two poems - a childhood of habits and skin

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two poems

a childhood of habits

and their voices before I ever was

can I call my own?

letting the eyes into light

and traffic of the air

here we crack these knuckles

something sweet

think of yourself at times

bring turd in a pot to please

later the habit of being an adult

dangly or inward

hair will grow here

is pity permitted?

have we that yet?

later in life to polish

the orbit

seeing oneself as a machine

so must wear out

and there is calling into question

habit of wandering off

of going unnoticed

and the calm

time shown

it has a door

behind to go

don’t look for things that aren’t there

and somewhere early on

it must have been

I fell into words

skin

is not much colour really  

but bury and delve to be believed

here I we you are in one for now

and all the is we are

shake hands you’ll see

it holds the oceans in

and when they say ‘sad sack’

consider Marsyas for flaying

like a solid line around

though here’s mosquito landing

think of the scrub itch mite, its map

feel through

suggesting someone’s border control

or blistering in fire

(result of raffle)

permeable to some degree always

soaks up comments too

skin of your nose by that

or none off mine

any other means

it has been painted, branded, pierced

invasive species

grudges in blood

this is what you see

breathe through it

think bark

I know they look at me

say ‘touched’

for going on like this

who isn’t wasn’t won’t be?

you try love without one

you can fit breakfast in

all told

even words

consider

the tongue is edged with this

and let’s not mention naughty bits

delicate to

make yourself breathless about it

all told

in and out of

sausage sizzle

which is the meat wrap

who will win?

see how it’s not fitting

though fitting in

just nuzzle

comes from the skin found wanting

till more of the same

how else to bear the bones about?

and commented upon

unmentioned else

since looking in the mirror

and wrinkle up

or lose the glasses

fruit have this

and, bite or knife, you’re in

an arrow to the heart through

bullet if for din

you can make more by biscuit tin

a mist of it and slip

some you see through on a slide

though sub-cutaneous is grim

skin of your teeth

puts hair on them too

we speak degrees of separation

drink this, tumble up and over

mortality we read in rot

fresh flesh lets light

we have thrown extras on

augment

cream wrinkles

vaseline the lens

let the eyes go dim

old inscriptions fade abattoir blue

stand out in the rain

and it drips – this skin

I love a one rhyme wonder

give me the jinnee rub

here, oil my lantern

when hair stands on air

think where

chicken and egg

so we begin