Instruments for Burial

I think about it often
The tools I will bring
All of my instruments
When I’ve taken my medicine

The last time my skin will feel the sun again
Boxed in for my burial
The close I spent so much hurrying
Love that I kept narrowing

There’ll be lashes of poetry on my skin
To decompose
The paintwork green and thin
Just like Lar’s did
I think about it if and when

What’s left of my innocence
Pages of paper, only my favourites
My within purgatorial
Instruments for burial

Some family pictures, there’s one in particular
The one with my dad always made me so sad, which is familiar
The teddy I held close when I missed Ellie the most, when I was a prisoner
The laugh lines, from Alex and Ciarán, my dearest builders

My treasured green pen, if only to flick
As I walk the endless walk
Which inspires me to think
I’ll need no compass, friend, not even some ink
Just a single bright moment
One to illuminate the brink

These are the tools I will bring
My instruments
And either way
I’ll need to keep my inner child safe
I didn’t get to before the grave
All of his little yesterdays

Better bring with me my faith
Lessons from millions of mistakes
And many miles of shame
Memories so pictorial
These are my Instruments for Burial

The Runner

Everytime I go to figure it out,
I can't help but fuck it up,
When I was a boy, and my da was my da
I learned when to run, and could run, so fast

I had to grow up, never look back
If you rap on my wall, I'd always tap back
But lost are those days, if I could get them back
I'd grab with my hands, one summer to have back

Over the stones that remind me of home

They can't hurt you, not if they can't catch you
Oh I wish that was true, I wish that were true
But I ran away, I'll do it again
Cuts on my leg, creak in my neck

Over the stones that remind me of home

I kept up some skills, maybe its there my mind is
Still just a kid, older, that child is
Still a song writer, still starting fires
Still hyperbad, I guess still a fighter
Still going mad, I've lost and I've tired
Still sprint over sand, over snow, over briar

Over the stones, that remind me of home,

Over the embers of bonfires, over the streets stained with spits of blood
Way in and far, past the way back
Over the rivers that once ran so fast
Over the kid-bones, the dead from my past
Over and over, the lies that last
Over and over
- The Runner

Gemini Loyalty

“I could shapeshift around the slick of a sleeve
And I will be whatever it takes to make you bleed
For within me,
You have a thousand enemies.”

Ultimately single rooted,
Loyalty of Gemini is to be disputed
Until the rivers run red, and the relentless are soothed

A slice of information lost but to the lunatic;
The precision of trust is seldom innocent
Must never, be ever-present

Fundamentally imbruted,
We dispel shadows and dilute them
In our everlasting game of parry, and distribution

Breaking, rules of trick and confusion,
Buried beneath grounds of intrusion
But a plum, among bruises

Constructing spared from the abusive,
A secret sanctuary stashed where truth isn’t
But a proudly swelling plum, among bruises

Mind will brain and tongue will ruin
Any famine, thirst or unwanted pursuing
Our precious plum, among bruises

Leans and writhes between the moving and renewing
Its song a call, battle cry music
Summons the strewing of a cruel undoing
To keep our plum safe, among bruises.


It tore my heart apart when we fall apart
I was standing in the rain, I was standing somewhere strange
Hit with some pointed epiphany

I know I share too much
And I know I can be a lot
When I’m sitting in the garden
Not sure that I’m around friends
It comes on me all of a sudden
It’s a hot that eats me up
It’s stick, running through my blood
And a kid that’s had enough

Would you save me from who I’ve let myself be?

You know I used to search for pride, in his disappointed eyes
Didn’t know who I was yet, but I was willing to attest
Point me at the hills and I
I’ll come back with hard earned kill

I still, I wish, that I could be the son he saw in me
When he held me to his chest, taking my first breaths
Do you think he loved me then?

