Michael Mc Aloran – 5 poems

                                                                                                                                                      XI

…Of the cemetery breath…

                         …lashed to the…

…Bone break and the nocturne of it, till amend of sudden shrill shriek of pitch…Bone light in the palm of hand dragged from the vault of night’s endless shadows…Wind clad in some vacated room but one in the depths of pitch…

…Laughter and then…

…Spill lest there echo the in-dreaming of foreign absolute…

…Headless till vast…(succumb)…breath without air…

…Of the cemetery heart…

                                    …of the etched sands of whispers, drenched in foreign, ever where the ocean of the skull unfolds…

…Crystalline tears of…

…Words erased…

…Sound without meaning…ever to clutch the fragrant none of speeches, vagaries…Known without/ ever none/ no not known/ breathing of the lack/ begin again/ end once more…

…My absence beneath the brailed sky…

…Severed of the all and in between, ruptured once, ruptured once more…

…Attrition/ exile…

                    …I genuflect to nothing, in a vacancy of shit…

 

XIV

…Exhalation, unto follow, bled of, whispered of, ever of the unknown trace…Roomscape of jagged silences, pulsating once, then of, pulsating of the thrice, all’s to be unsaid of it…

…The lay of the echoing chime clouds the eyes and makes sight repugnant, desolate, I…

                      …I am beyond the sky, I am in-dreaming…

(…Flowers of the pulse reek of their carrion sting, nothing cannot be replaced…Searchlights trace the bowels of the skull’s nocturne, in a symphonium of scattered limbs, of…of…)

…Rain rain in the heart, unscalded, to erase my dying…

…Ever of the without, till dreaming lest there ever be, lapsed and lapse again, where the denuded arm accepts the silver syringe…

(…A hallway of shattered mirrors, gashed flesh, burning out in some kind of naked solvency, as if to reject/ usurp the endless night…)

…Ah, break upon and be done, where not of I no, nor any longer of the ash, of the helm where the shadow is cast, unsung, vibrant as a death-head…

…Grace burns where/not a/expired…redressed/ bleak guillotine of the infinite…

…Snap/ snap of whittled bone/ scarring until final gracelessness    (benign)

…I await the return of the…resolute…

                 …I am beyond the sun, I am in-dreaming…

                                                                                                                                                     ***

                                                                                                                                                       XV

…Again, again the ash, the ash inhaled, murmuring the dark pulse of all aside, all ever said, to slide and of the else to slide unto waste…

…Florid, florid flourish of none, expiring till held, gifted as of, nothing claimed as of, nothing answered, in the vacancy of it…

…All said of the what of it, spoken again, as if to spite, till the dread of which, no not once, vapours of stagnant bleeding…

…Skull in a vice of empty desolate, winds throughout hollow, as of dead, yet else, breathing all the while of circus pageantry, where the hands fall stripped of flesh, having gathered the briars of nothing/ none else…

…I’ll yet stay, I’ll yet go…

…The hours…are very long…

…Subtlety as the carriages of hours amass, yet the glint of the blade holds more truth, seen from some vantage point in the dark…I collide with nothing, stung stripped of by the dissolution, yet still of the bask of it, some stance, like an empty silhouette, slowly seeping across a cold white-washed wall…

…Design/ desire/ design…Of the vast, the miniscule, the eyes closed, receding, receding into caverns, not a trace of it, but of this foreign death…So it is said, guttered once, sprung forth in the silent teeth of it, the vibrating flesh of it, this meat to carry all the while, or in between, never less, no nothing for it to be damned…

…Hard shadow of the blood, ever trickling away, as if, as if some final emptiness could justify the scars, this butchery of night, ah close the door yet knock again, yet silenced, out, spat out, lest it be forgotten, embers, embers, flame and  naught…

                                                                                                                                                   ***

                                                                                                                                                       XX

…Reflection of scarlet crystal dusts…

…On and of the fore till sibilant, breaking once more upon the dead of winds, the apathy of silence…

…(Knock again)…

…Wrench of, sudden of, gleam of exigent dissipation…

…Glut of….Spoken there or else of…Unto naught…Dragging out the spill of teeth, the rank opulence of dreaming lest there be no following on from…

