melancholy

Extinction

image

I feel so reckless
To touch
That that have been sleeping
Eye-open
Drag it out
Wide-open
Ticking-bleeding finger tips
Oogling at the space
Full of wailing
whales tumbling down my throat,
And so I lid my eyes
And I can no longer reach
The pain I may have described
Yesterday.

The becoming

As wilted as you are,

It splatters

On the walls and look–

Man-slaughter.

there is so much gore

and still

there is so much more.

 

I had to order a drilling machine

Or else the music will fall in the pits

of my seismic mind,

Is this what a stroke feels like?

The applause of losing sense

When you break

You break,

The blunt ends of reality

As the horizon folds and assemble around your forehead

There is finally a permanence in the clouds; says:

there she treads unfed

Unread

Into the oblivion.

 

I hear the never-saying so much

I became them.

 

The trees, the ice sitting in my refrigerator and a sullen end of my toe,

I throb

But I say no more.

Sea songs

Art: Arnold Böcklin, Villa am Meer

In a sea

Larking in Lurking

Melancholia—my sea song

So many subtle screeches

Pluck the weeds out of my hair

I have to be somewhere else

A place with no-one else

Perhaps under the sea

I no longer want to be me

 

I put a hand inside my lungs

Give it a saviour plunge

Let the sorrow leak

Death is a water-imagery

 

Why one must cry, if they should?

To whom they must cry, if indeed they should?

When I cry to a star

The stars don’t see me

They have eyes for million other babies

Sulking

Sucking sweat

Bloody hands and a homeless bed

 

So I said

So I sung

Like the letter ‘S’

I’m an unfinished

infinity.

 

Only sea must–

if it should

Only sea must–

if it could

Absolutely,

dissolve me.