Michael Hier
there's nothing left to rise above but you
come back
to the familiar
the reliable
when I'm down
I always listen
to SWANS
somehow it helps
tonight
it is Gira (Angels Of Light)
not quite the same
but appropriate
cups of tea
in the darkness
strong and
black
and knowing
there is
a sleeping cat
within arms reach
the album's called How I Loved You...
the cd ends
I sit in the slight wash
of red LED
and speaker hum
put my cup down
and press play again
a simple ritual
of some purpose
*title taken from 'Untitled Love Song' by M.Gira
small hours
more small
hours
split & /spread
spilling out
like
a
bloated body too long
in the water
wordsick image rush
sprung fully
formed
from
the gut
of
turning
life
looking
for toeholds
comprised
recognition
piss
yellow stain
amonia fog
numb
tastebuds/stretches
weather beaten recollections on a
rack/reflections
passed
up in jack-
booted half dream
shine
false starts dirty
context
skinned alive
albino synchronicity
pale recognises pale
flushed
pallid
and not a word is spoken
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