mrgiles

Poems.

Monday, June 27, 2005

the brain throbbed messily
an overgrown toad
wartily pulsating inside the room


it sat there fatly
quivering in its greyness
dripping a colourless faintly glistening liquid
onto the carpet


it seemed uncertain about what to do
with its newly found freedom
just sat there
at a loss
vaguely tensed for some kind of hopping

Friday, June 24, 2005

when the moment of recognition came

an aura of discernable energy descended from the heavens
enrobing the girl with its glory
enveloping the immediate neighbourhood
with a breathless otherly bliss

and she waits there
scanning the cloud darkened sky
waiting for some kind of crack in the firmament
to reveal her to both herself and to the world

she was being encircled with the silence that always accompanies awe
as the moment was being unfolded to her
replacing her desperation
with a grin of epiphany

that’s where things start to move confusedly around that point
the aura encircling her as she watched for the moment
which bursts out of the sky
still clouded with the agony of expectation

the crack continually unfurling
and being replaced

movement got sticky at that moment
words starting to eat themselves
giving birth to themselves
backwards

the moment of recognition coming
bathing all in preunion sanctity

as it died
and the girl lost motivation
words fishflopping at the bottom of the boat

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

she still couldn’t speak
after all that time she still hadn’t learnt

even after the milk
and the airplanes
and all the angry men and newspapers
pushing her inability
up into her face
she still couldn’t force
the hot aching ball of speech
past her tongue

she stared at the world she loved mutely
with the desperate happiness of an idiot

nobody had time to wait on the words
when they never came
- her face clenched in the spasm of pre-speech -
and she was always forced back
into the crippling necessity
of the other gestures
the dumb shows
that pulled her tongue
even further apart

a pen being a fine replacement for a tongue
a fine way to get around the tongue
to leave it behind
and all that it could
have possibly said

a pen an axis sticking through layers
that would be silence
prefer to be silence

the rasping of the pen upon the paper
a fine parody of the gestures of speech
making speaking a writing

writing it into something
writing its wrongs
a fine way to deny all its sins
a fine way to replace them with new ones

a pen being
and so ripping through those silent layers
a pen at the end of a hand
extending its gestures into paper
into layers
spearing through directions

a fine thing for someone
to try to be

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

they locked the door
it was the kindest thing
they could have done
but it was no good

he hadn’t realised it before
but they had
unwittingly
locked him inside there
with himself

there was no way around it

that’s exactly what they had done

and now his self started
eating him alive
starting at the toes and slowly working its way up
soft slime of saliva
half felt bright sharpness of teeth
before too long there wouldn’t be anything left
but himself

grinning vacantly
at the tv
and occasional visitor