utter

i
 hope
 my
brain was better
 fodder
 for your heart to collapse around
like a cannon blooming

i
 hope
 my
eye was a signaller
      revving up singular
             sightless propulsion to push you through water
                                         and up through the surface
i hope you resurface
  again
    and again

i
    hope
 my power
 gave your wings powder
 to flutter majestic
to shimmer
 to utter
       collecting in air,
all around and up under
 enough to mutter,
 to glimmer, projecting
the health of the letter,
 the warm eyes and better

baby

fighting the helpful feeding, 

as you batter against the window, 

I can't hear a thing you're saying,

I cannot feel the weight of your hand,

you are a cut away before a big reveal,

you are a throw back to a complete circle,

so uncomplicated, lapping at your own shore,

rings of incandescence, like an endless sleep, 

I can't hear a thing you're saying,

I cannot feel my feet sink in sand,

and, as though I'm being cradled lower and lower,

and, or, as if you could be an anchoring influence,

you are the keeper, holding me by the ankle,

you are dipping me into the river,

which returns to its own source, 

lapping at its own shores, 

welling up a little,

 trickling from its open mouth,

stuck up in a high chair,

fighting the helpful feeding. 

best laid

I had it all lined up like dominoes,
rows upon rows, all ready to go,
spring boards for propulsion,
fingertip destruction,
 I felt like Hillary Clinton.

I was to move from one point to the next
to the next to the next to the next

I fell asleep with a map of plans,
playing out perfect,
clicking onto each other,
knocking their next best down,
I woke up with a mouth full of vomit,
that is how it goes.

Poetry Reading

Come see me read?

http://www.conjunctionzine.co.uk/

the low ball technique

We built neat crisp shelters,

      From the foundations up, 

            thick concrete poured down,

                  and we watched it spread,

                      setting ants in led,

                    we had tied the dream between our heads,

                tied up in the promises said, 

  blinding dreams ran us deeper,

                tied up in ribbon red,

                    happy with safe ignorance, 

                    we bled and bled and bled.

spit a whisper

you have such brittle teeth,

careful when you chatter,

for as they start to scrape, 

they scatter,

chalk yellow anti matter,

mixed to paste with spit

you'll be left with blood and grit,

swallowing the shit,

a convulsive choking fit,

drowning in the shit,

that was it that was it.

sorrow sought a hanging basket and a sweetheart with a lisp

out into the peeling wind that licks away the skin,
Out into the fright white night I heard the summers wind,
cooling in of the embers of my burning broken skin,
out into cacophony that special kind of din,
after rain that comes like flash floods to wash away a single sin,
I can hear the wolves that move on pads in the howling whispered wind,
and the silent bark that moves not, stirs not, in the rustling of the wind,
I can see the fright white faces of the absent settled djinn,
a haunting from the hollow gods that have long ceased to begin,
the worry were of man and dog and logic never settled in,
it is absent in the near black of the yellow streets din,
religion in the overflow of gutters buckled in,
then the salvation that the locks click and the hall light carried in.

home to whisper welcomes,
in spaces where sound echoes back,
calmed by the low ceilings,
a sanctuary from the black.