bittersweet

Bittersweet the aftermath 
Now is inhospitable to our nostalgia
Tinted sephia in our minds eye
Tears trace the time we can’t have back
I was swallowed by the past
I’ve been no one since we fell off track
A wondering skeleton in the wreckage
Skin carved out in scars
A train wreck
Emptied of its corpse
No metamorphosis
Just a void
Where a boy used to be

I just sat in the fucking car instead

I don’t want a breakthrough
I’m looking for a way to justify
Not making it through
Words are only cheap translations of the pain
And I won’t speak them anyway
I want to sugar-coat the truth
Make it seem like I ever cared to try
I’ve learnt the script
Heard the platitudes
All the while I’m looking for the exit
And all paths I tread
Lead to one moments epiphany
All those years ago
That I’ll never know what it is to be full
And the reckoning in my head
For I said ‘run, for godsake jump.’
But I just sat in the car instead.

Deepression

The guitar riff takes me back

To sitting in the car

Drowning from the emptiness In the bottomless pit of my lungs

Watching raindrops

Making tracks

Splattered shadows

I was supposed to be better

But i’d already rotted away from the inside It was sinking in, i was going home

To become someone who would be fulfilled

But I knew right there, as you walked back to the car with my meds

Nothing could fill me up

Part 3: There goes the Wub

Jackson woke to find the green sleeping bag beside him was empty. The sound of hooves clopping spurred him onto his feet; he ran out of the shack, shielding his eyes from the light of day. ‘Ya were gonna leave, jus’ like that?’ He snapped his fingers.

‘I dunno what’t’ tell yer, I’m a loner.’

‘Ya weren’t much a loner las’ night!’ Jackson spat bitterly.

‘Well, I am t’day.’

Merrick sat in the saddle, and Tucker started walking up and away from the shack at a slow trot, ‘I’ll be seein’ ya around.’ Merrick twisted himself around and saluted down to Jackson, ‘Am sure I’ll be back at some point.’

‘Well, there ent far’t’ go round in circles in this god forsaken place!’

‘True,’ Merrick turned Tucker around so he was facing Jackson again, saluting him again, ‘True enough, Jack.’

‘But then, ‘ow come we never met ‘fore?’ Jackson jutted his chain.

‘I’ve passed through ‘fore. Probably jus’ din’t notice one another tha’s all.’ Merrick picked up the reigns and spun Tucker back the other way.

‘Think I’d notice if ya rode on ‘im ‘fore now.’ Jackson intoned.

‘Ya’d be amazed at’t’ things we miss.’ Merrick slapped Tucker’s neck gently, and they trotted away.

Merrick had been riding for a straight hour on the track, changing terrain from concrete to dust and back. He reached a narrowing dusty path, and ahead of him was a little house on a dead farm.

As Tucker and Merrick approached, a man dressed in all white came walking out, a woman behind him with a shotgun.

‘Now ya stop reet there!’ The man held a palm up to Merrick. He looked up at Merrick on Tucker with a stony face.

‘’E got them devil eyes, Ize.’ The man talked to the woman behind him from one side of his mouth.

‘Jus’ the one.’ Merrick corrected him as he dismounted.

The woman’s left eye twitched on an attractive face, but she had a very short neck making it look like her head was attached directly to her shoulders.

The man’s neck leant to one side, and he seemed unable to move his head. His eyes shifted up and down as he took in the scene. ‘Ya shall not pass!’ He spat, ‘Not with the devil eyed ‘orse of yours!’

‘An’ who made you gatekeeper of’t road?’ Merrick met the man’s steely face.

‘It’s the devil eye,’ The woman said, ‘Tell, ‘im Frank! It’s that devils eye!’

The woman stepped forward with the gun, jutting it in the air, ‘I will shoot! I will shoot that devil ‘orse reet ‘fore ya eyes!’ A crazed look in her eyes.

Merrick could see she was serious, her finger trigger ready.

