing you

instead I see the blood

the beeping green and your

face whiter than the sand had

ever been. your roots are gone

you cannot live without them.

if I could only purge myself

of these memories

feeling in reverse 06.10.05

this movement out of

love with you, if it could

have been the first I felt

and built up to

all with which we

had begun

late night rains 08.10.05

still inside

i sensed the acridness

of rain smudged tarmac

awoken to it from this

bed, enraptured by single

strands of your hair

its allure called me

from my entanglement

coarse bricks cool my

feet as i step outside seeing

how right the rain was

and how the moon's

descent was its hallowed

accompaniment, suddenly

here your hair calls me

so immediate my return to its

broken embrace restraining

myself unheeding of

the rankness without

Imbibed 14.10.05

If only you were

intoxication,

I would recover

from you.

But there

is no awakening

from this

drunkenness

my head cannot clear,

you are each and

every movement of

my eyes

my steps sway because

you have taken away

any semblance of

balance

and what scares me

more is that i would rather

it didn't end, that it

remains irrecoverable

my control, my logic

and my overriding

ability to judge, gone

because of this

Freedoms 15.10.05

What is liberty?

What is unconstrained?

What is this rejection

that you refuse to claim?

You wave your hands

in mock severity

claiming damage and

in-love-ness

how is it that this

prevents your liberty

how is it that I shackle

you? Except by my

presence, which you find

pervasive. If only that were

all I could be every part

of you burned by some of me

no I do not brand you, and

yes I do still care, but do

not fuck with me darling

you'll lose me, that I swear.

Giving 15.10.05

This is not forgivable

these foggy words that

you offer me in an attempt

at appeasement

they cannot suffice and

I will not succumb. Do not

linger here, rather leave me

and be done with this.

I will not bear you. I

will not kiss. I will not

hold you or offer my love.

I gave and you rejected.

I will give no more.

Margaret Atwood's Cat 16.10.05

For Laura

is neither at its beginning

or its ending

but slips between the

words of her poetry

as it would between her

legs as she sits in

front of a desk

altogether crafting

it would be a reverent

moment spent lying

on laps or over

feet that immediately

have so much and so

little to do with writing

but on the body of a woman

maybe my pawprints

would mean more

Peter, oh Peter 16.10.05

My Redemption was a

finger's breadth away

but it was easier to deny

You, to deny Me as the

case would have it be. And

so I crouched down and

wept as the cock crowed

its assassination of my faith.

Hoping I wept for you I realised I

did not. With that acceptance

faith burgeoned within me again.

Against all sin, against all love,

against any proclamation or the

spears ripping into the bread of

your body it was reborn and

I along with it. Momentarily I

was transfixed and knew You

loved me, that momentous joy

and its legacy hearken this voice

and all the lies that have bound it.

Shameful Allure 18.10.05

Crept up the dangers

of my soul you did

as though they were

lures to your hurt,

but you've seen them for

what they are – dislocated

sections of me that

weren't dangerous at all

rather they were the links

between peace and

soulfulness a calm

amidst the havoc that

is my mind. And all you

wanted was the peace

all you wanted was the joy

and an admission

that love would remain

without yours. My

inertia, the bellowing

breath of my time-fixed body

was not enough. There

was no chaos on my tongue

nor danger in my soul. You have

placed them there: in thrall

to my angers.

the sunlit edges 18.10.05 (night of 16.10.05)

of women drive

sanity from me in

one out-breath

your waking shivers

insulting the heat

to action

looking on

each edge is

an experience -

I savour the

sunlight's scent

streams of dust

moted sun alight

on your half-open

slept eyes