diphyllodes magnificus

dear diary,
different cities,
different rooms,
different names,
and as I stride past crystal palace
everything is silent.

parks.

early dawning:
we see a soaking madame de l'amour
marching over the grounds of the royal gardens, dragging by the collar a small girl
a peroxide gloria of candy floss a pale blue dress ruthlessly drowning spider limbs
her sheer cotton skin shredded in the turmoil
her breath bruised by sweet cherry wine
her blood stained hands
with dirty claws echoing the scarlet scratches upon
the back of a tiny tin soldier, his face buried in the pavement.

sunday morning:
and in the background, the faint cries of restless hands
relentlessly pounding the keys of an ivory piano,
infernal harmonies quietly writhing through the bleak landscape,
creasing on the silver lake like black serpents.
(like cockroaches heavy thoughts flee
by the sight of the exterminator,
chanting alice, alice, oh alice.)

and when the hermit walks, I run
the shadows cannot not haunt you.

serenity.

a hypnotic scene

dear diary,
we live our lives in silence, the creature and I
creating hypnotic scenes in our daydreams.

night after night through the eye of the storm
we never speak the truth and we feed them with our stories
we ride it out, proud as baby swallows, learning not to fly,
and with every metamorphosis the heart grows harder.

and as you sweep out with the winter breeze
a bunch of opium flowers and their milky stems
leaving wet marks on the mantle piece
stories bound together by white silk ribbons
when you go I dance on daggers. 

your apartment was impersonal, distanced in all is grandeur, distanced.
old furniture scattered carelessly along the walls relics paintings of ancestors
old relatives kept in urns mary and jesus pinned to the cross mary had a little
lamb and in the heavy chest by the door your private supply of armour,
my camera educed paranoia as morning light started pouring itself over the city.

so the creature and I walk down this lonesome country road,
her cradled in my arms tiny wrists like a pearl necklace.
our path lined by oak trees, memories peeling off the branches,
drink red sand, weep white snow, watch bridal veils grazing the horizon,
and with every metamorphosis the heart grows harder.

tomorrow little creature
tomorrow meet the world. 

blue moon balcony

dear diary,
a letter to unknown
from the creep in the window. 

he was young and dumb and she just wanted someone.

husky whispers by the crack of dawn, tangled limbs, dampened sheets,
strands of raven hair and a dusty pink camisole, showers of feathers, white pillows, snowflakes,
the heavy smell of old port, misused trust waltzing with the wind, melancholia
twirling gingerly before the open balcony door, losing balance, falling, tumbling, dripping dripping
d
r
i
p
p
i
n
g
thick black tar over neighbouring rooftops, over dimmed morning shadows
over bodies glued together by sweet and brutal intoxication

and in an open window right across the street,
hidden behind deep silk curtains
I am stood, watching,
and in an open window right across the street,
hidden behind deep silk curtains
I am stood, waiting.
and with my hands beating against the soft fabric
I imagine her mind
a forgotten attic covered in dust and grime, a forgotten attic laden with
burned out candles, a cave where memories lie scattered like autumn leaves,
transluscent moth’s wings overpowering creaking wooden floor boards. 

and beside their bed a basket of ripe black plums, slowly fermenting in the creasing morning sun, petals from a single purpur peonie gently snowing down, one by one,
second by second, drop by drop.

and her mind is poisoned, they say, polluted.
her mind is dangerous, venomous
her mind is unhinged
they say
her mind is the mouth of a serpent.

and as the city is awakened, hear the chiming voice of the streets,
for this foul smelling sanctuary to whom we all crawl to bleed,
and with the golden leaves chiseled into the hollows of my cheeks,
the shallow reflections gathering sand in every corner of my clouded eyes,
we stand, icons by the altar, breathing the heavy smell of port,
my ink leaking over sweaty linen sheets,
in a place where dreams come to die, on a balcony where dreams become
excuses, with the power vested in me, I pray to never
love you. 

strawberry hill synergy service

dear diary,
what is left to say
when everything changes
nothing really does.