I know I share too much
I know I’m tough to love
I gave it all up
Gave up on love
I’m still just a running kid
Out of must

Tell me you’d save me from who I let me be

I’ve turned twenty-three, still not sure what ‘family’ means
I settled my chase, let the answers slip away
Lucky man, whoever they do embrace

I know I share too much
And I know I can be a lot
When I’m drunk in the garden
When I’m deep in dread
It comes on me all of a sudden
White hot it burns me up
It’s a sick that runs through the blood
“He’s a kid”, “he’s seen too much”

Would you save me, from who I’ve let myself be?

I wish that I could be the son he saw in me
When he held me to his chest, taking my first breaths
I’ve turned twenty three
Hope one day, Da finds something to love about me

I’m still just a running kid
Out of must

Gemini Pain

They are ancient tomes;
Moon and water,
Push and pull,
Yin and yang,
Harmony and discord.

Which bustle and bend within the spirit of the Gemini
Whom all know;
Every mind is a city
And we thirst to reside there;
In all of them, In all of you.
Our behaviour the balance of your mind,
We sway our hands dangerously holding the scales of your sanity,
Effervesce and fix.

You’ll know us in the crowds, by our eyes
Wicked side smile and insipid side step,
Narrowly avoiding what would destroy us-
After feeling the threatening tremble of it’s power,
How we wouldn’t have it any other way,
Pain and pleasure.

Addicted to the taste of our trauma,
We obsess over the identities of secrets,
We speak in whispers and reveal them but in a tongue you won’t understand
Plume and harden.

It’s being made of glass, with a dark past
It’s honey warm eyes, with a cold unbeating heart,
Of speaking code, the yes behind the no,
Of delivering soul, at a cost of everything you know
Hold and dislocate.

The Gemini, must survive in duality;
In constant confliction,
A mind unremittingly broken,
A mind relentlessly constructing.
Disintegrate and redintegrate.

Shred Up

Oh, keep on calling
I left a trail but as a warning
Oh, it’s dawn here
The moon is crimson and I’m torn thin

I chew on Jasmine, I do it all the time
Obey fury, it costs nothing to lie
Burn your bunches fuck your bridges we’re all in line to die

I feel an avalanche sizing up a shift
I feel a thunderstorm between my finger tips
I’m bolting faster than I can re-trip
And I’ve a feeling it’ll all unzip

Seizing on my seismic surrender shrift

I’m riffin’ on it like I’m on my wrists,
I’m rippin’ on it even with my fists
The stinging slits like a kiss
And my palms are sliced to fuckin’ fits
No stitches will fix

Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shredda, Shredda, Shredda
Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shredda, Shredda, Shredda

Oh, keep on calling,
I left a trail, but as a warning
Oh, it’s dawn here
The moon is crimson my wrists are torn thin

I razored my bone wings off my back yeah I did that
I hunted doves in the snow in Alaska
I died in my wedding tux and then brought it back
I lit up a cathedral as a first attack

I’ve got a line or two I think you’d miss
I’ve got a habit that I can’t desist
I’ve got a wound, it needs lips
And I’m a ravager on a rift

Seizing on my seismic surrender shrift

I’m riffin’ on it like I’m on my wrists,
I’m rippin’ on it even with my fists
The stinging slits like a kiss
And my palms are sliced to fuckin’ fits
No stitches will fix

Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shredda, Shredda, Shredda
Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shredda, Shredda, Shredda


Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shh-Shredda, Shredda, Shredda
Get-Get-Get-Get-Get-Get up, Get up, Get up

You and I

You and I, have been best friends, forever
Could write a book, more than a song about you
You and I have done everything, together
From climbing trees, and loosing teeth, I’ve had you

You and I, hand in hand, whenever
Our smiles in sync, hearts a-link,
Me and you

You and I, I

You and I,

You and I, I

You and I

You and I, a bond that could not dissever
And matching tattoos, hobbies transfuse with you
You and I, share the pain, share the pressure
From broken bones to broken hearts, I’ve had you

Sixteen, stiff on the scene we laughed hard
High on rooftops and low come the crash drops,
Us two

You and I,

You and I, I

You and I,

You and I, I

You and I, searching ships till forever
Can’t do it solo, wish I could bring you back home
You and I, tumbling through fields, forever
I feel so alone, when we die where do we go?

