funeral

John's Perfect Heart

John's life was a quiet disaster
of needles and computer screens and alcohol
bank notes drifting gently down
onto the bodies of his parents

pets asleep in the filth of a swollen toilet
doors and windows blown open
in his mind, lights winking down a river
walking to work in the rain and the rot

he saved lives and stole them, ran screaming
down stunned streets, smiled carefully
in shops as he bought suicide implements,
melted and shook and snarled in the gym,

drove endlessly along roads, roads, roads
as future memories swam in his veins
- he would marry and father sad children
- he would die at someone else's funeral

John's life was his own, and every choice
split the universe in two, each half perfect -
perfect in panic and pain, in rain, in madness -
such a heart raging in such a savage heaven

No Funeral

dream horizon
    rising indigo
        swallowing the sun

no one owns
    the killer wave
        or the destroyed city

in the arms
    of new friends
        we’re drowning

ivy seaweed
    fish caressing
        our shocked skin

where we lived
    hammerheads
        circling the hearth

no warning
    no funeral
        for these memories