I sharpen the smile upon my face
adjust my eyebrows.
Breathlessly breathing as if in a rush
for breath to end. But,
none want breathing to end,
we're young now.
Remember how we felt about things
when we were old like them.
This perfect, well-preserved smile,
that knife was sharp
I smile now as if I really mean it.
The knife blunts, but somehow my face still smiles
somewhere under all that rain and snow, is smiling, smiles
and I turn the bend to the river.

Two poems circa Shetland

Last lager in Lerwick

Eyes broken
long lips soft as a leer
fingers fall apart
as this brain spins
breathe on me
as legs intertwine
those eyes finger guitar
torn skin.
Lips fringe upon lips
old lips that remember.

I am

I am, but what I am someone seems to care
I am so lost like water tossed
stoned as lumber by the fireside.
Strangers staring strange toward the strangers
slotting into here and there.
Never though finding that perfect spot
I never moved from.
I am driving about Town in an invisible car
I never needed.
I am now a solaced soul
sitting with her when we dance.
I am but what I am is not me,that man over there is not me, those
hearts on my sleeve at last so free.

Cure me of this dreamless sleep

Cure me of these dreamless nights.

Inoculate my eyes from tears

over there  a voice calls out the morning.

The day, the day begins to blossom again

taking all tired eyes upward

to spectates the sunshine, the flight path of a song on the wind.

Pushing us,

flowering about us as steps upon the  grey-gold

grass regulate the dance our steps take to

 a cloudy sky we levitate,

then let them lower us to the hard hand of the earth

where dreams reside.

Talk to me in the language of sleep

We leave the dust of shadows far behind
dwell in a place that is rainbow lined
unvoiced, unmaned like dew we stand
upon a thought of grass we weave our land.

We leave the dust of shadows far behind
walk tall as whispers or thoughts without a mind.
You are colour I am sound
our technicolour souls rise from that mound.

Shortcuts in DNA

The torsin cyrve, a hurricane in an aether took me down to the third basement of the University Library the cyrve held me up, drunk on words as I walked down aisles stretching high on chairs to tenderly take slim volumes down sit in a chair reading, reading always reading.  I feel small here, small as the number of sentences I have read while all about kalisdesopes of words crowd in clouds awaiting eyes and voice and imagination. The touch of a book remains as the hurricane storm diminshes, torsin holes close now new knowledge lent to the everyday. Within me, in each drop of blood a magic battle spreads unconstrained, refashioning me, reopening me, ready for suprises, grateful that unconditional love is so often a suprise.

the leavings of love

All that is left of love is ours
now love lies unkempt
lost as a bedroom head
hair still dreaming.
Now love is found with an open door
as sunlight streams. 
All the churches are closed,  but,
does God wait for all of us to know him?
What is left of God is all that is left of love.
An ancient God old. too tired to keep an eye open in this heat,
but God's heart still holds with a eternal beat,
takes time to reach a well crafted cave
and holds his Goddess at last so near

Hospitalized

Hospitalized
cos we're to good
not greedy as the homes you feed
always taking too much
of a good thing.

Hospitalized
cos we do not know what our other
hand is doing
glad of our obsessions
small comfort in our secret moonfed night.

Hospitalized
cos you are always leaving us
and we don't feel any love.
Secrt stories tell us how we feel.
Hospitalized
because of our grieving hearts