I saw you again today
You're so different from the last I saw
a back that took to stairs and was gone
a film of red desire before my eyes
to here and now stand like a scratching.
"Feeling scummy" I don't believe.
Clipped
still opening up pale blue
smiling
a hen mother to these mites that know and won't tell, if you don't tell first.





If I could call this gallery home and have art as my neighbour, the hearth of my soul would glow red-warm with undying embers, and would see the window to my world full of the truth of beauty.




There was one by the bar
another straddled her lap
tongues nestled in the cheeks of each other.
This is what they call fashion I guess
it's not what but who you wear.

There was one by the bar
drunk and eager for hands
about her body
with eyes closed.
How two becomes so many.

There was one by the bar
hiding behind fake glasses
while a patch of hope filled the spot.
She stood so braced.
All filing passed so slow and unprepared

There was one by the bar
how small they seem
only three
last time was four, no five
not a shout a scream.

There was one by the bar
ginger tinged back-lane tom
gone so dark.
Haste of time that flies
human labour bogged in the unknown.

There was one by the bar
old in here as well as there.
Dimly lit on illusions
a "Mama. Sweet thing"
a home is where we lay a head.

There was one by the bar
secret it is from me.
Overt action-girl in riot pose
violence subliminal
trophies of lives not theirs.

There was one by the bar
like the one before
and a one before that.
Like a procession of suitability
promotion of the peer.





I remember it as if it were yesterday, though since all the yesterdays seem to be blurring into one long today I guess it may have been whenever, but it's true she was there, and when I say there I mean here, because this is the only place I ever am, I'm never more than a step away from this space I share with so many of the remeberances that tend to take up arms and charge back into mind like a Light Brigade daring my valley of Death to finally reap myself back to the null and void, but when you have a craving for a little more than you have, the little that you have barely seems enough to sustain existance, it barely seems enough to raise a smile or to turn the heart over in idle, barely enough to make the crawl out of sleep worth opening eyes for.
But like I said, it's true she was there, and when I say there I don't necessarily mean in a physical sense but more in a sense of presence, a sense of being, like an entity that never shifts more than it has to, that never is more than what anything else is at the time, she can never be more than what the situation allows her to be, as if she is controlled by the needs of the whole, her a component as much as the entirety, I guess she could be God if only she were real and not some concoction of my own dilemma, some descended apparition landed on my luck at a time that must have suited some-one otherwise it wouldn't have occurred.
But like I said before, it's true she was there, and when I say there I mean that place we'd all like to find, that zone of ultimate contentment, a place of bliss, Heaven in the real world, as proof positive that the effort of living is worthwhile and not just an unavoidable necessity, that should you, for some reason, find yourself waking to something other than familiarity you won't lose yourself to any delusion that it is any better than anything else you've encountered.
But like I said before, it's true she was there, and when I say there I mean a place that even though I repeat myself over and over, and I know I do, it is only in the hope you'll understand the enormous impact that memory has on a life, that even as far as comparisons go, and I, like most other creatures, am prone to compare one thing with another in an attempt to find a place for them in the scheme, not that this really has anyhting to do with my rememberings of things feeling like yesterday, but it's like I keep saying, it's true she was there.
But like I said, it's true she was there, and I still feel like I'm a little there, though perhaps more correctly I might not be all here, people might question exactly what it is I mean by that, but if they're honest with themselves they'll know what I mean, as here is now, and now is composed of all the moments that were before, that pile up on top of each other, affecting and being forgotten until remembered as if it were yesterday.
But like I said before, it's true she was there, and there is a spot I've been to before, a spot that's so unlike here it's a different plane of existance, that you could find if you'd really try, you could see it perched on the arms of a night-sky glowing purple and red, the rampant magic of Mars spread forever to attest to it's being, spread like the most beautiful woman in the world, who's yours, on a bed in the half-light of dancing candles, absorbed in the thousand pillows desire has provided as comfort, she's open and honest and in love with this you that stands so naked and ugly before her as proof that man can, if he wants, acheive just about anything, even beauty, in the eyes of if only one beholder, that beholder being her, and because she knows your beuaty grows to even bigger love than she might have thought.
But it's like I said before, it's true she was there, I remember it as if it were yesterday.