grout

red wine sticks
to your flat pulse of
tongue

a messy tile
due to
weathering

exposing time
puckering
wildly flicking
and stuttering.

the opposite

your hand drops to my chin,

you pull
and tell me to think
think
of
an
apology.

drunk
idiot
drunkness
drunk,

you drink,

i rush
to put up the airbed.
from which

i squeak
like a frankfurther,
egg like a roll,

always need you
in a hard boiled way,

and watch
as you
yolk
wriggle
out of your jeans.

if the mould is broken

wind bubbles on tin
slate, through
the sky
a damp piston.

out the window
close up snaps
my face, against
the netting.

cold air, hit it!
lop lip it.
ledge height
guide moths to wind
tight.

to build, i suppose
an oak, an oboe, where they come
to eat my clothes.

while the curtains rot,
my tongue does
dry,
doze.

lari

you won't see me again.

across the west pier

muscles
peel starch,

chalky saccharine
digs in with sticks

and
shelled peas
clutter the grit,

clatter
the sink,
the sand.

the swearing salt.

wash your face,
looking trim.

knots

i think now, in time i will still,

it’s a shame all those ships
pass with a stare, a smile,

and a dynamite stick.

sad buoys splitting to stoke the sun
so that we cannot look forward.

culture slumming

talkin about a road trip, talkin about our rain dance
so as the rain hit we were Cab Calloway cool.
smoking out back, crying to the sky.
maybe i fell when you walked towards me?
i should have lost my head but there was something
in the smell of the soil that kept me and i learnt not to question.
the sun was silent in the houses and their bricks,
boulders cracked smiles, an old friend passing us for good.
you blew smoke into my face, you dirt.
which can’t mean anything other than you hated me everyday.
even now as your mouth holds tomorrow:
cuckoo, egg, waltz.
but there it was, going and going through the sore sand.
your hips missed when you pinned me against the fence
of the diner as we kissed.
my sticky back scratched with the honey from your breakfast
and the pulsing in my temple felt like your fingers
on the dashboard when they spelled out:
no matter where i go, i’m going and going.