for archival purposes

A Recipe for Simnel Cake

Blue, Green, Brown

***** **

Memories

Please Miss, But

Silver Coins

Socks

The Alphabet According to Jas

Tu Me Manquerais

somewhere in my thoughts and dreams

there is a field, where i am sat,

the daisies colour it in reams

of white among the grass, so that

the field looks as though it’s painted

by some old master, antiquated.

the field, this last week, has housed

my body in its natural bliss,

i and the hedgerow are espoused,

i’m cradled by the trees, and kissed

so softly that i shed a tear

each time i am dragged back to here.

the noise of all the world around

cannot be heard from in my field,

i shut out any kind of sound

except the brook to which i yield:

safe and quiet there am i,

without the woes which make me cry.

but all the same, i don’t belong

among the flowers and the birds.

remain i here. although i long

for that field with no need for words

or messy feelings, petty strife.

rules dictate silence,

i long for conversation,

impassive, i stare

and tell myself this will all

find the question on

my lips - do you know? of course

you do, i told you.

its successor then:

do you remember? i don’t

this unalignment

is genetic, it seems. or

this godforsaken

ache, and a line from a book

it follows me from place to place,

melodic and enshrined,

i shudder when i hear its call,

the lyrics left behind.

you wrote a poem of it once,

and how we sang its words

to different tunes, all summer long,

just us, guitar, and birds.

back then, i thought those nights might cause

my hatred to contract -

the irony has not been lost

that, instead, in fact,

it's one more thing about that song

that makes me want to cry-

though diff'rent, as at least this time

the problem? clearly I.

it follows me from place to place,

through trauma, friends, and work,

"today is gonna be the day"

is ref'renced and i jerk

back upright, i don't want to think

of all this untold woe.

but it follows me from place to place,

he says “i’ve never” and

i say “would you” and he says

“not with a woman” and looks at me

with questions in his eyes.

he says “would you” and

i say “only if” and he holds me

against the trailer and tells me

not to move an inch.

he says “are you crying” and

i say “not because of you” and he

goes to let me move and i tell him

not to loosen his grip.

he says “that was” and

i say “yes” and he says “would you”

and i say “not with you again”.

he says “that bad” and

i say “no” and he says “i wouldn’t either”

and i say “that bad” and he says “no”.

he says “my brother’s here” and

look back through years of

messages, wonder where the

skies that were yours are

hers now too - two loves wrapped up

one thing ends, another begins:

i am tossed from wall to wall as

the storm weathers the ship.

one thing ends, another begins:

my body starts to heal as my mind

A is for always make sure i can see you,

B is for book it outside.

C is for calm meditational breathing,

D is for (try not to) die.

E is for everything near me exploding,

F is for feelings of shame.

G is for getting a grip on my body,

H is for hold on (not a game).

I is for i know im being unfair here,

J is for jumping in fear

K is for knuckles turned white from the straining,

L is for lu janvier.

M is for many nights crying or bloodied,

N is for never again,

O is for orlando (the song, not the city)

P is for phoning a friend.

Q is for quite a lot more than expected,

R is for ripping through skin.

S is for sobbing in somebody’s arms,

T is for trying to win.

U is for (not) understanding at all,

V is for very bad thoughts

W’s for why are emotions so high,

X is for coming up short.

Y is for yet, a word i trust less and less now,

fucking endless but

somehow over too quickly:

step outside and every

colour is more vivid than

it’s ever been: transfixed by flowers and

moon bright and low and

sepia: soft words, gentle

i would like nothing

more than for this hell to end.

for coexistence.

bitterly resent

the implication i am