grey panes shut out the sunlight stuffy warmth is no longer pleasant let us open the windows, wide, widest what we teach best is what we do not know we are teaching is what we cannot stop ourselves teaching is what we do not know       ourselves becoming what they want to be bustling they come in i sit on the floor rushing they go out i count my bones again the spaces in my head still not quite sure i'm me taller than i thought she was beautiful as ever she was taller than i thought i shut the door silently & went away but for hours sat in that same room wondering why i'd left it alone at the gate kneeling. ok, i say, i accept the conditions. fine, says he all shiny, but what of all those others hidden in your head? i came to you a free man you were all that i wanted i depart in chains and shadows i was not what you desired. who knows what you desire? pissing in the wind - he said - is pissing on yourself - however if you piss in the same direction long enough the wind is bound to change softened fire deep rain asleep before i could even say goodnight you are become a something as precious as unknowable as running water or the dreams of burning stones private view it was of my own choosing & finally i pulled the string all my own work i murmured the rest paid no attention - it was opening night & we were very drunk those who walk with head down         smell only themselves circled back foolish vulture circled back couldn't pounce through time - but that was before i knew you - - you joke - i said i fell over what harder fate than to be woman? she makes & then unmakes her man. & this is what the jackals sang crazy dance no relief shadowed eyes sharp teeth who goes there? the sandman with his bag of bones too many printed pills bemused strained eyes the arrogant silence of a doomed library ah how we press each other's faces close enough to miss everything unable to dance she sets free the heart's birds     deeply hidden walls crumble at their singing THE GOAD! THE GOAD! go on, she said pygmalion after shaping it to satisfaction he will either hold it in contempt or kiss its feet small sniggers from the gallery in a summer week wore a cotton shirt and myself right out a deadly error to mistake one face one body for the one that many make at dusk below the glowing chimneypots pigeons are fighting - brown & grey & blue raising their wings to aid the claws' strike so white their soft bellies in the sun's shadow one false step & you're flat on your face or flying whose claws are tickling the stomach roots? mine mine no ships in the port no trains in the town no way to possibly leave not today; be comforted too many holes there are in all our hearts where we tore out memorials to the dead past one white bird drifting downstream endlessly the drunk wind trembling touching the small tree after the stone steps you so simply wanting me dark roses, petals of complicity, vectors of deep presence and simplicity here is where i came to live directed by unknown desire between the eagle and the scopion to balance on this crazy circling wire is all i strive toward or am gorging on the flesh vulture's beak broke now i am an owl, he said, i understand my fears & look forward to feasting with slow savour in future so many years i prized you above all others coveted your presence tried to avoid a death thank you lady for refusing me there are different yous for every minute & just as many of me & if some of us dont get along sometimes that shouldnt worry the rest of we not my desire for you but yours for me is what i'm hooked on have no pity i'm getting old i'm kicking cold here is the thing of mans desire there the dust the air the fire memo to jeykell under stars no silence now he has clawed the mask away his eyes his hands are clogged with blood and hair he cannot find the mask white moon black moon under stars no silence now he is screaming for himself after the fevered harvest the swords the small bird fearful of the moons embrace to go down undrowning to dark water seeking a more gentle lust a fiercer compassion river cry of a gull sliced by light travelling seawards appalled by former loves without stars grace or favour closed eyes flecked pebbles when you are with me you take the place of time my hours are measured by your words & silences nights of wrong thinking watched the ceiling for hours streetlamp sullen smoked a cigarette was rolled too tight gave me no pleasure acrid as dust scorched my lips poisoned by habits try everything! shouts this man from the departing train. i could not see who to time drains into the dark hole where the platform falls away the mute swan glides again towards the gull. beginnings hidden beneath blue rain. pods of pleasure seeds of pain tail of peacock eye of lion fish fevered for depth swiftly forgotten snare of the sky earth's hungry hook ease of our bodies look of your look he stepped back too late the merest pout swallowed him if anything's true, lover then we are mirrors to each other and me and you are only different points of view whole gardens fade and die more slowly sweetly surely than i say goodbye they tried to persuade me not to cross the curious hills; finally, shrugging, called me foolish, stubborn. that's how it is, i said, i'm going where my pig is headed. oranges, the dark mirror cats toying with torn roses fingers touching fingers by the open balcony on such crisp mornings we conduct an elegant hunt for whatever may present itself. no-one hunts us ( we leave no tracks in the park shaking trees shadows so many magpies i cannot tell which way my fate is flying how can i tell from where my kind companions come or what we seek so slowly in this twilight labyrinth where journeys intersect we gather attend the afternoon the news still small and sane placid trees soft rain in our hearts tarred with fierce jewels questions out of season as soresex or melting metal brain burning with softness he was deaf he was deep in the dance the beautiful music had a different rhythm for isobel the high window / sounds rise as smoke no-one could catch her when she fell through the mirror into stone & fire smoke rises as sound / the high window the day slipping away as slow tide ebbing from the seaward battlements hoarse moans from a small woman in the next room how tightly these travellers cling to each other on the tiles her toes tweak impatiently we were going tomorrow we were getting nowhere i didn't mean this to happen she said a few hours later yes, i said, it was an accident but i dont think it was a mistake
fingerbook of thumb © dave calder 1975 original publication by Raven Books, cover by lee noel for Orix