Wednesday, 25 December 2013



merry muddy feeling lock
in silent smile the earnest
love wine gently thrown
over perfect pudding drowning
light the fir and drip the gold
on silver ball caress the light
and tumult linger through
fire light and burning of
love wine gently thrown
down throats warm with
laughing singing raging sexing
christmas hard-on feels so wrong
a morning filled with innocence
sullied by the human form
and family and family and friend
love wine gently thrown
into gaping mouths where sorrow
forgot for once or tried at least
and joyous cavortion locks in silent
smile the earnest
love wine gently thrown
over all the dripping winter sunlit garden of the everlasting perfect morning mist

Sunday, 22 December 2013

the beauty of the hand that beats upon my chest

the beauty of the hand that beats upon my chest reflects that coward the sun hides cold beams from faces in spite of longing for home and all the while lies lisping through the air on thin electric bands and this oh finest day and rocket powered engine thrusting between legs and over tarmac beside hills and voluptuous breasts the still earth beating slow beneath the feet beneath the heavens and ever so slightly gasping under the weight of love and understanding the deepest movements of the feet the penis the slowing of the heartbeat the quickening of the wrist and grasping at trunks and pulling waistbands and this all this is mush in the head the head of the corrupted danger terrified to run and held in place by abject horror at all the beauty and the woe and violent spasmic watching all over ran with oil and semen and there before the mirror spies the eyes of the coward and lonely puppet of the desires of the cock and lisping slowly through the semen and the butter the long lost love there again the old feelings churning in the stomach the old love the old feeling there churning like the maid with the butter hand deep in the curd and skirt lifting all below to show there is violent curtain separate and wet and all is deep and free and loving and kiss caress and hold on for dear life because you might slip you might fall and in the falling there the loathing hiding from the darkness of the dearest beating heart and holding hands in dimmest light and clutching on to earnest feeling there oh there the lion tames the heart of youth and beating pulsing balls and terminal cock to rest on throbbing fingers in purest blissful love and sky larks sing the morning in and vanish lost to all the sky and dive and threat and lip and curd and waive and maid and churn the butter of the flesh in all but name the beauty of the hand that beats upon my chest.  

Tuesday, 15 October 2013

Letter To A New Lover

Baby I'm as bleak as I am lonely,
Baby I'm as weak as I am holy,
and I don't know
where I'm going to.

Baby I'm a priest and I'm scholar,
Baby I show religion on my collar,
I gotta know
where I'm coming from.

Baby I'll show you youthful indiscretion,
Baby I'll pay you a hundred dollars a session,
if you will go
where I'm going, too.

Baby I'm afraid that I'm not worthy,
Baby I'm ashamed and I feel so dirty,
I wish I could know
What I'm running from.

Baby I'm a stranger at the station,
Baby I can't stay in one location,
and you should know,
I'm just blowing through.

Baby I'm a liar and a prophet,
Baby I got the dead sea scrolls in my pocket,
you gotta know
where I'm coming from.

Baby I will give you all that I can,
Baby don't expect much but I'm your man,
I wanna go
where you're going to.

Baby I'm an angel in disguise,
Baby I'm the sunlight burning your eyes,
how can you know
where I'm coming from?

Baby I'm as bleak as I am lonely,
Baby I'm as weak as I am holy,
I still don't know
where I'm going to.

Wednesday, 17 July 2013

The Purity of Defeat

Princess steps up to the platform
Bells are ringing round the station.
Diamond dolls, and protest songs,
violent afternoon of ageing
rock star longing, old recording
smiling through the screen.

This won't be the last of her
the dying voices call a rainbow
dashing all the colours over
concrete lips and yellow fever.
Falling first the sun retreating,
ever to release.

Artful pirouette the speechless
crowd collapses holding children
closing all the eyes that can't believe
there's any room for one last dance
into oblivion's embrace; the final
virtue is defeat.

Eyes are windowless expression
Burning desolation filled with
furniture, and lamplight music
Landing squarely in the gutter.
Octopus contracting with her
wrist upon the track.

Wednesday, 22 May 2013

The Race

Yes, I've read this morning's paper,
but no, it doesn't bring me comfort;
the whole world wants me moving
to a beat I can't keep up with.

Now the steps I follow daily,
well they move so very swiftly.
The quickening of paces
leaves me breathless, weak and dumb.

So I channel hop each evening,
and I let my eyes go roaming,
over pages, my fingers run
and my mind paces in circles;

But my body seldom reaches
all the targets that I set it;
The race has long been forfeit,
and and I'm resigned to defeat.

Now the bodies rushing past me
look so stern in their conviction;
they're heading onward, further
better places there await.

So I'll let my vessels thicken,
let the blood trickle in slower,
and languish here, for now, among
the sheets I can't fall out of.

I've not read tomorrow's paper,
though I doubt it'd bring much comfort,
I can hear the bugle calling 
me to step into the streets.

But for now I have my comforts,
my angels and my demons;
My tired eyes are closing 
and  the sunlight is quite warm.

Friday, 10 May 2013

the Hiker

Off the road the path turns brown
and all the leaves have been blown
from the trees, the whistling of birds
in the murky evening bloom

Stepping through the wooden archway,
footsteps muffled by fine petal powder
the royal blue curtain hangs low
over dark majestic hillside, and flowers

The wind blows through the woollen overcoat
your mother bought last Christmas
the cold slides up your chest, cautious
like a lover's hand in burning darkness

Those tentative steps on iron cold rock
lingering looks into the valley below
tepid hand wrapped tight in the other
the movement slow and taught and crisp

Up the side in bluest dark under bright
fluorescent sky and dusty stars still milk
and honey pouring over your bare face
lilting songbirds rasp and chew the ear

All wind and sky now poised to fall
on your face like the ice cold shower
you had last night as your pictured
your lover beside you in your struggle.

The blessed mound you stride to conquer
Climbing slowly like a fingertip reaching
for the most sensual and powerful
of all God's mountaintops.

At last the black subsides and all is stars
crouching behind the musty clouds they cry
out in proud applause at your triumph
burning beauty is all in the tears in your eyes

The blackest valley teems with earthy pleasure
and noise and scents corrupt the air
with utterly human stenches
and the sky curls up, and dreams of moonlight.

Tuesday, 16 April 2013


a burning cold haze out there
through the trees fiery black clouds
and summer's promise flickering out

funeral faces for the ugliest dances
hope in the dark unworthy places
between the thighs, behind the teeth
the earthen mouthed lovers cry out

a vicious incestuous love
with one's hand down one's trousers
touching but only just, and wishing it were gone
somewhere locked in some vile dungeon

the ceiling mounting and thrusting
in the cool chill of the evening the birds
chatter and gossip about your terrible body
fingering and pointing at the out of place hairs

bloody fingers claw at the sheets and rest
lying alone and wanting the beast to
feed your virgin desires in the least sensible prophecy
that the heart ever dreamed

lusting after cold nights and blue balled mornings
burning all the clothes you can't bear to smell
the ghosts all gone now but spirits remain in glasses
strewn about and sideways spilling their stink

wanting only to be forgotten under a black sheet
and carted out under dark medieval skies and breaking television's
evil spell

lost and untroubled by vanity