#208 - how many rooms to the heart?

28.7.20

208

how many rooms to the heart?

I will paint you

no stone unturned

but certain lines of fruitless enquiry

it has a kind of mansion mist  

to wonder where I’ve been

shouting room to room…

your shout

house taller than the wind it is

roof drips through

a trail is left

all random architecture

built on a lie like love

‘should the stove be on?’

a yodel

Chinese boxes, Russian dolls

room of the omiyage

how many rooms and where are you hiding?

we sardines and this our tin

keep moist and stretch the skin

most private where I take off your dress, unbra

elastic loose down

release the beast

a downstream drift

forest selves away

room of the treetops then

clouds come

days couldn’t be more naked

still tearing down to flesh

and after, driven from the rain

verandering, relieve myself

be taken in with view

great hearts

and brave

and faint as well

gravelly voice

and risk

going out

may not be back for some time

having dreamt us there

where once we met

(little chamber of horrors)

facts face me but I brush them off

I write it up

I rug the floor

of course so tangled too

thus lost

rats run

was with whiff we went

taste blood, follow

come to the poem in love

(a kind of garden indoors)

all our ever building houses

every inch in the heart

lean to

so

come to the poem in love

with time stood still

viola slow

the rhapsody of corridors

and often lightless

you could be anywhere

open a window – fresh air

have hearts in spades

then after diamonds

take to the club

trip stage

and bowl the breadrolls, Bertie

do deathbed scenes, give birth

family!  help!  get me out!

there must be some kind of way

a journey to the centre

and bottom of this sea

stumped

over the hills and far far better

one of us at least

consider care home

cave retreat

let things come out in the wash

each mood its room

came here to lose the battle

and lick my wound, won’t you?

that’s lovely

surrender

you climb on

it was a wish

rhetorical

demented wander of it was

boomerang too

it’s me – I’m back

sometimes too green

the meadow lies

but I translate myself

an inventory of words

eke

a store room where we keep the craft

so long forgotten

every other language is lovely

over the edge we

why even speak?

how many chambers?

who else is here?

will we echo after

could be quite a crowd

and counting

then I suspect myself of a crime

until the penny drops

an every instant

puzzle self

behind closed doors

all scheming

frantic

filling out forms fill out

rubber stamps

chase paper and now on-line

a room

for the spinning wheel of death

where we have forgotten

will forget

where were we?

hall of doors and mirrors

traps

creep through the ventilation shaft

walls close in

though rubberized

look for the mail

and I show up like a bad penny

long since the divorce

the heart is a church as well

all prey

upon

little window in the door

blinds up

peer in

it’s a sitcom

sand through the hourglass

and we have a serious side

whole cities sunk to love

a wicked cobalt blue

storms of

went down in the piano

fishing

not expected back

I found you in the compost pile

meaning we are weeds or worse

we garden only for the gnome

chewed and through

together

and all at sea

a light through the woods

is my heart come home

we live towards the unexpected

where I know that you will be