Dragon Lady

All that green makeup
And yet
I’m the one who’s melting.
And despite the time of year
There is no fear.
Not a single
Drop of doubt.

Which is rare for me.

Well then
Cast away, all hope.
Howl to the moon with me.
And with bellies full of
Spiced Hokkaido and dreams
We’ll wake the souls.

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I think it’s a comedy

I didn’t want it to happen again.
No, please, not again.
But at this stage
It’s almost inevitable.
The fist plunges,
The fingers uncurl and stretch,
But the grip has slipped already.

Male voices sing
In 5 part close harmony
Of cacti and angels,
Their words slick auf Deutsch
As I imagine I can feel
The ever faster beating
Of your heart
Through the leg of your jeans and the
Few inches of warm air between our knees.

Take out the bag of oft-worn clown makeup.
Draw a smile on my bald downturned head.
Stamp your foot in the dust and howl.

I’m in the dark again
But for the faint light
of the stars.

I want to fall in love again

It always seems so
Easy at first.
Just tip forward into heartache
Like falling off a chair
Or the bike you thought you
knew how to ride.
A distinct lack of training wheels on this occasion.

If you feed me orange porcelain rose petals
I will close my eyes and listen to
the rain on the window pain.
I will remove cat hairs from the
Peripheries of my mind
And the corners of your downturned smile.
I might read poetry in hushed tones,
Your head in my lap.
If you agree
To hold my hand in the dark
I will try my best to
Never doubt you
And to keep all your brightly coloured matchsticks
In order.
To never lose your
Loveless green eyes.

Oh how I hope you care.

Gently now for fear it might break

It has been many moons
Since love has tread
In the halls of my heart.

The tapestries on the walls
threadbare and muted.
The forgotten corpses of furniture
Shrouded in white,
Still as the dead.
The hearthstone lies cold and unused.

The dust is piled up like snow
In the deep of winter
Heaped in the corners and doorways.
The emptiness of the place
Hangs heavy in the air.
Stale and tired.

And yet

It would appear
A single window shutter has been opened.
The fragile morning light bleeds in.
And perhaps it might be possible
To make out the shape
Of a footprint or two
In the grime.

And it could be
That if you stood for a while
In the now-open doorway
You might even catch the faintest aroma
Of freshly picked lavender
And the earliest murmurs
Of a long awaited homecoming.

Something must be said

These long, hot middle eastern nights
Are killing me.

I lie awake imagining
The smell of lemons
And those odd squashed figs
That you gave to my mother.

And thoughts turn greyer
Like irish summer skies over Glenteenassig
And everything becomes bitterer sweet.

This throbbing isn’t just between my ears.
Not anymore.
It’s deep in my chest.
And it rises up my throat
With each encroaching minute.

The low slope of your nose
Is still in my minds eye.
You always seemed so unjustly guilty.
And all these words can’t be helping.

Instead let me be brief:
It would be nice if the idea of you
Would let me sleep.

Is there though?

There’s a limit
To how much useful music you can make,
To how much tension you may instill,
To how much damage any one person deserves.

There is a limit to how much
Despair
Will soak into the pillow cases,
Into the sheets on her bed
Or the tips of your agitated hands
Or the soles of her yellow harried feet.

There is a point at which the night gives way
To a grey and rainsoaked morning.

And when you hit that wall,
When you reach that bluff,
That endless, precipiced edge,
Breath a sigh of relief and close your eyes.

Don’t be afraid to fall.