Lost in Gravity

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‘Lost in Gravity’ – Part Echoes in space, a collection of poetry.
Available now in ebook and paperback format.

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Bloom

Creak and crack around the edges.
Let the dust and lust fall into the sky.
I spread my skin, hiding the unsightful scars.
Dazzling instead with my peacock stance.
These petals of purity, grown forth from a rugged soil.
Dance into the sunlight, coaxing ruby and daffodil stares.
Split open this mouth and allow words to flow.
Sweet like a mountain stream.
Coursed through volcanic changes of thought.
Letting you kiss my lava lips that sting your tranquil waters.
Turn my tale towards the sun, picked like photosynthesis on evolution’s hide.
What grows there they will chatter.
The borning out of terror-former.
Shocked out of a system that was impaled in the past.
Growing new delights to tantalise and snap.
Around this Venus.
Be on your guard and handle with gloves.
This thorny rose delivered from Eden.

There’s nothing wrong here

I wore the role you wanted.
Dressed in those emotions.
Let it drip like turpentine.
You showed me your Jesus scar.
As I cut through the confusion.
You leave me buzzing like a motel sign.
Only you could scratch me that deep.
Rush through me like amphetamines.
What did they say when you returned?
Did you make it feel so numb?
Feasting on cartilage and present tense.
Yet the dark offered such shelter and shadows.
To call you back to another brilliant night.
Where you looked ahead, seeing us there.
Stepping over the bodies of others.
Look me in the eye, celebrate me deep.
They all wanted to be wrong.
Singing their symphony of sorrow for a loss that had not yet begun.
Bone and cheek.
Questioning our mortality as you trim the fat.
All conquering weirdos.
Destroying the things they never understood.

Weather in your storm

The battle cry down the line.
Marching towards another front.
The sweeping gales of isolation. Threaten such havoc.
Why do you fight for no reward?
Sending lightning bolts through my battle scars.
The ones that prove I’m a warrior.
My emotions hunted close to extinction.
Tapping Darwin on my veins.
The tattoo that reads ‘Forever your Wallace’.
You naturally select the sharpest blade,
and cut me so deep I see the stars in your storm.
Do I hunker down, disconnect the phone line and lock up the animals?
Retreat and retract. These statements of intent.
The reason in your anger.
The weather in your storm.
As I pour the red over my skin. Drowning in war paint.