Anyway

I wish to die a slow death riddled

with something incurable -

that you would die for anyway. 

I don’t want to go unknowingly

in my sleep

or fiercely combust in a blaze of glory. 

I’d prefer to suffer

home to a number of infirmities

steeped in awareness

of my own tragic flaws.

I could lose my mother tongue

my ability to smell fries and vinegar

or a fresh summer rain on the fur

of spring violets. 

I might become a simple blank stare

where the trees once met the sky. 

Clouds would not matter

or the earthworm turn of seasons

save for the layers

I might need to assume. 

I wouldn’t mind keeping

some bodily functions

as in the basics;

peeing, drinking

knowing when to love

and when  the burner

should be turned to off.

My heart I’d also like to keep

close to my chest -

like a house of cards

so close to collapse that

all it would take

would be a puff of breath

or a  ghost of a hiccup.

I’d rather die a slow death riddled

with something incurable -

your afterimage still burning.

Anyway.

Good Luck Jonathan!

I was ill and could not attend, but check it out:


http://www.jonathanball.com/?p=1625


I'm betting against the odds.

Signals

They creak and sway, ancient tuned 
forks pitched to the language 
the steel of the track 

oblivious to crooked stones 
in parallel graveyards 
or the choke of wildflowers 

between live rails 
signals play witness 
to rail-riding tramps 

stoic conductors 
guardians of velocity   
they orchestrate commands 

observe the curved moon 
turned like a Grandmother’s hip 
bent to reap and sew 

measure the length of ghosts 
by the weight of a whistle 
as a slice of sun sets over iron backs 

we stand - watch the signals spin 
very much in awe 
of what just blew by

Give Me Something Beautiful

Eve needed to feel the pen
heavy in her hand so full of 

everything forbidden has always been
fair game