Becoming 15

The future is a dome lofted
High over this maze, waiting
To receive souls light enough
To float over the prison walls
And deliver them back to earth
Who knows where?


Becoming 14

I use these words to help me cry.
When my heart is frozen
and my emotional self is a flatlined coma patient,
I slam a pick-shaped poem into
the pack ice until I break through.
Restart my heart,
take a gaping breath
and with the exhalation remember
why I wanted not to feel.

Becoming 13

It feels like the really
big things I will do
with my life are all
of the heart.
I won’t lead
a country or found
a company or
play a concerto.
I will only love
So when
I reflect that
I have loved
has left me:
should I find another
Or just add
to my portfolio?

Becoming 12

It’s true what they say:
Happiness is fleeting,
And the reaper comes for all things.
A smile, an orgasm, a friend, a marriage,
All bounded by their ends.
Appalling and inescapable.
We are all prisoners,
And the guards sadistic and dull.
But it’s true also
That to neglect ones duty
To attempt to escape
Is to give up being
Human, and to die before

Becoming 10

The night wind blows
strong and sure.
The wind of the world
circling in thousand mile gyres.
One night I’ll go with it
and be glad to go,
but tonight I’m anchored to rock,
letting the wind rush past me,
and happy to feel its touch.
It passes by my lover
on its way to me
plays with her hair
and carries the scent of her skin
to me, and onward out to sea.
I open my mouth
and breathe in the pain
of the distance between her
and me,
let it fill me
and overflow, and be carried
away with the night wind.

Becoming 9

My love
for a start, you don’t exist
which makes some of more practical elements of our loving
and unsatisfying.
And secondly
you don’t have the right face
or the right name.
You don’t touch me in just that way.
That vast ocean of belonging
that I seem to remember
in my bones, my very cells
is not whispering your name,
has not yet learnt your name.
But let’s overlook
all of that
and say –
you are coming.
When you get here
what will be left?

Becoming 8

Stepping into air
stepping into blackness
Echos from below
darkness’ breath ahead.
Stretching untried wings
hoping they won’t break.
Flying blind,
hoping there aren’t nets.
Nothing behind,
no turning back.