Friday, 14 September 2012


How cruel of you to tell me,
years beyond the fact - Months -
beyond the turning point -
long since I held track -
shivers down my backbone -
and I'm craning to look back -
my brain is starved of oxygen -
starved of all the things I lack.

How cruel of you to whisper,
like its just another fact.

Staring daggers through your eyelids,
shooting pigeons flying back.

The love of sheltered wisdom -
the clairvoyant in the back -
the rooster in the hen house -
screaming wisdom into black -
the big mouth striking blindly -
leading the attack --

You are none of these exactors -
glancing daggers off my neck  -
you are just a poor rememberer -
you aren't granting me due slack -
you are a headlight flood lit sanctuary
from which there is no turning back -
the banks clear burst the estuary
and the sea starts swirling black -

Tuesday, 4 September 2012


two grains locked in cupboards,
perfect for ever,
a full collection of pollen on a leg,

shrugged off all of a sudden,
to be left sullen,
two ventricles without blood in,

two sucked in cheeks,
pinched red,
to create whole hearts, from fractions,

two grains locked in cupboards,
perfect for ever, 
two brains smashed together,

safely talking of the weather,
and breathing slower ever slower,
together always together,
perfect for ever,

a full collection, 
of pollen on a leg,
hanging on through sheer vertigo.