flat.fish.flesh

The season’s sickness takes its wholesome hold
as rash of green breaks out on Winter face.
Pink buds declare a pox on all that’s cold.
Frost’s bones are broken by the Spring embrace.

A plague of light injected as vaccine,
to resurrect the corpse of last year’s youth,
infects the flesh of artery and gene
to spread the word about life’s lived out truth.

The new borne tale, well told to old born ear,
discovers new instalments to the fable
are published by a fist of frond and fear
that stamps its mark wherever it is able.

Rose blooming jaws of cursing skin and breath
cough up the germs that bring a life to death.

The stuff that I spat out at height of night
would better be well felt than understood.
Mad skin does not check what it tells the light
to mask it from the world beneath a hood

but twitches to the rhythm of some deep
and unfrequented parlour of the shoals.
Enticing us with presents we can’t keep,
it bursts and blushes out in feeling coals.

Not noticing how I perceive your bones.
These darkly hidden blues contain its tones.

If it be true that when you left
you took a part of me,
then surely too, it must be so,
in me some of you be.

Is it that slice that wakes at night
and wanders until dawn
or handsome chunk of mad cap life
that rants and raves with scorn?

That frame we hung about the world
that we might clearly see
how things are actually done,
not as they claim to be?

Defiance of a world unjust
in ways that show our care?
Do I myself wear gleeful grin
because you stitched it there?

This rule does not only apply
to me but all you too.
To everyone that sparkles still
with light that’s due to you.

So is it true you have not gone?
Who do I find with me?
When walking round this city’s streets
in me some of you be.

Since I have built myself a hidden jail,
tall sided room of shade, of lived out lust,
cemented every keyhole, homed each nail,
so shield my auld not passing love, I must.

Not covered out of fear or shame or doubt
but guarded from the bleaching of the clock,
is this pristine collection, round about,
that gains protection here behind this lock.

A cage that finds you safely held in chains
and gags a calling voice least it should break,
that drains an earthly sun before it rains
its rays upon the memories you make.

Fine trove that keeps you here and lasting on
yet truth be told, the treasure, it has gone.