Jackson

Thin white skin and bones, in elegant fingers. All else is lies. Once to eyes. Once to hands. Once to skin. One fire— forever warm. One water— never again thirsty. One air— breathe easy now. Earth, bury me. Curl, thin, thin body, thin [I] hand around the moment, open it, a blanket, a parachute, a… Read more

Not the hem of his garment. Not the fleeting brush of fabric, peripheral, unnoticed … Not the hem of his garment. His wrist. His solid, haired, warm right wrist and this, my hand, my [in]elegant white left hand, holding. Seconds, skin to skin, eyes closed only to feel. —So. You’ll never wash it again! Yes… Read more

“An Lar” is the Irish name for the Dublin city centre. Only in reality do my feet in their boots feel the constant pressure of an other place Only in reality does every wake-up second burn significance onto my brainpaths Only in reality does an ancient river see me. And only … in reality am… Read more

Smash this ridiculous bird! and dress him for Christmas in bling in lights in plastic pine, truss him forever in string in tight leather He doesn’t see it coming, doesn’t see the stone coming, sees only the crying space, the lying space, the failure space & the markup. Where the hell is he going? They… Read more

I walk with the ghosts who walk on the beach. I photograph the rails,        the security cameras, the grey sea,        the mansions on the hillside. I touch the stone walls,        sit on the steps, breathe the air,        read the graffiti. I climb the hill and look at the view. I stand… Read more