Half / Cast

Half-hearted, I half-listen,
to your half-stories,
feeling half-dead,
for the whole time you’re here.

At half-one, you half-know,
I half-care, what you say,
it’s halflife, too long life,
for me to wish to stay.

This day half-cast, brings half light,
sat half lotus, thinking half-baked,
about half-truths, I half-know,
that I still repeat to myself today

Will I be half-arsed, or half-keen
today’s halftime ‘s, but daydreams
as whole-hearted, I half pray
since I’m half man, half the day…

Begum

Her visage a familiar face.
-a granite façade etched content.
Eyes lacquered in tears,
her trembling bust
a vacuum tomb
-clasping at her chest’s air.

She inhales the pain of others,
stealing breaths of distraction,
scavenging peace through neglectful altruism.
In search of an opiate
to soothe her inner hurt
a moment’s suicide 
                                 in another’s vein.

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15:04

My eyes finally prized open.
The judgmental clock face
shows me pm, and half a day
unconscious departed.

The morning now purely theoretical,
the sun half way passed,
before I’ve spoken my first word,
or taken my morning coffee

As a newborn, blanketed in last night’s haven
I stroll,
through the social threads
of this already passed morning.

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PhD

He’s accomplished nothing,
his life a watered downs success,
a “skidder” was it?
His hands filled and emptied
in times unrelenting passing.

The smartest man in the room
-the pin his satin lapel sports.
A cut glass vernacular
affected by a crude Kingstonian drawl.

He amongst his Muji décor,
pours Oolong tea in a sole cup.
His community an artificial complex
continuing his saga of solitary emancipation.

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Empty Sex Pt 1

In a carnal crash of two
eyes glazed
heated in sexual need.
We sought our delicious counter.

I approached you,
bearing words of no weight.
You were smiling, cheeks rosed,
eyes coyly flitting away.

Upheld by the bar and it medicines,
we back and forth, exchanged air,
hoping for a bold gale,
so we may sail afar.

And so,
surrounded by shoes fitting another,
in your bed,  I wake.
An explorer of every pleasure’s niche,
my right arm humming, unconscious
from a precarious night’s pose.

We sip tea, and a second one too,
laying again exposed,
as we flick questions, discovering
passions and pursuits .

Clothed now in Hampstead, we part,
returning to our lives before this past morning,
our gaze locked, gasping reunion.

This Friday -As The Last

My eyes flee to all corners of my four walled hold,
liberation grasped through windows, stolen back.
Back to the luminescent glare of my old HP;
as I acquiesce to my paid servitude.

The week’s edge nears as time retreats,
the seconds absconding -drawing You ever closer.
Closer still, the embracing thoughts of Sunday’s sheets,
enveloping me –warm, contented, in your arms.