Trip Sitter

You…
Poisoned my head,
Or so you said.
Now I’m grateful
For the hate I’ve spent,
Energies I’ve redirected
To my heart, whose razor-wire I’ve polished clean;
Energies I’ve concentrated
On assembling, from the junk, something pristine.

My heart beats the crap out of yours.
In a tag-team I will tear your soul apart.
I no longer seep through your pours;
Trembling fist paralyses and cramps your heart.

You…
Branded my loins,
Trademarked my groin.
So what? So long.
Yeah, I’ve moved on
Far…

If the body is a temple
Then the heart is a church organ belting out
Hymns to the silent sainthood;
Those who flood night-time’s lonely theatre with flesh.

Flesh immortal in ecstasies.
In memory of the boy that got away.
Here’s a hymn to wreckage rendered
Free of rust, bent into shape by will alone.

The silence knows I’m not afraid
Of the space in which I dwell.
I whistle to the sun.
My skin glistens at the heat
And there’re blisters on my feet.

And the ghosts that lie in hedgerows
Watch the ogre split in two.
I swim amongst the stars.
My hair erupts in flames
And I give the Gods new names.

The long grass flickers with the wind
And horizons shift like oil.
I kneel beneath the moon.
My nails turn to black
And there’s scripture on my back.

The blue sky reflects the
Sadness of the universal heart.
I stand amongst the trees.
I shoulder their support.
One more gust and I’d be caught.

I miss the landscape,
The geometry of moss, the gentle curves.
They travel by my side.
And at last we’re having fun
In this trek towards the sun;
A coffin idly slung across my back.
It’s where I collage al the scars,
And it’s strung like a guitar.
I exhibit them in bars.