harder than hanging, is cutting the ties.

backroom players in thick smoke slam down cards, driven by visions of possession.

can i, flattened, drowned, leave behind ophelia, and rise above the ring pull of can't.

i love the rose on your bronze face, a simple shield to thumb up fragments of life.

impact from alien debris pits the shining skin of your child's dream.

wipe my circuits, my shape wont stay still long enough to connect.

in the dregs of a drained cup, the future is read.

tin rattle of cans scraping tarmac, the car accelerates, bottom trawling for love.

cast of bitter disposition dispossessed by the screw of hierarchy.

tools of the trade, a worn erasure, a blade fingerprinted, angled to shave the shadows.

the wide mouth of chance, pulls a narrowing channel, back to the bottle.

energy laps over itself, in a state of constant indigestion.

taking the skin off, an intake of breath and something leaves.

possession is a shut door, bonds cut, the song of unseen birds is an invitation to drift.

the charge builds, where is the line to shift the oppression.

bent low and scrubbing, you pass my dirty back, clasping your clean hands.

the station tannoy lists all the cities i have lived, apologising for the delay to the journey.

gold shines from your skin the sun deep within knows how to touch what it needs.

amassed, refined, sugared, gelatine coated.

my blue ridges lean to the edge of your garden.