A-T type 955

A silent symphony, swaying
Passion stripped of joy
Impossible, intolerable
This frenzied staticity

The incessant reflection
Daybreak longs for nightfall
Heedless of the tides
Creeping abject toward majesty

Complacency a changeling, mute
Indifference the paralytic
Addictive, sterile and steel
Drawn against the grain

Desire an epidemic, cold
A love raining ashes
Patient, waiting, quarantined
Holding on until you let go

Chasing knowledge, curiosity
A key dipped in blood
Telling, damning, brilliant
This unforgettable tale

My escape bartered, mr. fox
Sates the insatiable with
Shiny, saccharine, sacrifices
Suffering created and consumed

Should the good will out
And truth deliver madmen
Will my inevitable judgement
Match my wry complicity?


I stare at you across this precipice
an impossibly intimate distance
separated by this invisible chasm
edging nearer just to keep you in sight

days upon days, eons layer into ages
striations the weft of our tale
lies trade alternately, under pressure
their weight raising up red walls

feverish dreams span the space between
winged interior joy brought up short
by the abrupt solidity of our fear
leading us on like blindfolded beasts

spectators marvel, courting vertigo
peering over the edge of our isolation
leaving echoes and expectations
together we stand; still, endless, apart


Contained cruelty, fights the desire
to relegate and diminish.
By grace instead I hold you up,
and compassion tops anger in the end.

Keeping my own council, I say nothing.
Silence salves all wounds. Seldom do I
regret what I have left unsaid;
but often that which I hastily confess.

We say so much to say so little.
Or alternately distill and concentrate –
the endlessly contracting conversation –
but even these few words are denied.

If anything, struggling to explain
what needs no explanation
risks missing the fleeting chance to
ask why and deserve an answer.

So I edit, erase, retract and
ultimately submerge these words.
Since there can be no recompense;
I surrender the truth to your construction.

Undeterred I persevere, my unspoken dialogue
enshrining the unsaid in stone,
and sinking the unyielding days
beneath the weight of my own silence.


breathing, drawn out, exorcised, teased apart
the colour drains, unsaturated, hollowed
as I become light, a transparant shell
fading greylit shadow
substance leaves me, falling away

the loss, smoke from my lips, transient
never a part of me to begin with
trails the light, headed eastward
to rise again, the ashes like snow
playing across the slate

burned itself out, raging, molten
till not even embers remained
pale illuminated barely, sparsely by
the only light that endures,
recalling mysterious sunshine

my reticence, always waiting,
hanging back when others rush by
swift to their fate
left with the image of decay as chance
collapses at the lightest touch to ash

not sadness, this emptiness is lightness
free from the heat, the flame and the fury
alone I court peace
stillness welcomed openly
stretched clean to the edges of my outline


defiant to the last, I close my eyes
against the clamour of cluttered reality
and in the darkness behind I chase
a single point of retreating light

from the pulse of pinpoint memory
an insistent, ever enduring moment
the opening credits fade in –
the story starts to unfold again

down the rabbit hole following animated scorn
falling slowly, disillusion blossoms
as time erodes the evidence, details
leaving floating ghosts with dim margins

blundering, the world shrinks, contracting
collapsing inward one kiss at a time
blinding, crushing and entire
the glare of your light extinguishes mine

your intake of breath; audible, anxious
that simple silence in the moment before
your hesitation tastes bitter on my tongue
stinging as your judgement, falling short

still you drink me down without restraint
and so diminished, I turn away empty
virgin thresholds long to be crossed but
fearful to the last breed only regret


the potential made aware, awoke the choice
to attack or withdraw, to engage or enrage
not by half measures but in its entirety
submerged in a churning sea of action and contest

how fortunate to know this race against time
to choose to love knowing the day,
the second when it will be torn apart
conscious, lucid and aware of the end

not to back away from, step down
to hang on, hold ground until the near-fatal impact
(is it masochism or madness to begin
knowing the inevitable helpless pain of loss?)

the emptiness of indifference insulating
from further forays, from jumping again
in front of the train – or is this brilliance,
pure in its wonder as in its agony, a life well-lived?