Where did  you go?


Through the thicket of trees that stretched sternly high and bushed out where their length thinned, opened a clearance. The post-storm silver steel sky held onto it’s pressure with a humid stillness that cacophoned in his unconcerned ears. The atmospheric compression built on itself and gravity was weighted.

But the tension trickled and tripped – perhaps poked and penetrated by the tips of the forest – and instead bloated, waist-level from the ground like a bulging bell that almost made him double over. However, he toughed through steps forward from his emergence of the woodlands and moving onwards he divorced this grippling energy and fell onto his own weight, which pounded painfully. Rainwater and sweat stuck to his skin, his face glistened as though he himself was a product of water. 

Globe droplets descended from his flattened hair and landslid down his unaged and addled face. The earthy smell of damp wood surrounded him and seemed to plume even from the loose stones which he trod on barefoot, his feet dirty and bleeding as he walked with a limp. Men were here among the lumber and doorless squares of sturdy stone in the pouring rain and under the godless grey sky they wore tweed caps that only sponged the falling water. With the wrinkles in their hands browned they collected logs and shelved them into the puddling wheelbarrows. Some collected pounds of hay that lost its goldenness under the bleakness of their surroundings. He glimpsed slowly at these men as he bucked through, none paying him any mind. 

Slabs of pillar were slapped up and roofless like a maze that the dwindling men came to and fro and lost themselves within the passageways. Tucked in snuggly between lands of these columns smugly stood a woodlaced church. A crucifix protruded the high porch like a watchful eye and drew him towards the ever open doors. Above, crows choired and circled.

His focus was intercepted when a commonplace figure prodded the pallid quiet of tip tap rain. 

A mhic, an bhfuil tú caillte? Croaked the old man. 

The language confused him.

“No – no thank you.” He gave the man a gracious, slippery handshake and stumbled past, hindering at the front place of the stupendous church. “I’m..I’m looking for my father.” 

Carrying my heavy body up the cobble stair I trip – landing on my knee, drawing rocky breath. I pause, merging my flakes of stamina together. Broken shoots of heather attached to the bare heel of my feet which are also sprinkled with nibs and bits of blackened evergreen surge an ominous tickling sensation. 

I rise, and the birds above detach from their flurries. The hallway to the altar is dotted with tiny aqua square tiles which gleam from thin soakage. There are natural sunken dips where the soft floor has dived from water weight damage. An old smell of frankincense hangs in the cold air with an unusual tinge of chlorine.  

I bow, immediately. Not out of rule, but out of loss. My wrists slob to the holy floor, and I rub them along it, like ploughing through wax.

I rise, water-logged again, so that drips which had newly found me re-home themselves on the ground.

A slight sting in my left eye, I flatly pace closer to an altar that is brightly blinding to examine directly. But it is lifeless, and therefore meaningless to me – I cannot reach there. 

I stop my ascent. I am close to the head wing – the epicentre – the altar. My head forcibly held high and trying, I face it directly and feel an opening within. An emergence of emotion that weakens my stance so that I can no longer anchor myself against the tide. Hot tears move on my already sodden cheeks and I yield – I side slide into a vacant long lined horizontal bench, and I feel even there a wetness through the surface of the clumpy sitwood.  

I decide to take a quick measure of a glance behind me, and notice to my dear apathy an elderly woman with gorgeously lap-styled hair and a gentle green feather slotted through the delicately folded strands seated at the first bench by the entrance. She seems frantic and perhaps wailing as her clenched fists shake in front of her. She is dry, or either she is immune to saturation. Either way, her brief spell of grief does not affect me, I am impermeable. 

Alas, my impassibility is lost as I return my charge towards the altar and pick from my neck skin a handcrafted beadwork of rosemary. In my hand it is beaten – no doubt from the shipwreck that thrashed and bashed me against those trees and threw me into a ravaging storm that needed to be battled, to be passed. 

Tears glide. My hands clasp in prayer. “Ár n’Athair..”