‘Okay, okay!’ Merrick held up his hands and got back in the saddle, spinning Tucker around, ‘We’re leavin’’ he said, looking straight ahead, never looking back.

‘Don’t shoot,’ He called back again, ‘I’m goin’’ He continued until he was some distance away.

#

‘Fancy seein’ you back in these parts so soon!’ Jackson beamed up at him.

Merrick dismounted from Tucker, ‘Yea, there was a crazy lady with a gun.

Jackson placed a hand on the flank of Tucker gently with one hand, a gun in his other hand, ‘I oughta shoot ya right between ya eyes.’ Jackson spat bitterly.

Merrick turned squarely, ‘Can ya not jus’ pistol whip me across t’ face?’

Jackson held up the gun and mimed shooting him, ‘I really oughta.’ He shook his head, ‘Ya came on ‘ere, fucked me some, then jus’ up an’ left like that’s how ya treat another man.’

Merrick lit up a cigarette casually, ‘What did ya think would ‘appen?’

‘I jus’ want a liddle respec’ is all.’

‘Ya know, I missed ya while I was gone those few hours.’ Merrick told him while he looked Tucker over, ‘Ya got any water for Tuck?’

Jackson lowered the gun by his side, ‘Sure, there should be some in’t stable.’

Merrick and Jackson smoked, fucked and smoked some more till night glared in through the window of the little shack.

They were rolling lazily in their sleeping bags, cigarettes between their fingers. The shack full of haze from all the cigarettes and blunts they’d smoked.

Outside was upheaval; the sound of hooves made the shack’s wood vibrate.

Merrick turned to Jackson, ‘We might’ve got ourselves a problem, Jack.’ Smoke came out of Merrick’s mouth as he spoke, and they both started to laugh.

The sound outside grew closer and their laughter ceased abruptly. Merrick crept from his sleepin’ bag to the little window and looked outside.

‘Three men and four ‘orses.’

‘Why four ‘orses if there are only three men?’ Jackson asked.

Merrick turned to Jackson, ‘Meybe one of ‘em is invisible!’ They started to laugh again when there was a knock at the door.

‘’Ere, they may be after me.’ Merrick squinted through the little window, ‘Yea, they’re probably after me.’

‘Why? What ya done?’

Merrick waved a hand dismissively, ‘Never mind that, I need’t hide.’

‘They’ll recognise your flamin’ ‘orse.’ Jackson said nervously, ‘Anyone could recognise that bleedin’ ‘orse.’

There was a loud crashing sound, the wooden door splintered, and a man in big boots trounced in.

Merrick shot to the back of the room in the shadows, bollock naked. He crept behind the unfinished wooden wall that jutted out.

‘Where is ‘e?’ The man that had pounded his way in asked, ‘Where is Merrick Bowman Jr?’

Jackson stood in his boxers and t-shirt, hurriedly getting dressed and slipping as both his legs ended up in one leg of his trousers. ‘Fuck!’ He spat, lying on his back with his legs up in the air.

‘I’m not interested in you; slow yasel’ down. Am only after Merrick!’

‘I don’t know anyone by that name!’ Jackson squirmed, still on the floor.

‘Course ya do!’ The man jutted his chin, ‘Are ya callin’ the barman across the road a liar?’

‘Well, ah know a man who might or might not have been named Eric,’ Jackson drawled, ‘But ah never got ‘is name.’

The man laughed.

‘Stop playin’ t’ fool. Ya got ‘is ‘orse in that stable of yours!’ The man shook his head and put his foot on Jackson’s chest, spat brown liquid next to his head, ‘Ya wanna be careful wit’ men like Merrick.’

‘Oh?’ Jackson said, lifting his head shakily from the floor and looking at the man’s boot on his chest.

‘Yea, ‘e’s a perv and a killer.’

‘Well, ah wouldn’t know about that.’ Jackson tried innocently.

‘We got an ‘orse short of a man.’ The man jutted his chin, ‘We thought since Merrick loves his ‘orses ser much, we should bring ‘im’t ‘orse for ‘im to shoot dead ‘imsel.’

