FINGERED
 
 
 
What's the use of me pointing
 
if you won't look. You
 
are indexed under a thumb.
 
 
 
I can get to you.
 
Don't let it happen.
 
Come!
 
 
 
hanging around under low ceilings,
 
when the heat's on.
 
Watch me.
 
 
 
I slip in, easy as oil,
 
twisting and teasing till the job is done,
 
finger on throttle.
 
 
 
It's not what you think it is
 
when you look.
 
It's what you feel matters.
 
 
 
I'm armed, all the way up
 
in a brown study. I'm in.
 
Got and tossed away your number
 
 
 
I am too fond.
 
I am too quick.
 
& am manipulable by pain.
 
 
 
I am new strength in the yellow broom.
 
I work at loose things.
 
I steam the water.
 
 
 
It's an easy stroke,
 
a darkening, as sin becomes
 
indicated in silence.
 
 
 
I'll do it if you're clever at me,
 
swinging by hand from the ceiling joist
 
while a floor drops away beneath tethered feet.

It’s all very well smugly to say you touched distance.
All through the night and into the day is such a cliché
but it’s okay. The sun on my fingertips, walking home.
 
You are fresh as frost, we are registered useless.
My car is parked outside. When I get my licence I’m going to
Drive it through your wall. That’ll surprise you!
 
Is that your real name? I can’t marry you if that’s your real name.
Somebody is waiting for me at home, anyway.
Rumours are all over the shop, and most of them are true
which is what you said: Those rumours, they’re true.

So I guess it’s all up. I could give a fuck.
I don’t even remember how this started, or how we got to here.
Who can ever say? Philosophy, the touch of your fingers.
All I really need is one more killer line and I’ll be fine..