…(Ask again)…

…Nothing of, till venerated, closed upon like a locked jaw, splice once then of the splice, asking of the ever-vast, the shock-white held to the lung of tears…

…Unto none of the breath, knocked asunder-stray, white fever of the meat of a silent screaming, vibrating all the while…

…I place the blade upon the tongue of my night…

…I am the refuse, of the earth’s quarry…

…Yet still in vibratory tongue, all’s to the will of it, to the fevered/ unknown…

…I echo/ echo/ as if else could breathe other than what will, where the bile stings dense with night…

…My tide…My tide…A skull upon the hearth…

…Locked    within the winds…

 

XXXII

…head of vault…cascade of sky/ a bleached rhythm of soundless air…echoing out from trunk of carcass breathing, stillness lest there be the vibrating flesh…

…bound blood in a winter pageantry, sky sky alone and the broke bones of shadow only…ache in thin vapours, smoke into the betrayal lung, settling to fall, gathered by none…

…trace of the noose’s spasm, the stretched taut, boundless…never uttered, never the redeem of it, spat out unto vellum of blood spray, collecting the bones of it, the emptiness of a vacated casket…

…i, in pulse of dreaming, of the dreaming of the dying of it, the fading of the lack, sudden to withdraw from out of night’s lapse, said once more, dead till none or else…

…i in the long stretched, in the sear of it, in the breathing of it, spent as rusty blade, a discarded cadaver, through cylindrical nights the bleeding yet, the shadow yet, without colour…

…well knock once more…the walls warping in the chemical light…

…in the head of vault of all dying, lest there be breath scattered as silences dreaming of the none, the less and less…

…none known as of yet, yet as of none, a star burst of escaping birds into the non-distance, unknown as of to the benign, unto which, their wings sheared to final butchery… 

                                                                                                                                                      ***

 
Michael Mc Aloran was Belfast born, (1976). He has been writing for almost 10 years, and his most recent work of the past two has appeared in various anthologies & print and online zines in the U.S, U.K, India & Australia, including Carcinogenic Poetry, PMI, Calliope Nerve, The Delinquent, The Recusant, Sex & Murder Magazine, In Between Altered States, Horror, Sleaze & Trash, Negative Suck, Graffiti Kolkata, Pratishedhak, Prathamata, Danse Macabre, amphibi.us, The Plebian Rag, Full of Crow, Gloom Cupboard, Gutter Eloquence, Fashion For Collapse, Fragile Arts Quarterly, Clockwise Cat, Sein Und Werden, Milk Sugar, The Medulla Review, Counterexample Poetics, Heavy Bear, Mastodon Dentist, Nothing, No-one, Nowhere, etc. His artwork has also appeared in various journals, both print & online. He has published a number of chapbooks, including ‘The Gathered Bones’, (Calliope Nerve Media), ‘Final Fragments’, (Calliope Nerve Media), & ‘The Death-Streaked Air’ (Virgogray Press), ‘Debris’, (Erbacce-Press), ‘The Rapacious Night‘, (Calliope Nerve Media) & ‘Unto Naught’, (Erbacce-Press). A full length collection of poems, ‘Attributes’, with an introduction by Dom Gabrielli, was published by ‘Desperanto’, (NY), in 2011…He has self-published a number of chapbooks, two novellas, a play, and another full-length collection, ‘Of Dead Silences’, is forthcoming from VOX Press in 2012…He has also spent time as Poetry Editor @ ‘Calliope Nerve’, an American online poetry zine…

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About gobbet

gobbet is a literary magazine dedicated to publishing the very best experimental poetry and prose. Intellectual perversity and explorations of dark themes are positively encouraged. We are only interested in work that is progressively experimental. We want to see risks, and we want to see them pay. No previously published work. Prose should not be longer than 1000 words. There are always exceptions. Send 3-5 poems. Include a short bio. Send submissions to gobbetmag@hotmail.co.uk Work will be published every 5-10 days. We also intend to publish anthologies of selected work published in gobbet. We will do our best to reply promptly. Most submissions will receive a decision within a month.
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