Gareth Milne

Fall in Love

Your skin was worked with elaborate amulets of mourning,
              etched with the human eyes of the deep;

     silent shapes in the Arctic of your consciousness,
          drifted; their expressions polished with solitude;
                               I heard them whistling
                                     through your open lips;

Between the drifting fronds of your hair,
your strange timidity; I feel your passage on my upturned face;
          for a moment i reach out and touch

                    the verdigris of perfectly formed scales;
                      the olive skinned serpents of your currents;
                                  the apostate darkness of your deep,  

on the tide of the suns reflected fire,
   I wait with a spearhead of breath   
     to run through the flowered whorls of your iris,                   
             & I see your heart's deformities
                  in a burst of mirror-coloured blood;

you creature of strange & terrible desire.

 
© 2013 Gareth Milne

The Crime

Using a ball of wool, I reconstructed the crime; calculated the exact
trajectory of the light where it is curved away from your skin,
	
I've measured, and marked the impact on the walls that interrupted the
brutal expulsion of your radiance, & marked them for demolition,
	
And now I put my feet up, watching,
And I wonder of it all,
this office looks like an arab loom;
bathed in darkness, it seems the world has titled on its side
	
(or you've led the light away
with its bridle of stars,
thief that you are!)
	
The air around your chair seems to be a monumental for your absence; & by
monumental I mean;  the testament to a great patriotic war!
Let them ring this strange space with drunk soldiers Hell, let them shoot
fireworks And slap a plaque where we had our chat.
	
(on the face let some bastard draw
little skulls in chalk,
or write, "What the fuck happened?")
	
I bet that some rough passer-by leaves
a sarcastic twist of horse shit, or a smoking cigarette, with its little
tail of smoke upraised; And it wont not be out of place
	
Is is possible during the commission of this crime; a family of honeysuckle
were tortured for information about the scent of sunlight?
There's no doubt you left something behind!
	
I do not see us walking through a birch forest any-time soon Thought we've
strolled between the flexible fingers of love; We've stared into the eyes of
an artist and asked ourselves "A lamp held up? or the mouth of an oven?"
	
I still can't answer the question!'

 
© 2013 Gareth Milne

The Irrational Number

Climb out of my head
You owner of secrets, you haunting of spaces, You legs of the naked dancer,
You dervish of cigarette smoke, You thinker, you poser, you schemer; around
which the whole world shakes & spatters around whose head the disc of stars
is wobbling; & shedding a lice of of supplicating angels.
	
Climb out of my eyes
You, who do not see traces of water;
who does not believe in the labyrinth of suffering You who teases smears of
mud; Who touches the warmth on the blanket, where once lay the body; You who
call animals dancing the bridge edge of your being, & sets smoking and
spraying; flesh that passes through your golden circumference,
	
Climb out of my ears
You who howl through the eves of the ruin, who writhes in multitude before
the mirror cracked You whose mockery is a furnace from which we drink; those
of us who partial to the third degree of love,
	
Even the devil on his black heels
muttering, cursing in his damp sleep,
twists and deforms
at your slightest presence;
fears you more than the first morning song of the damned bird that our
thrown bottles have winged.
	
My heart which yesterday beat itself bloody; now stares between the bars of
my rib my heart which is conspicuous by its silence scratches a name into
the corner of its cell, takes a piss & reads the paper, hiding a smug
expression.

 
© 2013 Gareth Milne

The Fire Hazard

The neighbors made a mistake,
when they saw the flames on my face
they thought I was possessed
and baptized me in the wine;
	
here;
they beat me with a sharp green branches; and they knocked me in a good
condition;
	
a tiger’s paw of fire reached out my mouth clawing for something just out of
reach up in the dome were pigeons were panicking they burst  in dandelions
of flak;
	
My thoughts turned to black
Icons Cathedral caught fire;
The number of sentenced persons
coughed up a smoke ring
	
all became
flame rose photo.
	
the neighbor said
little wireframe
bent with pliers as a little man;
	
God built that blackened rabbit hutch
And filled it with crushed beer cans
That is the crux of the matter,
	
human fire hazard.

© 2013 Gareth Milne

Love the Opposite of War

Have you ever watched a bullet slip back in her jacket?
croon her red trajectory back into the dark?
called out the flesh with a delicate understanding?
	
No man has experienced more pain than those who Having this little point of
ore in his heart, expels it again with a bright exclamation,
	
You've seen the flowers of fire explode and wilting?
spit bombs as seed corn up in smoke?
or heard explosions, like a cry swallowed the after-image of stars collapse?
	
Drifting away from the corpse of war;
These tiny fragments of iron death;
Pollen cloud rising into the light
leaving the green shoots, where the land was once torn,
	
You saw shrapnel break in the bitter smell of iron and oil; weapons
dissolved in caustic mist and steam?
pour, as an ointment in holes in the ground restore bruised contours of the
mountains,
	
You've seen the red throw handfuls of men together seen cries swallowed
curse eat, like bread?
light back into the flow of the naked human eye?

if you ask me, is it worth the pain, I would say that no, I enjoyed the
wound more than treatment which left me more vague pain.

 
© 2013 Gareth Milne

A Little Poetry

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