something (3)

I want to swim in a pool, alone

I am not talking about swimming

I am not talking about a pool

If you understand this

drop me a line

I may not mind swimming

with you 

a thing (7)

I want to feed
I put things inside me 

not just toast

buttered toast

generously buttered toast

not just tea

elaichi

cow's milk 

jagg er y

I touch my face and 

feel my cheeks

cool, flesh

I touch my stomach

I say thank you for holding

so much thank you 

I'm sorry for what I have said

thought 

I eat the dates and nuts and 

mix in the appalam and add

the ghee to the

rasam with all the potato fry

the devastation of death 

brings into sharp contrast

the privilege of life 

it says 

don't be a dick

something (2)

        disinterest

can be nothing
or just a small something
a fluttery nothing something

but

what if you noticed it has an edge 
that might cut 

right through the personness of a person 

would you simply say
then 
they should not have left that out there

a thing (6)

A fantasy

you see me
you love me
so much
you want to eat me

you want me      as part of the cells of 
your body

you want me outside too
you want     photocopies 

you want to lock me for safety 

you want to atomise and inhale me 

you want me burnt to ashes

so you can roll around in me 

and feel me between your fingers 

and lick me and taste me

and breathe me

and waste me 

the wasted me un wasted

you want to mix with some soil 

to grow some more,     some more me 

me       everywhere

all me

with still 

a me to   hold

and watch some tv

--

which came first

the hole 

or

realising how you want to be loved 

a thing (5)

I look out the window

to collect evidence
and save in a folder marked
“the why and why not and what of it”

for me to reference

while I'm around

when those thoughts land to sink me

"ah" "what have you done"

I am no doer

I am a portal

in any case, look at this folder

this small collection

look

so many ways to enjoy a tea

so many ways to stand watching

look at these three riding pillion to their lives

/deaths

their will their way their stupidity

look at this uncle look at that child look at her absorb that look in his eyes

look there is boredom

right next to glee

look if you can, at pain overlaid, 

can you bear it

patterns of pain and worry and fear

contrasted with laughter and grief and prayer

maybe don't look directly at the hope of it all

look at this silly ridiculous dog

my heart is a puddle 

my mind 

is an other matter

a folder

for my children to open
on days they have questions
and I’m not around

look at me hoping it helps 

something (1)

a curse, a blessing

to consume our days 

hardly tasting the joy laced through the seemingly bland everdayness of the everyday 

to be blind to the tragedy

being formed as a puzzle unseen, a piece unwittingly added on the daily

ah

far sighted

near sighted 

us

a thing (4)

today

the brain was shovelling 
all the good things
all that is golden 

just digging down lifting up with flourish

whoosh

to have it all fall down on me

you've seen the kid 

who has the right idea at the sandpit 

or amongst fallen flowers at the park

invoking glee

glee, can you believe it 

locally sourced, organic

being able to love what I already have 

wanting what is there for the taking

the blood in my veins laced with gratitude 

rushing rushing 

turning every light on

there appears to be external collusion as well

every song on the list 

hitting and smashing the spot 

till I am just a spot inside the spot
swimming 

the production value of the scenes outside the window

top class

and I smile, it turns to a grin,

humour! inside me! 

welcome welcome hello 

 
and then a knowing, 

win or lose, this is a fucking good game 

a small thing (3)

a grand aunt died 

I went to see her body

and the people she left behind 

so there was her tiny bird body

laid straight on the floor

'ah, death does not become her'

fly swatted that thought

then I noticed three grand daughters, 

three dots on her sides, an elegant arrangement 

their grief magnificent

how ideal to be loved

how satisfying to have people cry

you are gone and they are sad 

they are sad you are gone 

I felt happy

I wanted to congratulate her, so I did 

no, I didn't think of who would grieve for me or how 

what a thing

I thought instead, of

whether the tiny paper cups contained coffee or tea

how the day was, cloudy and sunny, a confusion, a mystery

what a beautiful home they had next door, with their potted plant garden and white painted grill, 

how if I lived there, I may feel compelled to wear mallipoo, 

or at least busy about with a towel holding my wet hair as I watered the garden and mumble-sang a prayer

is my cousin seeing anyone

how will my aunt manage her pain

who is this now

I chatted with a line of uncles sitting on the parapet wall

about small things

jobs children visas 

in the midst of everything 

small flashes of my self rose up and washed out

disturbing nothing 

a thing (3)

yesterday, I had a taste of freedom

I opened my mouth to yawn

and it flew right in 

in toxic ating 

I stopped what I was thinking

and pushed my brain down to my chest

and stomach

so I could feel instead

so I could incorporate into my self and sense

this freedom

a small taste, with a note attached

'sample only. not for sale'

a thing (2)

where should I put this? 

what is it? 

all the unhappy thoughts

entangled in unhappy feelings

projecting unhappy visions of an unhappy future on repeat

quite the baggage 

there seems to be no place to put it 

that is genuinely out of sight out of mind 

I mean

out of mind is out of question 

out of sight does not do much 

is out of mind really out of question?

does out of sight really not do very much?

don't

baggage sucks

repeat sucks 

unhappy sucks 

the hopelessness that rises like a stink from the whole pile

really fucking sucks

burn it? the whole pile? 

with what? 

people do burn rubbish all the time

bad for the environment though

what I'm saying is 

you can't really get rid of things that way

without consequences 

recycle?

ha

there's a thought 

a thing (1)

who has the mic?

I've been thinking about shame 

she isn't loud like the others

in fact, she rarely speaks 

lets her henchmen rage or panic do the talking

and how they blunder and bluster and 

yell, a lot, to the point that if you manage a pause you might stop taking them very seriously

almost the comic relief 

a dark comedy,

very popular now no 

and I don't always catch it

but sometimes there's the edge of a shadow

a small flash of white 

a glimpse, glimmer 

sometimes a whisper, a word, or two

straight to the heart, stomach

slash, slash

oh

she's here 

what do you imagine she is like?

hiding, slinky, withdrawn, vaporous 

none of that

she is solid

a force 

you bow down when she appears

you crumple into a pile at her feet 

shame is a Queen 

and dis mantle ing her is no joke