space storms and microwave ovens

i

 

lonesome and awake

watching the lighthouse swing

beams scanning cowards

through bedroom windows

 

foreboding dawn of a red planet

universe of hopeless

escapades to the electric sun

and hollow moon

counting on heavens

to shine down from barren space

 

what falls beyond the horizon is a distraction

 

untold stories from the dead

replay eternal tragedies

time bent over the afterlife

 

 

ii

 

boys grow up too fast to be called men

no kisses for mum

broken rib for dad

parents too stubborn to let go

whippersnappers

too gutless to break free 

 

fear of mortality

suppressed

one day you won't be there to protect them

this vulnerability

cuts deep into the fourth dimension

 

blame mother

the tighter her grip

the more he resists her umbilical crusade

              

tripwires of calamity

trigger thistledown regrets

 

personal hell is a microwave oven

cooking you from the inside

boiling molecules of so called happiness

 

oblivious to the pain

refrain

plates shatter

weight slams into the ground

 

there is no detour round human implosion

you cave in

every time you drive past the cross

where your son died alone

cradled in iron dust beside a burning wreck

 

 

iii

 

after the storm

 

the draconian river flows swiftly

past the breakwall

across the bar

into the benevolent sea

 

creeks and rivers cleanse the hinterland

broken trees carved by stone and sand

float down like carcasses in floodwater

 

washed up

onshore

the estuarine journey ends

in twisted wood piles along the dune line

awaiting burial

sandblasted by the wind

bound by tender roots of overgrowth

 

i comb the beach for treasure

and wonder what to make from this

fragile cycle of life and decay

 

after the storm

 

big bad barry hangs from the wall

driftwood shaped by ancient instinct

and sea monster myths lurking within

 

 

iv

 

what do you see

in dreams

inner cubes

in your succubus

of cigarettes and blowjobs

 

what do you see in a fat man

with dead blue feet

getting heart massaged in the street

 

life steps over his half naked body

before paramedics slowly roll away

emergency waste

scatters in the wake

  

what

do

you

perceive

in the self

 

i smell like tadpoles

ciphered symbols

spawn of mercurial light

 

calluses tear from my grip

deadlifting

the mass of my shadows

 

oblivious to the pain

refrain

plates shatter

weight slams into the ground

 

Comments

Alexander Case

My apologies for the length... four [unfinished] poems blended into one.

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