Dream #20/Limbo

Collecting tiny Greenfinch
Feathers, with gentle care
For the ceremony

Smoothing them
In my fingers, binding
Ends in silver thread

Choosing little glowing stones;
Icy, speckled light
Paints tiny hand-held caves

Fastening a dim,
Blushing piece of rock
To my feathers

Smells like glow-in-the-dark toys
When I was nine
Looks like it could be a dolls torch


For footsteps in the dark


I am between mountains
Floating at dusk
But only just above the ground

Something hangs in the air
Telling me something I can't pin
An echo of an echo

Suggestion of a
Distortion pedal note
Vibrating the night a little on his way out

A wisp of the heat of the day
Indigo breath
And


Gone


The time is now it seems
Flames flicker in the trees
It's only then I realise


I've left them all behind

Tatarigami

He's in the
Darkest gash

A yawning tear in everything
Where the air is vibrating pitch

Deep yet nowhere
Vast and crushing

Where destruction echos
And buildings fall

Shafts of love
Extend down

As arms of light
To play a while

But can do no more
Than hold hands

Deafening silent cries
Implode what's left

Of scrunched up paper hearts
Numb in dry ice

Asleep with open eyes
Oscillate and shimmer

All is tharn

I Wake Up Crying

Something is squirming in a large, square glass tank.

It's my bedroom, but not as I recognise it. A family's young boy has lived here in previous years, and the tank must be left from some pet he used to have. It's filled with soil and old leaves, piled in the corners. As I wonder what bugs must be living in it now, something white and tapeworm-like squirms under the dirt in the glow from my bedside lamps. I can see it only because it is up against the glass, but under the soil, like a cross section in a worm farm. My face is up against the glass.

I switch on the main light to get a better look, and with the shock of the sudden brightness, the creature wriggles violently. I realise it is much bigger than I originally thought; fleshy, pink and white.

I stagger backwards in fear and disgust, and a small snakes head appears coming out of the tank.

Someone has caught it by the head, and before I can say anything, decides to kill it.

Slit

The

Throat

S
L
O
W
L
Y
...


The snake's eyes glisten and look sad as its' life seeps out tiny drop by drop. There isn't much blood, it seems to take forever to die.

It is then we realise the story; the boy who lived here before was a horrible child, and burned his pet snake so that all but it's head remained with scales. It continued to live in hibernation here, slowly starving.




I wake up crying.







Fragments of another dream trickle back with the snake's demise.

I am watching a show on TV where two contestants must slit the throats of cattle to progress.

They can't do it properly, or quickly enough.

The camera pans from one contestant to the other, standing behind the animals in the gloomy farm stalls, holding their heads up so their necks are exposed.

Dark grey-brown animals, their faces look downy and softer than velvet.

Keeps panning.

Still not done.

Contestants laugh at their inability to perform.

Such slight, long cuts, one by one.

More panning.


I catch the look in the animals' eyes; increasing absence of something indescribably integral, drooping lids, wet.

And my heart wants to implode.

Dream #19/Dust

This house is vast
You could get lost
In its' dimly lit rooms

White metal bedposts
Children sleep here
But not soundly

A boy of four or five
Is crying
But used to the unease

A girl of six
With soft blonde hair
Knows the place all too well

Urgency and innocent faces
Blur into the ether
Dusty, shabby, thick with foreboding

Something awful, someone, entities
Some rooms worse than others
But when its bad, its indescribable

The children run weeping
To the women here at dusk
We know what's happening

But we cannot
Stop it
We try to calm their fears

Sit with them in their rooms
'See, it's not so bad,'
Though the air feels black

No, darker than black
Clouds of impenetrable
Stifling shadow filled with blood

They sit on our laps
Rubbing tear stained cheeks
Sobbing

At the thought of
Yet another night
Spent within these walls

The last of the pitiful shafts of sunlight
Are snatched away in seconds
Disintegrating in sparkling, dusty whirls

The terror builds again
It's survival
There's love here, but I'm not sure it will ever be enough

Albino Deer

Dual Bond (bullet-within-a-bullet) "creates an indescribable mess of any deer's insides"

Looking at animal images on the internet, I recently came across some pictures of Albino deer. Various hunting websites show these rare creatures on the hoods of cars, killed for trophies even though they are protected by law. Albino deer are said to be so rare that biologists estimate they occur once in every 30,000 births. Most albino fawns don't survive to adulthood.

"The hunter esitmates the deer was between four and five years old. He plans to mount the entire body somewhere in town for everyone to see. He's open to suggestions."

Don't get me wrong, I hate trophy hunting whether or not the animal is a rare breed. It just struck me as an odd idea that hunters would want to kill the creature just so that everyone can get a good look at it's dead body.

There are also some hunting videos on YouTube, I didn't last long looking at those as you can imagine, but the comments people had left were 'interesting'. This video had a white stag, but no shots were fired.

"why would you shoot something that pure ? i'm glad noone took the shot you don't see many of them why shoot it becasue it's different, boy i would hate for that different deer to be able to pull off a good shot because all humans are different maybe it would mount you in the forest ................think about it ."

"dont call it deer hunting if you are not going to shoot the god dam deer"

"You should never shoot albinos. Good chice not taking him"

"omfg shoot that"

"imagin having something like that on your wall"

"I bet you don't even have the guts to touch a gun let alone shoot one."

"this deer should be hunted just like any other deer. Why would you make a law to protect a gentically deficient deer. If anything it should be shot to remove bad genes. I agree this isn't a hunting video I was hoping to see a splash of crimson on that canvas"

"its sad to shoot a deer but a mans go to eat"

"Hunters are disgusting-I would love to get the chance to shoot them"

"go ahead and try it mother fucker ill blow your fucking head off before you get the chance"

"does he ever kill the friken thing god"

I thought it was weird that the animal was seen as 'pure'.

