Hanging onto yesterday
With soft hands
I am a face on the scar
Mumbling sweet nothings
In the radiant ocean
Of the ear
Trees are a gimlet-eyed
Category of verbs and pronouns
I sink into them with glinting joy
With the pink glow
Today I\'m wearing different eyes
Eyes of a poet
Earthy eyes of a basilisk
In a coil of regrets
I study your ballet
Time fades like smoke on the road
A zine sticker after years of betrayal
Or a dream after sleep
I wait for the light to return
But I\'m left still in my disappointment
With my legs open at your nose
I glissando
I am the girdle, the handle
The tree in its glad rags
Needing oxygen
I bathe in silence at night
Blossoming like hawthorns
Birthed from nostalgic grief
Perplexed by all of this
The brain after a lobotomy
Is not allowed any more thoughts
Yet I\'m in love with the wilderness
The Scottishness of it all
When it rains
Life is immeasurably unbearable
I am the moon and its echo
Either in bookshops or masturbating
In a secret forest
I sigh from the mundane drudgery
Living like mud or an acorn
Never knowing where I\'m going
I love it, I love it
I love it
I adore all that sort of eyewash
I\'ve never seemed very chary about it
Unless I\'ve been walking barefooted
Through a handmade Hell
Exposed to every Fair Isle and misnomer
Every man is Dionysiac
I like that
Fear creeps up the foot of the sigh
It enters the anus
I exit in blood, it eats me alive
Spoils my fruit in the mud
Cautious of the things I love
I call this place my homeland
My mother with no tongue
A room of lies as cold as a coffin
It calls me its Fleet Street
The ship docked at the harbour
Naked in the shower, at nadir
With my wrist to the razor
I am sweet, I am sweet
I am sweet.