Nailed
Never stop dreaming, blow soft on embers,
dream with me and we will remember
those promises we both have spoken
and how some spells cannot be broken.
Veil yourselves with darkest
night,
cloak
yourselves in stinging spite,
show
no fear, shed no tears,
raise
shields of hide; shoulder spears.
Stand
fast before all tempests fouling,
resist
all shock-eyed potent growling:
come
false shapes, come sly guises,
for
tonight, my friends, Angel rises.
You are never far from my heart,
hearing cries of ‘why down there?’
If I could reply, I’d say, how high?
From here, blocking out world
shrieking frenzied rage,
shatter hand with storms and plague,
splintered thrice-fold in horror screaming
here lies an apt place to start dreaming.
And as you began to die,
he began to live. Paths crossed
under blind unfeeling stars,
You held each other once, maybe twice:
battleships rising;
setting different courses
following separate trails together entirely:
yours predetermined, lashed and bound
for thunderblack bleak midwinter solstice
and is it fair to swop blonde wig for hair
You might have sung,
among pews long
on faithful catchers of canker catechisms
as we both,
be-spelled in crystal moment,
watch him grab a football
to kick goal for Amen.
He grew tall, strong
and you’re long gone my dear friend.
Sobbing as pallid they palled
your coffin, cold shouldered it,
some words: I couldn’t be bothered.
Those tears, well,
they were real enough,
drawn with pails deep
in driven nails;
nights of shattered sleep,
dreams so heavy
they drown us in pillows
rot us wretched;
root out weeping willows.
Angel kisses for we two,
for there were many present
soaking, soaking up the air,
vapours of silver truth lies
inside flick-book quickmirrors.
That decade nails us
to imperfect symmetry,
you looking back at my looking forward
in ticking minutes still,
stylus scratching centrifugal holes,
spinning plates on fastened wheels,
bold flight, racing fast upon treadmills diverse,
paint on future canvas the pasts rehearsed.
We will be free of them, we can be free,
if only you will dream with me,
stand scarred upon these Cornish cliffs
with force of iron to seal the rift.
Steel tooth cogs that grind and grind,
steal our bones and steal our minds,
make breadcrumbs out of our intent,
feast hooded rooks ‘til hunger’s spent.
This time we face them with iron glint,
with hearts of oak, with mouths of flint,
fatal traps we spring our own devising,
when the chill sun sets on Angel rising.