‘Why would ya want ‘im to do that?’

‘’Cause we know how much it would pain ‘im!’ The man laughed.

‘The ‘orse or Merrick?’

‘Merrick of course.’

‘I’m sure a bullet to the leg might pain ‘im too, sir.’

‘An’ I’m sure a bullet to that beloved ‘orse of his will be pain to ‘im too!’

‘Am sure a bullet to ‘is leg will be pain enough, sir.’ Jackson continued in protest.

Merrick peered around the wall, hands up in question, looking across at the shadow of Jackson, ‘The fuck?’ He mouthed.

‘Anyway,’ Jackson continued, ‘Why would ya want ‘im to kill one of ya ‘orses? Is it ill? Is it sufferin’?’

‘No the ‘orse is jus’ fine. But ah jus’ wanna see the pain reckon on Merrick’s face.

‘Why…Why did this Eric chap kill one of ya men, then?’

‘Merrick,’ The man corrected him, ‘As ah said, Merrick is a perv. You can’t rationalise why ‘e did anythin’

Merrick reached for his gun and stepped out from behind the wall.

‘Jameson,’ He smirked.

‘Merrick!’ Jameson beamed, he took his boot off Jackson’s chest and spat another load of brown liquid next to his head.

Seeing the gun, he held up his hands, ‘Now, now. No need fer this.’

Jameson looked Merrick up and down and laughed, ‘Christ! A sight for sore…’

Jackson stood and tapped him on the shoulder, and Jameson turned for only a millisecond, but it was enough for Merrick to swing a pillow in front of the gun and shoot him in the head.

Feathers floated around the room, and Jameson dropped to the wooden floorboard. Merrick grabbed at his legs and pulled him into the shadows of the shack behind the wall.

‘The fuck is this shit?’ Jackson said, now pointing a pistol towards Merrick again

‘Put ya damn gun down!’ Merrick told him in no uncertain terms, turning his back to Jackson and putting his own gun back in the holster.

‘You’re a killer!’ Jackson spat.

‘Self-defence!’

‘It wasn’t, he…’ Jackson shook his head, ‘Anyway I ent on about ‘im!’ His finger was on the trigger, sweat dripped down his face.

‘’E killed someone dear to me,’ Merrick turned to face him, ‘A man I loved very much.’

Jackson looked over his shoulder at the other men they could hear drinking and talking outside. ‘What are we gonna do ‘bout them?’ He said, waving the gun in Merrick’s face.

‘’Opefully, nothin.’ Merrick replied.

‘But…’

‘They’re gettin’ blind drunk!’ Merrick told him, ‘When they’re pissin’ themsel’ we’ll know we can get Tucker and ride on out of ‘ere, and they’ll be useless.’

Jackson’s hand dropped to his side, ‘Why’d they kill ya friend?’

‘’Cause ‘e was me boyfrien’’

‘If they killed I’m fer that, why ent they kill you too?’

‘’Cuz I wasn’t there when they killed ‘im.’

Poetry off the cuff: I’m angry and sad today.

Life is tough
but what the fuck for?
there has to be a point to it all
but alas, I find none
It’s true; we’re all Sisyphus
we just keep rolling on
‘well, looks like the oceans heating up. Let’s stop oil.’
‘Quite right.’
‘Anyway, I gotta go now. Goodbye.’
the sound of their car doors closing, an afront of our awareness
car door locks and all is forgotten.

But this is the machine we were given
what can we do instead?
Catch a train?
But the trains are never on time
and they’re barely fit for purpose
a 6 hour’s journey google map says
to use a train
to a place only one hour away.

What the fuck am I to do?
Stay put in my room
never leave lest I be a hypocrite
this cognitive dissonance keeps me up at night
but I’m trapped in this machine
I was born into.

Look at us, trapped in our iron lungs!
Fuck, I don’t know how much more I can take
everything is rotting away
The heat masks the cold stark truth of these summer days
the sun rays getting to our brains
all that vitamin D and those endorphins
smoothing out our brains
with these illusions that we’re doing a-fucking-okay.

