I wish to be buried without a coffin.
No wardrobes hoarding my fashionable bones,
Freely, I shall rot into the soil, and
outspread my wings around the stones:
holding hands with the worms.
No airy pine-stinking space in which to turn.
But around my head, the soil crumbly and rich like a
beautiful chocolate birthday cake,
scattering pieces all over my face.

As they crowd around at the service instead
of slowly lowering the spaceship,
allowing it to gently hover high
above the grass, before landing softly (safety first!),
they shall shout ‘fling her in’,
And head first, face down I shall fly
with a flair and a flick in my limbs
a looseness known only to death, towards
an earth known only to skin.

Clocks.

Designed to be watched, we are faces on skin.
Our ticking spines are brittle and they slither along.
Loyally curled around another’s wrist
we toil, we sing.

Time handcuffs you and you do not complain
but drink subtle quartz and applaud its taste.
We spend the nights caught alone in our gaze

at your sleep-ridden hands clutching teddy bears close
whilst the hands over our faces swat the minutes away.

Jealousy is not a green emotion.
It is pyramid-shaped and a watery pink;
your shy morning shadow beginning to shrink,
who says (in a voice punctured by light) ‘I’ll follow you.
Your thoughts of others guide the treacherous sun
which drags me back and forth like the trigger of a gun.
See, each wink of your eye in another direction
is no threat in the wake of my incredible weapons”.
Most often, it is her I follow; she shades my eyes from you
we hold hands like paper dolls and our mouths are sealed with glue.
I have befriended your shadow. It has become an affair.
Her secrets are structures built from sand and prayers.
(yes, your shadow is jealous of your unrestrained life

and I let it enact my bitter Orion).

the geese glided by, silently.
the ducks chuckled, in their underground cottage
unaware that one Sir remained outside,
drifting, a sober boat, knowing that home was infact
very close. and if this be true, surely calling
constantly, and to all directions
would draw him to warm familiar affections?
but he continued, out of sight
and silently, the geese, they glide.