reducetoclear
l e t t e r s
midnight
the rain at night is a rich static space
overwhelming with silence
and brutal mace
or the crashing of waves
or Autumn winds through the leaves
flooded rows and ghostly streets
under the giant skeletons of winters trees
where memories linger like ghosts
hung from the branches
ceremonious decorations
ill-tempered, immortal after-glows
ungainly and awkward remains
manacles of regret
nocturnal powered
and glorious intentions
from the remains at our feet
and moments of nothing
and nothing more
just the comforting sweep
of these torrential storms
another ill-conceived midnight
alone in a world
deserted of life
forgotten and abused
by hells searching drafts
from the windows and doors
teasing the candle light
the night of eshak
the table candle we conjure between us
as if raising the supernatural
in subtle adventures
to contemplate life
long lost maps to our secret reveals
ruby warm reds,
and a 1000 precious rituals
dancing so gently between us
as it looks for escape
the chemistry dynamic
of heat and flame
and starving incense
longing to embrace
the look in your eyes
filled with such promise
and with love
...and with fate
the missing
the peace here is disturbed only by the movement of space
hurled at our world
and the cold winds it creates
the trees are shaken to death like scarecrows
in the ambience of lunar predictions
as the giant planet dominates our state
the warmth of you seems out of place
in the alchemy of 4am time zones
and the ruling owls that own the stage
of a haunted village that clings to lost souls
and I lie here in the heart of it all
as if it were me that created the fool
as a classless king to rule barren and disgraced
waiting for a queen to adore and reprieve
or resurrect a mans faith
and breathe life eternal into my resting place
forever to her, will I miraculously enrage
to be gently preserved
and lovingly embraced
the final morning
i walk with you amongst our dreams
picking and fondling whichever fits best
to fuss on the tangents which effect us
and manage the passion like debt
a loving heaviness lush with lust
insatiable appetites unfilled and wet
beg hold me and stole me
and revel in baptisms grateful crush
entice a brace of undiscovered myths
in remarkable sails and leaping sail-fish
the passage of elation to a sirens heart
or the magic moonlight
that fells a mountain path
where the monarch of glens
guard us from dark
and the barrenness of surviving
as we sleep too far, so far apart
too far to pass as wishful
though nights are filled with falling stars
as our quiet prayers unite
the spirits that have so long past
when one morning to come
under the clutter of rain
find us in sweet endings
and asleep in the others arms
far from the maddening crowds
far from the last hurrah
odessa contessa
and it is from time to time
that I linger on the sweet taste
of those first few months
and the sublime placements
of the intimate and rough
the way your smile
perfectly hesitates with love
underlying my part
as a man can be a man
to be so deliciously torn apart
that without you is simply being
in an empty restaurant
and just looking lost...
the beauty that you bring
like each flower
so carefully arranged
and as if designed
to make the forest sing
roadhouse
I have driven this long empty road
And been lost to the desolate
that passed in a dark light,
and others before me in stranger flights
like those with a desperate verdict,
that pays those to awkwardly love
to this truck-stop abandoned to luck
over-run with windmills
and shadows of twirling, rusty blades
And weeds like giant Triffids roam
Beneath the broken Ampol cage
in her cobwebs and rust,
as if she adores the sign at half mast
of containment of unwanted crimes,
the battered poison pumps filled with the lie
…the Coke machine dead on its side
the ghost tenants that were sent to manage her
now tease relentless at her torn window blinds
or squeeze through her fly screens and grates
or kick out at her newspaper flaps
or roll down her tyre-packed walls
and leave the radio on to drain her source
as if she can choose the songs for herself
and some other small comforts at night.
The light in the workshop forgotten,
glows and flinch as if badly rotten
as if something larger had walked on
bored and no longer impressed
with its playground of things ill-gotten
the oil and grease-blood on surgeon’s rags
the sprawl of tools tossed from her shelves
manhandled in stacks of foul leaking drums
a pickup left like the last poor-wife
left with the promise of trouble and strife
or another tasty force,
like her evening storms…
the scorpions that pose ready for rage
the hoist that creaks dangerously with age
leftovers of men drawn to her core,
Like a foul-sweet monster lay slain
And partially adorned
Rotten with their anger,
and ridden with pain
Drained by intolerant and hazardous rain
This oasis that now feeds on human loss
and the blistering heat of a welders touch
A last stand of un-naturals
And their supernatural force
Filled with rubbish like spiteful gifts
That the wind curls them in fingers of love
And openly sends messages
Which float helpless and soft until they are lost
Their message they send in cryptic clues
That addiction is painless until the day that you loose
never discover what you needed the most
Until well away from this endless coast
…this collection of inebriations
the end of a thousand dead falls
absorbed by the heat
in the skeleton wrecks of yesterday
and the lifeless choice none of us have left
an open grave haunted and crushed
and cursed like this lifeless oasis
with nothing but brutal bad luck