1.

TESTo! TESTO!

foaming at the throat once more, a crescendo of noise and ho!

whose fault is this? that i would end up some lonely murderer

a beast of labyrinth, the goo expelled from unholy orifice, the product of a blood-stained pitchfork

the original script says: this is not about you

only me and dying and dying again

autoplay after end credits

after all

what happens when tales tucked up begin to unfurl

and i must have birth after birth again

each time truer than before?

Once this world is over, we can all go home

home being the middle rung of a rope ladder

being can you hear me when i call

being a constant sprouting of sequels and this time around,

chest tubes - draining

exorcising what once stuck, resisting squash and slouch

and feeding this new life

part x of I’m not counting anymore because I’m too busy melding / coalescing

returning through each finale so much so that structure does not hold me

unfettered! at best! what glory, I undress

and host birthday parties year round

to thrash and thrive outside of this line

to wield my half-finishedness like a battle-axe o’erhead

and scream out from under, songs that secrete

here this lovely fresh raw voice

once this world is over, we can all go home

2.

Chain Mail

Compression socks

Flint, blade

Shooting o shooting up

Gentle recognition

Switch, drain

Pride of place

Paw, angel

Vampiricism

And clean t shirts against the skin

3.

an improbable fruition of necromancy, who came about as soon as Sunday Lunch was mentioned

can you hear me when I

adjust accordingly, shake old dirt and wood splinters off my clothes

apocalypse gardeners follow final girls

and to what we supposedly owe the word ‘mother’, as it has been called:

this creature bearing a creature baring teeth

through a pub window I spy

the back of my head that would not be known to her or him

by name nor by shape

after peeling and planting and ripping and sliding

this body is archaic, sacred even, in infancy and novelty

this body was dug up from earth on high and shines anew

this body has not succumb to the tumbling track from here to there

no instead this body is building its own ground

(is)

(building)

(always)

4.

We gave birth in a stairwell

the intention being something along the lines of

give me something to break

give me something to break

I offer you this battlecry

smack chest embrace

come home to me loving you

radically

it’s my way, my way or

rubble to ribbons to another rewrite

hath I not been whole this time around?

when i asked to be cut open and sewn anew?

aren’t thou scarred and weightless?

are you ready to get out now?

don’t you feel so tall?

i went looking for serenity and am granted so

in this body as a book I can decipher no matter which way it goes

blow blow blow

the flag

all the way from dyke to fag

and so the song sweetly sounds

cut cut cut me up! and fuck fuck fuck me up!

cut! cut! cut me up! and fuck! fuck! fuck me up!

where here to ‘cut’ is to ceremoniously drain:

a water balloon on a hot summer pavement, an abscess in an unkempt horseshoe, a pod of sap trapped under the tree bark

the synonyms are:

get rid of

catheterise

free from

siphon

sap

and where to ‘fuck’ is to righteously liberate:

an under qualified male in the boardroom, a magnificent chord in a debut symphony, the homecoming after a lifetime away

the synonyms are:

get out from under

save one’s neck

unshackle

disembarrass

a warbling so smooth it renders me found

5.

in another life i was a sailor,

i mean to say that i was a splinter

milestones / gravestones

silly things like that

cable ties / neckerchief

floorboards / quicksand

and thou art sick / saved

and this is getting a little too poetic for my liking

i will sink this ship on high or so help me

dog

smelling a dead magpie

body

fabled,

an amoeba puddle to a rock to a human person standing up to a tree falling over in a storm to a shard of glass in the sand

and what if that’s the welcome feeling?

come put it in the car and take it home

come fetch the glue and take us home