12523897_1631510570443424_1060343369498657444_nAll the trees looked away
on raw knees
shingle and sand castles
wet newspaper of old stories
yellow fag butts, half empty cider cans
containing sweet succor
one last piece of chocolate give the child
before she loses herself
her best toy clean from wash
smelling of home and tulips
sea makes ghosts of us
running brine like hot semen
searching fruitless loins
kicking against tin cans
bricks do not prize apart
one wet wall from another
we clamor against ageing need
spill the first glass
pour the benediction
here we leave our umbilical chords for advent
what came to be in deserted fair grounds
gold paint flaking against scarlet mouths
wooden horses rolling their eyes
softly dancing on platforms with scratched song
walk out as far as the pier takes you
he watches from his metal bed
strung with his spot lit horror
thin muscles tight with longing
hips like razors privately digging into
your flailing conception
it’s the price
bed sheets left to rinse out your scream
don’t cut your hair don’t spare your wrists
his was a sharp entry into your sleep
run on water-logged deadened feet
past the chip shop hording its quiet fat
where veiled women stare at first light
breaking over cracked lips the train
crying past in low throated whistle
down damp cobbled steps emptied of market
into space without endings or slow buttons
the sea is white with fury
her mouth mounts your need
swallowing the bitter salt of ragged release
beneath stains we see the outline
here lay the girl who caught a bus
carrying her clean underwear like a flag
climbed into her part as a glove
here she is pinched by her starvation
horror painting her eyes purple
ebbing on tide with scissored legs fighting
their eventual knot a violin played in fire
she opened her flute to high ceilings
reedy sound echoing off salvaged walls
fast fury unzipping protest
be a good child bow your head
stay still when flame chews
stroke the boy who demands
fist around your throat starving
paper ghosts fall into obedient rows
feel the rush of angels in her touch
he said I hope you give decent head
I’ve been waiting to break your alabaster
like new buildings devour old
never knew what stood before
leaving thin pockets full of stones
better swim with indigo weeds
hair imprinting shadows on hot breath
goodbye is hello
you learned hard on scalding youth
taking a straw from a tall glass
sucking it dry
my child is the color of clouds
meeting at the point of horizon
where storms gather to make glass
he indented himself like a tattoo
when she climbed out she could not feel
where he pricked her empty sadness
leaving a colander of spilt torch-light
pent-up boys with dusty souls
touching warm radiators, hanging
apologies on skinny shoulders
sounding against sagging mattresses
one two-three is all it took
a sharp knife cutting the choir
freedom twists at a price
he rose like the swell, filling her
the first time you never forget
they whispered behind sticky fingers
girl pull down your hems
cover your spindle chest
close your legs to the roar
hear the waves
hear the waves overtake you

0 Replies to “The waves”

  1. Wow Candice. Powerful, ragged with emotion. “pent up boys with dusty souls touching warm radiators”. So deeply impressed with your talent for metaphor and language

  2. “All the trees looked away
    on raw knees” … What an amazing opening.
    Incredible lines:
    “sea makes ghosts of us
    running brine like hot semen”
    “hips like razors privately digging into
    your flailing conception”
    “bed sheets left to rinse out your scream”
    “his was a sharp entry into your sleep”
    “without endings or slow buttons”
    “she is pinched by her starvation
    horror painting her eyes purple”
    “feel the rush of angels in her touch
    he said I hope you give decent head
    I’ve been waiting to break your alabaster”

  3. This hurt to read dear sister.. is all I can say, for I mentally traveled with your pain and anguish, anger and scorn.. As I fear yet more sweet souls are traveling through those same red waves right now..
    <3

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.