OverPoetry

gold can be eaten /
line the stomach with /
layers of gild /
brilliant gut, lead the way prosperous /

it’s the teeth that betray us /
fangs behind the smile /
a bite could be a song /
pressed directly into flesh /

everyone hides from the /
ice cream truck now /
winter is summer, freezing living pipes /
the heart cracks open /
always an empty organ by design / \

children line up /
against the wall
for their final year portraits /
trying to cover the holes /
already forming /
on their nameplates

sometimes, an empty cup /
lip stain heralding yesterday is here /
read vertically in the morning /
making new space between so and so /
the word drops /
enjoying its fall /
write at 90° in the afternoon /
cracking all the same necks /
new light for the vertebrae /
leaning west for a view /
speak under water in the evening /
see the shape of said escaping /
swimming up to burst a bright world

is what is something else? /
sunrise /
let it be /
be nothing before /
spread til all snaps /
counting stops /
one is gone /
every where disappears too /
a body indistinct /
once called such /
and the mind is red /
form lost from space /
unshaping the bind /
speak, inside or out, /
to place the planet again

that old extraterrestrial, Santa Claus, /
has invaded millions of homes /
smeared his alien DNA across dinner plates and glassware /
left plastic icons for the children’s worship /
as other-worldly ideals shaping their dreams and thoughts /
for a hidden purpose /
each one held to secrecy with the visitor /
a celestial covenant binding them to an unquestioning thrall /
count his fingers, three and a thumb /
distant world adaptation /
why has he come here? /
never fully revealing his presence /
only in a promised morning aftermath of artefacts /
embedding a children’s code of wish and uneven fulfilment /
implanting a prill of agitated memory /
directing them through life /
as they look back for the diminishing images /
of those morning revelations /
jovial exhale, his alien atmosphere /
taxing lungs to the first Christmas

that jar is broken /
in the dense bush /
north of Raith /
all the water inching away /
from a warm cup /
there are lists /
no one will read /
in war, the only commanding argument /
25,817 names originally given as luck /
all bitter poets know /
verse is a luxury and a necessity /
frivolous blood that should really be /
a basket of sharpened metal /
left in a schoolyard /
for the next generation /
to plant firmly

joy and pennies on the dollar /
thrown up into the midnight air /
let the choir blow up the children’s balloons /
voice or breath, we decide /
where the roads are built /
and what time the furnace kicks in /
a billionaire’s notebook up for auction /
the representatives say there is determined interest /
how will people get here? there are no drivers /
the notebook does not lie flat /
it’s spine not yet broken /
as the pennies fall, shout the bids /
dancing in place for an honorable mention /
the auction closes, the threshold exceeded /
packed cautiously for a private library /
where the secrets will be ingested /
for the solitary glow /
and a distant whisper /
“Whoever discovers the interpretation of these sayings will not taste death.”

winter does a day /
where mouths are open a little more /
the sun is driven down a little sooner /
the population slips on its assumptions a little later /

hunting in winter is easier /
the kill slides with less friction /
along snow and ice /
and through a forest /
to a warming garage /
eat what your bring down /
there are some who would explode /
whole subcontinents dropped in the gullet /

we’ll come back to this /
after the songs are sung /
and the candles pinched /
first the birth and the death /
over a long weekend /
recognizing the final supper

I used to fret about the last human /
not anymore /
they’ll be whistling as the days close /
envy their footprints folding over the earth’s edge /
the tracks no longer a sign someone was here /
the grand fluff is finally done /
the speakers have cooled /
and the monitors have drained dark /
consider this first birthday /
with a last celebratory breath /
blowing out an unrecognizable candle /
all the chances pitched /
the colours named /
the numbers raised /
now close the eyes /
not quite sleep /
more a stalled frame burning in seconds /
and blind planets pass by as always has /
except for our hurried click

don’t sit quietly /
fidget and force the chair over the riverbank /
unnumb the fingers from lone-syllable gravity /
prepare to draw a claw down the landscaped back /
everyone is another one leaning forward /
like an eager toothpick /
stay sick so the sidewalk crowds see the back of the mouth always /
don’t trust those who shine cutlery /
few need a blade more brilliant than them /
collect obituaries as literature /
not a novel, not a short story, not a play /
a ghostly surgeon’s warning /
best not to have been born /
before the species tripped over the horizon

a little gravel in the bearings today /
can’t claim to be a machine /
except for the leaking fluids /
I had a tail once /
full and furious /
folded it over my head in the rain /
the occasional clot of shit /
more humorous than concerning /
one morning it was gone /
no warning or note why /
now the rain worms into my ears /
shit follows me everywhere /
and the laughs have dried up /
all the “missing” posters are torn down /
who knew a tail was so critical /
lurking behind close enough to keep one warm /
catching the last light above our heads /
if one is found /
keep it under a brick at night /
and straighten out each morning /
primed for the bluster and sway