Monday, 27 July 2020

#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 








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