Monday, 27 February 2012

end times

wind is blowing double, as the world starts to shift
the weight of the high sky is a heat that won't lift,
its the sum of the times and a sign of the drift,
the coming tsunami is starting to split,
its the freezing terror the horror and the tendon I ripped,
the creaking of bone as the sky starts to slip.
and i'm frozen included in the panic the grip,
we're all strung here like pheasants and ready to drip,
from the hot living flame to the cold wax pit,
its a marvel we lasted as long as we did,
so disparate, so desperate so unwilling to fit.

Sunday, 19 February 2012

aw to hell

good deeds,
tucked up into your belt,
take heed,
their killing people like you for pelts,
run fast,
the snow is beginning to melt,
run past,
the acid hot feelings you felt,
and as old days are burning,
skylines are turning,
the burgeoning buckets,
of bright light and heroes,
as dystopias reigns,
pull tight at your neck.

Tuesday, 14 February 2012

You probably remember it differently,
the order, the weather, the sides,
the beginning of the last forgotten argument,
the breaking point where we rid ourselves of so much, but not pride,
when we pulled apart out ears looking, for pure defendable defense,
commendable expense as I bathe my burns in butter and mutter,
loves are lost, lost, lost, lost, gone.
But you probably remember it differently,
the angle, the register, the time,
the breaking of fractious peelers,
 fingers flaking at the peak of their climb

Monday, 13 February 2012

swept you low

swept you low,
sweat you owed,
all will flow,
and the bet you know,
is a seed, won't grow,
swept you low,
swept you low,
bottled and upright,
you're so damn uptight,
holding my eyes right,
staring at godlight,
burning alone now,
sullen and low brow,
sea levels sinking,
seat belts are clinking,
and you're out now and running,
too busy running,
as the wave caught your ankle,
threw off your mantle,
swept you low,
swept you low.

Sunday, 12 February 2012

same old haunts

let loose the lamp light,
hot pleading hold tight,
you heard that old night,
pour a picture, send a sweet sight,
bright pictures threw me,
I thought you knew me,
but you said it to me,
like you were talking through me,
can't hold your hand tight,
your only smoke light,
hot head but ghost like,
a memory in plain sight.

days bleed on

young blood cut from veins,
snaking through rock to new lives the same,
derided away chastised to the gray,
beg for the witness as souls rot away.
dry aspersions cast on hope,
clipped cynical tongues crumble the days,
to decimate the love lost on gambling and fray;
every old love every new hope every loose night,
that let spill our gold needles into endless wet hay.

were we not butting heads all that week, month, day,
were we not broken before we started to play,
born evil little shit heads ready to say,
the wrong thing to the meek mild grieving prey,
were we not just as sullen as hard as set clay,
 as the priests who force fed us:
 geese flocking, to scared to stray

Saturday, 11 February 2012

nearly nothing

beg you for a counterfeit,
a careful writ, let me split, 
leave you here with atom drips,
falling at your feet.

 sand castles moving to sea,
a clean sweep, and old is old and new,
the rock path to your house is fighting with the dew,
the moss path, the seldom said, the pang of guilt,
haunting every hilt, every corner of my sword,
as I cut through days that add to nothing,
bore holes into mud and watch the walls cave.

Friday, 10 February 2012


its good to be on an even keel again,
set right by rain and progress,
our backs bucked by the wind
 our fingers blind to the brail,
 but our mouths open and drinking
 and the water the crystal prevails,
dreams and drams of prospect
 stuck into tack boards
with quarter inch nails,
 as we roll pointlessly
up and down half pipes
 and blow smoke into the sky,
 we've breathed promises
 into loves ear,
 we've pointed at possibilities
 we know really we won't give a chance,
won't try,
as we wrap our heads
around new languages,
 foreign street signs,
 unknown distances and cry,
that life is arduous, ill fitting romance,
that life is easy when its dry,
that the promises we prayed
were tied to birds that couldn't fly.

Sunday, 5 February 2012

so uncouth running riddles right through the middle of dilapidated buildings,

so morose lying there glazed and unamused,

remember all that energy,

now there is nothing,

just light burning my eyes,

making me turn away,

so ruthless running shivers up my spine,

a hand up my thigh.
the fan belt was burnt out as my imagination,
my rain coat was all holes and my cupboards are all cans

by the time you'd filled my head with door wedges, 
tapped open my eyes, filled my ears with metaphors, 
stopped my heart dead, stuck me sinking to the ceiling,
lined my bones with led, by the time you had set my mold to drinking,
love was already bleeding red. 
can't you see shapes under our eyes,
black lines and angst and fitting seizing cries,
the tanlines that make you a cut out,
to pin up on my wall, the hash tag then a number,
the sweet release and all, crushing liberty,
I watch it writhe about a pin,
superfluous renditions between love and sin,
 tides turning in the breeze before returning to their fall.