YOUR PICTURE

You

would probably

delete it –

you’re so fussy

about

your photos –

angle, expression

shadow and light always

          perfect –

contrived – controlled.

But it’s mine. Unaffected

your eyes

alive with the moment –

a fixed point

frozen

before winter’s descent –

shining at

smiling at

warming

loving

me –

present undefiled

future still unreal –

the last good bad time.

TANKA - Epilogue

Home Helen goes to

          Menelaus, best of men.

                   Paris, beloved

of Aphrodite, succumbs –

Narcissus garlands his rest.

METRO (Aggravation)

Ignorant

that her voice

spirited by

the miracle in her hand

can whisper over oceans

a woman shouts in Mandarin.

Bloody shut up

a middle-aged man

open-mouth chewing

grunts

between cracks of gum.

Opposite

a nod

agreement from a cloud

of garlic

and two day-old BO.

For fuck’s sake

I mutter –

showered

shaven

brushed, flossed and gargled

laundered and deodorised –

quiet

and reeking

of new cigarette smoke.

DIALOGUE (Internal)

Loser

loser loser

loser loser loser

loser loser

loser

loser loser loser loser

          loser loser –

loser loser loser loser loser

          loser –

loser loser.

Loser.

Repeat.

PARIS (False Pretences)

You have

had

time now perhaps

to think that I

befriended

you under

false

pretences.

But

how

having never

tasted or seen

a fruit –

knowing only

its name –

can you recognise

its juice

for the first time

overflowing

your lips?

We both bit

innocent

I stole nothing.

IF

If you can

logically explain it –

if it can

be rationally defended –

if it makes

any sense whatsoever

in the landscape of

your life

as you’ve known it –

then

it probably is

not

love.

BIRTHDAY

It’s nothing new

that my thoughts

in these small hours

run to you.

A while ago midnight

          rang

your birthday –

this

my poor

and only gift

not given

          but

cast to the wind

to waft

if the wind will

to you ...

Tu me visites

          la nuit.

Dans mes rêves tu

m’embrasses;

dans mes bras tu

          t’étends.

Jusqu’à l’aube nous

          nous étreindons –

que je m’éteinde

comme ça!

À l’ouverture des yeux tu

          t’évanouis;

mais la poitrine où

s’appuiyait ta joue

          se cicatrise.