Inaction

Old curtains share the screams of old kettles,

Tailing off to mute and ending night-light,

All to break a message into my brain:

Tomorrow is another day of moving on.

And the moon and the street lamps,

Out of sight, deliver a riddle:

Forget the sound that comes after our light.

If you fail to speak, to romantic eyes,

Then consider yourself a boring coward. Cowardice

Is the space between carpe diem and suicide.

I don't believe there was romance in your eyes,
As you unraveled, tip-toed, to touch mine with your thumb,

Leaving me with a single line that nobody would read.

Closure

True love makes every man build at the centre of the Earth,

And yet this same house is always waiting for the new decisive male.

There is not the capacity for us all here,

So long as the warm hearts of women are inaudible.

Zero fidelity survives in men,

Save toward surges of loose blood-guilt.

All of this can be concealed on facebook home feeds

Or on the home pages of coveted websites. Why home?

I have wasted my life building houses

And then staring at the smoke of dead bricks.

Now is the time to wonder, before I wander,

All truth is found in family and friends.

Swaying in the Ring

I am genuine about persuading you

I am genuine. Half of this is booze.

There are three ropes between us,

And if the transmissions of this world

Belonged to our small history,

You would find me swaying in the ring.

Are these the last frames in our film reel,

Or have I made you invisible

For the first dance of a wedding I dreamed?

I punch only what I breathe in this space.

You see, I have forgotten the red of my gloves.

My love, I cannot remember my boots -

The music and memory they thundered.

We have made everything our enemy.