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Some things Randle might have written if he was real. And some other lines from me. None of these bits go together. I’ve been really out of sorts today. Can’t concentrate. Think my prescription is too strong. Or it’s the rain. or it's just a Monday thing. Sod it. I’m going to lie down.
…
In rhyme:
You read us midnight’s madrigals
You make your maybes of mosaics
Collecting a collage of questions
You wear a bone crown of mistakes
*
Comes as a kick of quickening fire
Carries a cargo of fire within
Burns to the southern-most seat of my soul
An enlivening fire that shines through the skin
*
You expressed your divinity mutely
Where the other boys would rather sing
Communicating a silent kiss
Through the feathers of each splinted wing
*
You’re skirted in secrets of scarlet
You sit in a shining seat
You marry our myriad metals
You combine and create us complete
*
I love you only because I must
It’s the only thing stops me from turning to dust
*
Without rhyme:
You are perfectly pale, you know
Pale to the pitch of purity
Pale to the point of illumination
Pale to edge of reason
It hurts my eyes how you shine
*
A white fire, this
Bathes rather than burns
Gentle fire, this
Raw and warm and sure
Lucky fire, this
Summit of the sweetness which
Is the gist of you
*
God’s what gives birth to mornings
Who else? You always said
As prayer upsets all mortal meter
And the sunlit soul comes back, ecstatic
When faith’s a fist that’s boldly burning
Breaks branches of iambic nocturnes
God is what gives birth to mornings
And morning’s what gives God his wings
*
I love you right back, he says
Through Marlboro mists
Of chimney-breath
Love you right back, sweet thing
He uses his thumb
To chase up my tears
They roll down his wrist
Like clear quartz marbles
Don’t cry beautiful,
Beautiful don’t cry
And in the dark our bodies
Are white flags
Sending a semaphore
Of surrender
*
Twenty days
Third day and
Colours take me by violent possession
Translating my million silent zeroes
In to holy word-winged wonders
Sentences with silver suffix
Fourth day and
I’m seeing crows in the Rowan trees
I’m seeing the sun climb to critical Zenith
See ochre stones in the Roman road
And cruciform light break the barred dark havens
Sixth day and
I’m seeing the summer’s armoured angels
Like ambidextrous acrobats
Go hand over hand in supple solstice
In to fleeting floodlit cartwheels
Tumble up and trickle down
Quickly flit from fixtures to floor
Seventh day and
We live a waking mirage here
Our eyes are over-brimmed with marvels
See Mary in a mercury mantle
In a bodice of brilliant mermaid scales
Iridescent arms uplifted
To rock wild stars in nativity cradles
Twelfth day and
Belief reaches in
I see Bethlehem roll as a wide blue ocean
And Christ suffers a nightly sea-change
Whales roll, cathedral domed
And saints cut perfect cut-glass curtseys
To the beauties of the deeps
Nineteenth day and
My fears I tremble to tell
A pain of uncertain origin
Walks clock-wise, white-robed
Round my heart
And I am silent-witness here
To all the waking world
Pale usherettes patrol alone
‘Long dimly-lit blue echo-aisles
As I return from my maker’s fables
To sleep for years for ever after
*
He cradles my head on his chest
Nearest the hypnotic beat of his blood
Tells me sleep, to dream and to hush
Tells me he’ll keep me until it’s alright
Rocking me near to the shudder and rush
The snare drum march of his breath and his heart
He’s handsome, you know
Pale face against dark pillows
Like white carnation tucked against
The lapel of the black tuxedo
He wore to Dorothea’s wedding
And these tributaries of brilliant blue
Coursing royally under a skin
Of softly settled snow
Layered in feathers he is
Nest lined with feathers
And I hibernate inside of him
Wait for winter’s end to wake me
*
You walk in to a crowning midnight
Your limbs have dark extensions here
The shadows build you palaces
Seasons are your gloves
All hours are your gowns
Make a dowry of our senses
Life bows down before you
------
The human race, the only race I know where everybody loses.
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Saint Steven’s