white speed in the fast lane
venomous dreams, a tainted lead zeppelin
walking home in the pouring rain, 
walking home through catharsis

- the things they say, absent minds that drink, eat me
- the steps they take (closer, closer)
- drink me, eat me, me, in a red wine dress (your second skin, watch me undo it)
- empty vessel,  i do not love you, empty vessel, loose your mind
- screws, you never tried to (unzipping, undressing)
- villains, all villains, trust no one, trust me
- trust the thief that stole the royal jewels, trust the crispy scent of morning dew
- trust no one, trust me
- illuminations, a pigeon crushed, feathers like snow, the damp and pearly pavement
- open your eyes, breathe (and drum) my heart in a cage at five in the morning
- dented teeth and broken bones, let us smother in your grief
- flightless bird, let the windows swing open
- flightless bird, let the speed set you free

the internal noise, a primal hunger,
the foul smell of the river bank soft and wet,
the whirlwind, an honour
the blanket, a sacrifice,
the thief that stole it all, forever lost in blindsight.

circulus vitiosus

dear diary,
the glass cage - the tip of an iceberg,
an embarrassment of riches.

every morning, waking up in a crystal palace
every night, drifting to sleep protected by its diamond façade
bristling with sweet sweet flowers (patchouli, crystanthemum, peonies)
an autumn waterfall of petals, reluctantly balancing on the edge of the mantelpiece
an urn of memories cheaply bought, ashes of an old woman's luxurious suffocation
methane crystals, rotting teeth and a ball room brimming with vacant, hollow faces
heavy raindrops on porcelain skin.

deuteronomy

dear diary,
night after night spent in a whirlwind
my precious ebony,
welcome to the opium den

hail the chelsea girls - the wandering souls that
sustain on nothing but the idea of being seen
the wandering souls that cannot bear the thought of anyone watching,
welcome to spotlight city, darkened stand the sea
breaking waves of plastic faces.

and welcome to the altar
to which we all turn to break free of deadly sins – buried deep within clouds
of peroxide blonde hair, twirling in the midst of the shallow,
moonlit runs through winding tunnels
chinese silk and spiked stilettos,
sweet liquor and cheap cigars.

for frankincense and myrrh - the pigeons on my window sill
for the dusty milk of my poppy and the truth of smokey skies,
embracing every cavity, a vase of dried patchoulis
an ode to our dead flower jubilee.

the mile high club

dear diary,
for our dead flower jubilee
from woodland to island
these scribbles left on old receipts

deranged dreams on crowded airplanes
four in the morning, someone murmuring
i would like to bury my nails in his skin
engrave myself upon his bare existence
savage baby, why are you burning,
 savage baby, how gently we weep
five in the morning, someone whispering
strawberry delights like cream on your tongue
savage baby with silver skin
your one and only trophy
from love with thunder, my ecstasy

for our dead flower jubilee,
pacing through monstrous terminals
pounded through bone and flesh
caught in a constant state of lumina

faces morphing to the steady beat of an ancient drum
and by the beauty of destruction
our castle in the clouds

leucanthemum vulgare

dear diary,

truth to be told

was a single promise

ever broken.

#1 and #2, in retrospect:

- are we slipping again

- pulling away
- with force
- you punch

- I glide
- where did we go last night
- don't you remember
- where did we go last night
- can you not recall
- did I pay for the taxi
- don't worry
- did I shout at you?
- you called me a prostitute, a tactless rascal
- how much was it
- a thief and a liar
- you, not the taxi
- your hands around my neck
- I'm sorry, I wasn't being untrue
- you were terrifying me
- did I sleep with that man
- only briefly
- did I leave you behind
- you still do
- did I run
- you came back
- I'm sorry, I never meant to be untrue
- you always come back
- I cannot see where I am going
- then stay
- will you blindfold me
- if you wish
- starlight?
- what do you want from me
- silence.

dear diary,
i am too tired to speak,
the room is covered in plastic.