Good morning midnight,
leave my dreams unopened
in the ashtray
I still feel like a thief
Waiting for the moon to bleed
Some nights simply swell the lungs
inhale pairs of open legs
and death’s apostrophe,
fearful to exhale
for desire can choke
and the last comma is so close to coma
Dance girl, dance
drape arms around my neck
as ambulance siren wrapped
around a heart attack
Street lights become strangers
why are they shining light
upon this emptiest of bed?
Walk with me upon the Promenade
curtsy to the homeless and junkies,
place verbs so deeply into my mouth
that poetry becomes mute
Good morning, midnight. I felt the pulse of your poem in my chest, lungs swelling with fear and desire, words draping around me like sirens and streetlights. Each line carried me through a fevered promenade of longing, loss, and muted poetry. “The last comma is so close to coma” – that line stayed with me, a sharp, exquisite ache.
The collab <3
Ghosteen, It's always a pleasure to read your poetry.
At the risk of repetition, where the fuck have you come from? Those from DUP know the last few years have been terminally cruel. But there is no self-indulgence or self-pity from me. Congratulations, you are now a poetry citizen of my beloved Wales! No need for passports, just leave your neck exposed, so every welcome can be a love bite.