sometimes I write

[theonlytwin]

First of all, I frakking love this band. They are babes, and very talented babes.

Click to view

It's about my brothers and sisters (I have two of each), but not. It's not the kind of thing I could ever show them.

It has subheadings?

Anyway, tell me what you think.

Everything I'm about to tell you is wrong (it's also true)

Liminal

I am so sorry I wasn’t
born in time
to protect you.
I would have snatched you, harpy like, hand of god, little Joshua Job
from the whale’s belly
as he slept,
as he loved you,
remember when?

I could have saved you,
but you were dead when I met you.
I can never believe that’s not my fault.

It’s not, I know,
statistics, mathematics, your penis
(the proof is not the point).

Though you breathe
through your spectacles
though you move
peppered ivory,
poor pale parenthetical,
you died when you stopped wetting the bed

You wouldn’t dream of swimming if the water wasn’t poison

Listen,
I need you at arms length,
within my reach.
Whatever, whyever you don’t teach

I want to take.
But prolixity and pedigree and paradox,
little bits of tartan lie between us.
And the continents of course.

Proximity.

I LEFT YOU A NOTE.

I just (just)
i left you a note.
Schrodinger silence toppled tentative telegraphs.
You
made yourself
the coward.

I have learnt
that you don’t
want us
despite the fact
you know us
perhaps because
you need us.

And I’m proud.
So I’ll wait
until
after the apocalypse
to find out what you read.

Sunflowers and cigarettes kill polar bears

It’s like, you know?
I hear stories about you,
young you, before you took
that bite that turned rabid.
Before my time.

Soft, spangled, poetry laden,
smarter, for all your weeping roses,
than your predecessor,
you know?
You know what I mean?

I think I do:
your angel hips and candy curls,
your pegasus metaphors and unicorn hope,
they met the world,
you know?
You know what I mean?

That pain that can’t kill,
terror that freezes your eyes,
blighted, backlighted, framed open,
diamond hard.
I’ve seen you vomit stars,
you know?
You know what I mean?

You buried your face in the palm of the crowd,
bad dye job,
good blow job,
angel hips strung with skulls,
spackled,
you know.

You know what I mean.

Sarcastic means flesh eating

Fluorescent tubes for teeth
tube of toothpaste tounge
you laugh your expectations
safety nets for the young
not us, liar, chaste,
prancing like an ashen regal pony
through all of everyone’s solid responsibility
to make their own mistakes
you dick.

You
make it light, like lying.
soft electricity puts them to attention
fallen strudwick soldiers shaved into the sill,

I hear you, still,
moving,
in every morning frying
in every gumtree crying
creaking crashing to the ground
like it’s all too, too much
(all sullied flesh is grass)
breathing through the slipping liquid glass
that made our home.

Some of my best childhood memories are of volcanic lava and the walls closing in
(that’s true)

Blood of my blood, milk of my milk
spilt and stained and sour and spilt.
We’re all of us broke. All of us know
we are simultaneously superior
and so much less
than the citizenry.
We
are the saddlesore returned servicemen
of the deep destiny trenches
conscripted, red and wet,
glistering, blistering blood and milk,
our lot our rot our luck our hurt our curse

(I can see it sometimes
red red diaphanous,
like someone’s put a jelly frog in tulle and exploded it to composite colours on a bright day
a stop sign in a storm, someone’s hitting it with a hammer)

my dark bright blood
my sweet bitter milk,
ruined reflections ironic!

We don’t do the words
because they’re weapons,
we know.
We break and remake and watch.
We pose for photos.
That’s true.