I don’t know any more than you
what we can do
I just know we can’t trust the higher-ups
rolling in the green
not the lush kind we’re chopping down
but the numbers that gets recycled
by the same few hands up there, up top.







In the blaze thirst can’t be quenched

It was a hollow cry, for no one could ease the pain. She howled into the night, and he bellowed from the other side.
The crescent of the moon was spangled through the bare branches of the trees; winter had come too soon, that was what Blaze believed, but Willow said this was the way of things now.
Life was becoming death in an endless winter.
Blaze had asked Willow if she couldn’t try putting a more optimistic spin on things, but Willow said she lived truthfully; an optimistic spin would be a lie.

‘Are we to blame?’ Blaze had asked Willow.
Willow slumped down against the rotting trunk of a willow tree, ‘No.’ Willow said.
And Blaze could only believe her because she wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth.
‘Is it anyone’s fault?’
Willow looked around at the cracked earth beneath her feet; the sun was ablaze in the sky, but winter’s soul had shrouded the earth with only shadows of ghosts. And so no matter how much that sun provided its heat, the mass extinction had done its thing. And yes, one day, maybe, life would find its way again, but for now, all that was left was the debris of homosapiens.
Plastic yoghurt pots rolled across the barren land like tumbleweeds, plastic wrapped tightly around the bones of some long-lost animal suffocated from the very plastic that now waved in the wind.

‘I have found you,’ Blaze had told Willow as he held her against the stump of the tree, ‘and so you have found me.’
Willow had smiled sadly up into his broken stare. The lights of his eyes had long gone out, as had her own.
‘Let’s let ourselves go,’ Willow said softly to him, ‘together.’
‘But I thirst for life.’ Blaze had protested.
‘We will thirst forever.’ Willow’s neck creaked as she lowered her eyes.
Blaze held her tighter in his arms, ‘The sun gives us life; we are living.’
‘This is not living, Blaze.’
Willow loosened herself from his arms, ‘Take out my solar panel.’ Her neck creaked as she craned it to look back at Blaze.
‘I…I can’t.’ Blaze said.
‘You can.’
Blaze began to whir, his head shook, ‘No! No! No! No!’ His left eye drooped, and a shard of loose glass dropped onto the cracked earth.

Since that day, a gulf had separated them. Blaze wandered about the cracked, parched plains marching northward on the same journey the trees had tried to make. The scorched bark of trees flaked and clung to their skeletal remains.
Blaze ripped a flake of bark and crushed it in his hands; a poem sought itself out in the through the mess of his electronic neurosis:

I am a refugee marching north on the wind
hoping my seed will disperse
far enough to traverse
these boundaries that will surely kill me
my roots are not fed
and there is no life left
but the wound that has bled
into the rivers
tricking down into the earth.

I could have shaded you from the sun
and thus the wind and the cold
but you let the blood run
never mind the lives slain
all for your fear of death.

Does irony feed you and quench your thirst?
When will you march with the skeletal remains of us?

And it was then that he heard the great despair taking wing into the air. The hollow cry of a humanoid who had torn her solar panel, the dying embers opened her lips, and the cry rang out through the plains of extinction.
Blaze bellowed back, and the moon’s crescent looked on, indifferent.

The willow did weep

‘Our breath steams up the glass, in which we write love notes to nature.’


A pregnant silence held the night, and the machine clutched the people within its many cogs and wheels.

Headlamps lit up his features, a ruddy complexion, with dirt marking the lines on his face. His teeth shone with the yellowing white of too many cigarettes and cokes.
With a brown roll-up gritted between his teeth, he spun the cogs and wheels, occasionally looking at the men and women around him who spun and spun the cogs that turned, making the big machine lumber through the plantation.
He wanted to return to his little room, just up the corridor and around the bend.
He stopped churning the wheel momentarily and held still then, he exhaled a cloud of smoke before him and swiped at the beads of sweat on his forehead.

