EVENSONG [RED SPIDER]

Woman never child
Eve dreamt,
had her very first play. A nightmare
No. Night doesn’t come around here
And Adam has yet to name the horses.
Backdrop: undeniably Eden
but the where within? Without:
Unknown
in the undergrowth.

She saw herself played
on stage, pulled on wires
Puppeteer hidden in wings
drawn toward a system of strings
jewels raining from plucked notes
of such melody, her own eyes filled.

She reached out, touched the net
notes leaked down discordant
the song cage cleaved in two
and broke her from sleep,

Adam
man never child,
drowsily
reached an arm around her
grunted “Hmph?”
“Hmm,
I have tasted something new— -
 - - Paradise grows empty.”

MAN GET HOME

man get home
shut door
chuck key
in key bowl
shuffle out coat
hang on peg
shoes - skitter
down hallway
like broke
bowling balls. Prize
son come running
he puts him on, plops
him on neck
wife gives a wink
he goes for a hug
but tut-tuts
got oil
on her hands
he goes for a peck
she wears
her lips shuffles
on his skin
this is love
glub glub glub

DWELLING

I was sodden, mushroom-boned,

utterly sleeked from the deluge.

On a new trail in the wood

sat a derelict shack,

door barely high enough

to take my shape. Entered

Without really knowing why.

Within: stink of earthrot,

rain on my nape.

A scabby window,

light pickled

in the pane.

On the table, half a sheep skull,

the gore curdling on a comic book.

Shelved, a tinfoil ring, it tickled cold

as I looped my little finger,

the perfect fit. 

On a rusted circlet of wire,

a fist of keys but what here

had been locked?

All danger was gone,

just take what you want.

A sardine tin filled with brown hair,

A flute whittled from a clavicle

(that I definitely

did not put to my lips)

a ragbook stickered 

with The Property of...

And underneath, Jack

all the interior 

blotted black -

Rusty bottletop glasses,

Through them, only grime.

Shelves peppered with pigeon shite

But curiously no pigeon

The wood burner was still warm, hearth

Coughed ash on investigation

My eyes watered.

I tried to take it all in

I would not be coming back

I drew up a stool and waited

SMALL DECISIONS

I stretch out onto the frame
the seat is still wet from last night’s
summer rain. Well, what’s a wet arse
between old friends. I push on the pedal
and the metal creaks like an old bed
the concrete is still dark and steam rises
lemon light paints my arms
the rowan tree ripples its leaves
I could take this day anywhere
I’ll ride it to work.