Sorry for being so quiet, been out and about and not in the mood for writing anything of merit!
wish-on-stars (a blog you should all be following!) gave me two lines to start a poem, and I had the job of finishing it off. I’ll probably end up editing this heavily sometime in the future to make it work better, but I’ve been silent for too long! Thank you for the little project :P x
Here’s to all the poets,
The kids who couldn’t make it
When the sunrise flicks its scalp
Like a bitch and sandbar skein
Retake their plateau shells,
Stellar-made cowering
Magmatic, sheltering their eyes
Grotesquely from dawn’s chin,
Its flax maw in gag-reflex
All too ravenous for the
Wayward slips that hide
Their bloating and eczema
From sandmen and dirge; nothing
But their cast aside clothes
Dirigible in oceans
Of pitch made to swallow their
Stomachs; those kids obsessive
Of the morning’s temples,
To patch them or to tear them down
To the apocalypse of
Their gorgeous fabric.
Looking up at you though squid ink,
The eyeglass of the drowning,
I cannot tell if this storm is
The child of your eyelash
Or the secret of their lids,
Darkening the hemorrhage salt.
Perhaps the only art is
Asphyxia, the breathless
Liquids of Leviathan
Drawing out our beasts with the
Hook in its gill, until seeing
And drowning are only parted
By the wideness of your eyes in
The rain.
- Malb 23/05/2011 01:39
Marilyn is dead,
The updraft just a whisper lashing tissue eyelids,
Heels rapt and cast out
Those starshapes now turned on heels to smudgy dizziness,
Just as heatless strips
Plant bright as Vegas ground in bedsheets, still cherry plump
And forever we
Expected neat as negatives absolved the camera,
Its shutter enough
Of your laughing to ring in obituary
And the breath of life
Clichéd out of motion capture, whatever that may be
Between us - still life
Vespers of sockets turning quick papier-mâché
In the long rains left
Where cities stood beneath the temples and golden fell,
Now realising
On sepulchre their weepy monoliths, bent at the knee
Where Marilyn steeps
On steps, slumped on stones like rosary or rock salt or
Or anything but earth,
Where Marilyn is dead and the dead walk as the living.
- Malb 15/08/2011 18:16
Secondly I felt hands as cardboard dragons
And their stories eating up my joints in myth,
I the furnace unchained in drilling teeth
Split-pin of my stony shins and forearms,
And in the pitch of its sun-consuming wings
Dark shapes are legend, and I papery heats
Of the monstrous free.
You look with the foresight
Of a jackal’s eye weighing
My heart against a feather,
De facto lingering
In sandstone as neat as
Necropolis, waiting
For a monolith to
Burst from my tongue’s column,
As if it could plinth the rising.
- Malb 24/07/2011
And the matchbox wanes with the bloody knuckle,
Mosaic from glassed chin
Catching the morning stars as they sang as one,
Burning to the cuticles
A gibbous wax by which night uncomsuming
Lifts our papier-mâché wires
To chalices of novae in the expanse
Of their everlasting seepage:
Bruises pooling by skylight at the hilts of
Charred palms, groping for shapes in
Blindness, searching for song and stardom, lit by
Nothing by incineration
As they decide the outlines of dotted Gods.
- Malb 15/07/2011 00:42
The one knot able
To tie-up loose ends seems all
Too close to a noose
Paladin of Dachau wreathed in lamplight chivalry
And a stallion of fireflies, Dresden plates
And Deuteronomy’s cauldron uplift in turn
Romantic hooves before their barrage breaches mantle,
Rapturing dust in ribbons: dreadlocks of Heisenberg
Hung where compasses could never prophesise,
Curtail for the mapmakers of middle distance
Where continents meld in lines of inky Birkenau,
Tectonics baffled by the horserider that moves
Mountains as if the Earth moved only to his canter,
As if the chart margins were but the whites of his eye
Flecked with the ashes of children, stinging in the wind.
- Malb 12/07/2011 19:52
My last day on Earth is a sunflower,
Named for a star but heavy-headed the
Sojourner ingrains its countless spidered eyes
To loam and its punctuate dead chrysalised,
Sagging between eternity and the
Promise of life when darkness prevails;
A candlewick to a furnace; a limb
That begs to hold its mother’s face only
To falter at its Father’s great oven,
Incinerated as seedling becomes
Those first infant steps into adulthood:
Yellow time pealing from crushed cheekbones.
- Malb 09/07/2011 02:12
Relics of madrigal stacked in bastion
For tornado and the torrents kept in
Rune chalk, aortic passage ultraviolet
Though whittling masonics, cords of shadow
Scraped as the vassals of axemen wayward
In forest and column, recalling the pattern
Of everything that was in muscle meeting
Rock: new igneous chorus in the forerunner
Of fortress, half-immortaliser of kernel
As gales make their own rattle harmonic
As whirlwind claims colouring from stonecutters,
Their canals emptied as fortresses of blade
Buckle against the petrified wrists of the dead.
- Malb 06/07/2011 23:57