Dream #18

Fawn shivers sprawled on slate
Could have saved him I know
Like pets I neglected
Who still haunt my dreams making me sick

In shock
He needed a warm blanket

Other animals are no longer
For this world
A whale lies decomposing
On the beach

An operation is underway
To birth her dying children

A thousand
Panda cubs
Burst out
Into the rain

White horses
Run wild through the streets

My Work 09

Dream #17

Adopted a small child
Male
Blonde, blue eyes

On a day trip
To the city
To the sea

Cold, bright breeze
Sun on water
Leaves speak in tongues

Combed the soft hair
On his head
In the museum cafe

Led him by a pale hand
Covered in sandwich crumbs and jam
To a glass booth

Novelty
Kidz
Holiday

Where two men
Have mini ink pads
On each finger

And stamp patterns
On his crown
Transition undefinable

Sounds like
Typewriter keys
Clack-clack-clickclack

Their faces are
Warm, smiling
Despite sense of duty

Dream #16/To Have and Hold

Gabríela Friðriksdóttir

Friends lie sleeping
In white paper bags
Cocooned and warm
On a cold, stony beach
Biting wind and
Freezing misty drizzle

They have collected
Discarded treasures
From the sea,
Ceramic ornaments
And the kind of tat
I love

Some friends are
In white porcelain
Bathtubs with tarnished gold feet
One of them is screaming
Her rage shakes the air
So it begins to fragment

Oscillate and shimmer

I grab her firmly
By the throat
And calmly recite
"It was bound to happen,
Sooner or later..."
Howling wind subsides

Dream #15

Two kittens
Black and white
Sit side by side
Something ceremonial
One male one female
All their
Tiny front paws raised
Thread sewn
Through their feet
So they are
Marrionettes
I am the only one
With scissors
I can do it
Without causing
Too much pain
They wriggle
I snip the stitches
Where they knot
Deep in fur
Bloodied string
Meets innocent flesh

There is no doubt
I've caused pain
But it's over now.

Dream #14/Scratch My Palms, There's Blood on My Hands

My brother is in hospital. My mother and I go to visit him, there are two dogs on his bed for some kind of pet therapy, but he isn't there. A male nurse informs us he is probably getting some food outside, and we are sad that he is making us wait.
When he returns, we take him home on a bus. I sit on his right, my mother on his left. I am trying to tell him something that my mum isn't supposed to hear, but he can't understand one particular word; the word 'in' . I take his hand and trace the outline of the letters with my finger on his palm as it is impossible to speak the secret.

'I'

'N'

He still cant understand, so I keep tracing.
The skin on his hand starts to bleed, and now the word is visible.
I feel terrible.
This bleeding is because of his illness, a weakening of the surface, a weakening somewhere inside.

He understands.

He sits next to a child on the bus, and is instantly transformed into a child himself. He talks to her about how unfairly we are treating him and that he has done nothing wrong.

Our hearts burst open.

Dream #13

I have a son of about twenty
He resents me strongly
And is hurting

Puzzled, I wonder how or when
This all happened
It seems overnight
I am someone's mother
And have been for some time
I still feel the same as I did yesterday
Back in reality

In the dream
Whilst staring at patterned walls
I remember there was
Another dream
I'd had
When I gave birth
In a strange
Half hospital
Half department store
In the beauty section
Abandoned and ashamed
By default
Crying under a pink blanket
That gave no warmth

'This must be when..'

Back to the present
I am older somehow
Though I feel no time
Has passed
Almost as if realisation
Of his birth
Has aged me instantly
I'm living like a has been
Twenties filmstar
In this vast mansion
Full of ornate, dusty
Pretty things
Respected but alone

It's the 1970's
My son is androgynous
And so beautiful it hurts
Dressed in last night's
Fur and beige velvet
Smatterings of silver glitter
On blushed rose cheeks
Effortlessly perfect
Even as a mess
Translucent skin and
Peach beestung pout
As he stands
Talking to his friends about me
I can feel that
He is bitter
As the frozen morning

Sadness in my heart
I know I can never
Change his mind
Or the reason
He feels this way
Though I still have no idea
Why
All I am sure of
Is the boundless, ceaseless
Love I have for him

Leafing through a book of
Opulent photographs
I've taken years ago
Of now antique coloured glass
And decorative objects I've owned
I recall a tiny flame
I once had
In the deepest pit
In the dark caverns
Of my body

My lover doesn't understand
What these photos mean
I feel I did, once,
But not now

Pictures of
Dolls houses turn into
Intricate models
Of candlelit Bethlehem

Dream #12/Pink Steam

We all knew what we were
Going to do
We'd all silently agreed
But your best friend
Was there by accident
So many eyes watching
No-one speaking

One drunk stranger
Thinks it's a show
Just for him
Cantankerous bloated red face
Sleazy mutterings
I grab her hand
And run to another room

But he is there waiting
We hide behind a curtain
I pretend the reason
We're in here
Is because we can see
An old fairground
Through the glass

In the main room
We kiss lightly
Wanting more
Trying more
Eyes glazed in pink steam
It came easily to us
You watched us nearby

Your friend was uneasy, unprepared
Yet all too willing
My eyes would frantically
Search for you
When I'd been to the bar
To see exactly what
You were doing with her, to her

I could never find you
In time to see
Not knowing was
Like a knife to my throat
I knew I could never ask you
Before anything had time to start
The place closed their doors

We staggered home
Feeling strange
Half in a crimson stupa
Friends but not friends
We never had the chance
And now we know
We'll be in limbo forever