20 August 2011


Rusticle 8/20

The room is thick
Stale and dry
An attic of cardboard boxes

Perpetual sound of moth wings
Paper drills and their tunnels
Spider mites about the corners

Imagine a room full of ice cold water
Black as ink and that ghost light
In submarine documentaries

Our relationship is
A skipping reel of film
Is in danger of burn out

My emotions are the Titanic
You the iceberg
Or the water or the night or the hubris

I'm being histrionic
This bedroom is full of dust
Which is a mix of our skins

Our relationship in stasis
Skipping away
As we lay holding hands like mummies

Our history is a frozen petrified thing
Filling with sediment
An elongated mouth trapped in a howl

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