Lihpappil

  I thought I’d met a gentleman I thought he’d been so kind I found him on an onion roll But then he sent me blind Half filled, twice milled, friendly man.

Pullets on Pulpits Mocking a hen I think of her laughter Again and again.

Since then I lay so still and So long that I imagine her and my blood settling into place and draining and pooling beneath me and skin as a thin membrane keeping the sheets clean. “Bees in your knees?”  She would have asked

Streaking, bleaching, tying, heating A weekly obsession until brittle remains are cut painted wet slithers sliced to the floor we compliment each other brave intimacy and caring composure

Screaming at the cafe At the top of your lungs High pitched and undone Smiling sipping on peppermint tea I think to myself this has been fun.

When we sleep in December The one thin comforting sheet Ends crumpled in the centre Our damp skin quickly touches In reassuring flattened sighs

Beneath the almost frozen stream Needles bear down Freeze against us Standing on their ends They fall to the floor with a clattering hand Buckled knees A crease forms down the drain Screams in the pipes thump out of rhythm Folding into the steel  

I pushed it into a tightly bound jar A fraction escapes in a trickle of thought For a thrill I watch from a distance But never hold it Never smash it into a thousand pieces Never free it to breathe in sobbing gasps I feel… Read More

It was just another evolutionary step Before we started naming it a chicken.

A little broken kettle, Doesn’t know when it’s boiling. It burns away.