Allow Me
to see
the skull in your passion
the teeth in your desire
to caress
the bones of your delight
the sinews of your breath
to delve
the niches of longing
the cleft of floods
Uncategorized
A Handshake
is a timepiece.
A sigh is a fire extinguisher.
Held hands are wishes.
A kiss is a gushing tap.
A snog is a succulent slab of meat.
Sex is walking a tightrope.
Engagement is a car park half full.
Marriage is a pink balloon.
Divorce is stale bread.
Remarriage is a reversing car.
A Pen Is A
labyrinth that awaits your decision.
Paper is a cardigan that’s seen better days.
Floorboards are skintight jeans that bounce
when you wear them.
Towels are fish fingers hot and steamy.
Whispers are hollows in the earth
made by brocks under threat.
A So Last Year
on trend,
upgrade
style conscious,
fashion,
old school ,
obsolescence,
need not want
is invention
to makes me buy more.
There was once only one
suit, tie, shoes,
golden age that never existed.
I’m suggestible to better,
faster, cleaner, sexier,
leaner, easier.
Pure impulse. I kid myself
it’s all deliberated,
considered, thought through,
that I’m reasonable.
I need control,
but,.
can’t help myself.
They exploit this need too.
I buy it.
Trail On (7) Piss Ant
Splits the abdomen open,
uses a sharpened pair
of watchmaker’s forceps
carefully removes all the organs,
smears each organ across
a piece of glass. After each stroke
checks whether it has an effect
on a nearby ant colony. Smears
organ after organ: the poison gland,
hindgut, the fat body have no effect.
Finally finger shaped Dufour’s gland
excites their antennae, a fragrance
of piss they dutifully follow. The animal
experiment has worked. How scientist
and insect find their way.
The Celestial Hovel (2) She Irons With Dark Energy
(Hubby outside dices logs
she dusts, washes and irons
in a metallurgists scorched
earth leather apron
beneath ship’s oak trusses
a hazy orbit of stars and debris
dances round her busyness.
Above, nebulonic britches flap
pegged to golden string with split ends
between shiphull rib rafters
as she irons with dark energy
dimensional creases,
flattens 4d to 3,
2d to 1, grumbles
as what dimwit folded
the material, or thought
taffetta a sensible choice.
curses as a black hole appears,
bawls out sunblinded window “Oi!
Time you did the ironing again!”
as his adze end shatters the window
with a big bang that lasts millennia.
He Would Start His Novel
Even as they held hands and walked in unison down Hope street to their front door all Faith could see were the stains he could not remove on the tea cups his mother had bought in Ripon Cathedral on one of her days out with her friend who knitted hessian baskets for Help The Heroes, after her son died from lack of proper equipment.
…the doctor said it was not stomach cancer as she had insisted but the wrong medication she was on, and that she needed to eat properly…
He would start his novel: “Old people despised experts and believed what they wanted to believe.” Then the battery went on his phone and he wished he had learnt how to write with pen and paper.
His Own Man
()
Peeled off the tissue as if it was a religious relic, as she always insisted he leave no ragged edges on the toilet or kitchen paper and showed the world he was not lackadaisical and was his own man.
()
Transience Is Decay
a shopping list, each item separated
by a curvy line on the page,
or in the head,
rate of belief,
of recall.
Discarded or lost
architecture of flight
now flotsam, old lists.
Items no longer needed.
Evidence is what survives.
Faith is belief in lack of evidence.
Sometimes The Sky Has Verterbrae.
Sometimes it is a stippled beach
with the tide out or on the turn.