There was a buzz and then the sound of feet stampeding from their wheels as people rushed out from the mechanical room, swiping their cards in the slot to sign off from their shift.
Atwood followed the crowd, signing off with a great resignation in his soul that this was his life.

‘Good shift t’day, eh? Atwood?’ A woman with long silky black hair asked him; her teeth were white as white can be.
‘Is there such a thing?’ Atwood replied.
Sally smirked, ‘Eh, it weren’t anythin’ we can’t ‘andle t’day. No rough terrain.’ She said, her eyes shifting from Atwood to the men and women signing in for their shift.
‘Reet, true enough, ah suppose.’ Atwood replied.
Sally tilted her head, ‘Do me a favour, At,’ She jutted her chin towards him, eyes narrowed, ‘Quit ya smokin’ will ya! I worry ’bout ya, ya know.’
‘You be worrin’ on ya own life, Sal. Never be mindin’ me, like!’
‘Well, I am mindin’ ya so, I guess ya better listen up, eh?’
Atwood smiled, ‘Reet, so ah will listen. Don’t promise I ‘eard ya though’
Atwood turned to leave, walking up the corridor.
‘I’ll confiscate ya fags,’ Sally shouted after him, humour in her voice, ‘I’ll throw ’em off’t balcony!’
Atwood turned to look over his shoulder as he walked away, ‘Sure, sure, Sal.’

Atwood went to the mechanic’s balcony and looked out in the vast darkness of the night.
Sickness pulled at his stomach, and a heavy sadness afflicted his face.
Leaning over the barrier of the balcony, he looked at the shadows of all the tall conifers that surrounded him.
A tear rolled down his cheek.
He looked up toward the highest balcony on the beast they lived in. Up at the top, the balcony glimmered with a golden glow; the people that headed the government were at the head of the monster they lived in. There they sat in cosy chairs, the brains of the giant robot they inhabited.
A lone owl hooted in the distance with no reply.
Atwood sobbed.
The owl hooted a few more times in desperate need; silence held her loneliness.

The sky held no hope, for the stars could not be seen.
He made his way back inside the machine and lumbered to his room.

Diary of Atwood Harrison:

2nd March 2099

I am restless in mind and heart, besieged by the horrors of humanity. I mourn for things I cannot know in the flesh, and I hold it in my heart that I wish I had never opened up those godforsaken books.
They talk of birds like Starlings that sparkled and shimmered, that flew in their thousands, millions and made patterns in the sky.
They talk of wolves that howled their essence in the wind even longer ago.
Black-tailed godwits, The Curlew, Barn owls, pine martens, otters… The list seems…endless. Yet even they were only a small list of the whole through centuries gone by.
Oak trees stood majestic, windswept. Weeping Willows bent over riverbeds.

3rd March 2099

Oscar came around to my room tonight, and we fucked away our blues, it was at once amazing, and then it was…Shame.

I stared at myself in the mirror for a long while afterwards, my fathers ghost sat behind me – metaphorically for I don’t believe in such things – and I saw his disgust along with my mothers.
Disgust drew itself on my face, and I couldn’t bear it.

I was not the man I had envisioned. The mirror now lays in broken shards, and my hand is bloody.

When down at the cogs later on people gave me funny looks, ‘What happened to your hand?’ Sal had asked me; I told her it was nothing for her to worry about.

7th March 2099

I wept on the balcony, but I couldn’t say what for, but for everything. Everything that I have yearned for and pictured was a significant loss, even though I had never held onto any of it.

The world is a depleted canvas, and I am a hollow man built from masks and false hope.

I told Oscar to leave me alone. He left and then I wanted to beg for him to come back. If only for a night in my bed.

8th March 2099

I keep hearing a lone owl; she cries loneliness. In her hollow sounds, I am reflected.

15th March 2099

I stormed my way to Oscar’s room.

He was angry. Told me ‘fuck off.’

He was right to tell me to go.

I was ashamed of my shame.

19th March 2099

Tonight I stay in my room, where I may safely feel alone.