Sam J. Grudgings
December’s lent itself awkward to escapes never committing
to anything other than the asylum granted by lack of control.
My birthstone is bone, malice, anchors & calendars revealing
another missed national suicide prevention day.
It’s argued that the if something is absent its presence can’t impact you
so tell that to the night. The same is said about disclosure & inheritance.
There’s nothing to be scared of if your fortune telling days are over,
yet we grieve that there is no reconciliation between us & yesterday.
My confession reads like a how to manual. I’m investing
in rock bottom with insider information.
We cannot divine unanswered prayers but these attempts remain
knowing a house can only fall down once. I’m crashing
a legacy in sinking, a future in a ruination of the year
Time is now the element of panic. Our future is a sceptic. Aquarius
becomes a ruin of Empire, becomes the spiral staircase to climb its own spine in a bid to leave the tower which has become a prison.
The cardinal directions of all the Earth signs is now red with debt
& that of the air is declined. The meaning of the moon
in portentous dreams is disputed now but people still worship
the silver left behind from its impact into our atmosphere.
The fire signs to a distracted audience, they only listen to trees,
or rather the idea of trees. There are no trees left now & you
are represented by an age old question: what if we didn’t get this right ?
What if something else mattered & we ignored it?
***
Sam J. Grudgings is a queer poet from Bristol shortlisted for the Outspoken Poetry Prize 2020. His work explores rehabilitation, addiction & loss via the lens of body horror, the 1920’s burlesque scene & the new weird movement. Commonly found yelling poems at punk shows, his debut collection The Bible II is available from Verve Poetry Press.