8 June 2019

The Great Worm

I’ve been cutting about
with the sharpest metaphoricals
and audaciously deployed similes
dripping from my tongue
as cool as porcelain
and clear as glass
I’m untethered by traditional gravity
some think I’ve caught religion
but that’s the death of imagination
and the refuge of villains and fools
I shall not be seeking absolution
the great worm does not absolve
it renders men to meat
and then picks their bones clean
regardless of their beliefs
I’m already consigned to the power
that wields the bloody fangs
that tear the life from flesh
but until that final butchery
I’ll live as a free man
standing on my own two feet
and not a fucking slave
on my bended knees

25 May 2019

The Judas Goat

you make my bones ache
you was a barrel load
back in the bygone
but you’ve been running on vapours
for the last ten million miles
I’ve seen road kill
with more juice than you got
you’d better buck up sharpish
or I’ll pension you off
to the judas goat
he won’t read you
no bedtime stories
he renders meat
from stiffs like you

4 May 2019


I was never sectioned. I went in voluntarily. Still, getting in was easier than getting out again. I had to play a game of incremental improvement - softly, softly catchee monkey. I spent a month in that shithole, pretending to get well. I never felt so isolated in my life. The wards of that crumbling old hospital were named after Scottish islands. That seemed appropriate, because the people in there were islands too.

3 May 2019

Carpet Bombed

I was gang raped and lynched by mercenary hyenas, then left to decompose in my own slime. My rotting bones ached with the stench of old ghosts. My cup overflowed with the heartache that burns and I was drowning in another tsunami of shit. I was stretched beyond breaking - with no place to lay my head. This was my Golgotha, my funeral pyre. I stand now in its ashes - bewildered and deathly tired. I think my friend Ross said it best when he told me he’d been carpet bombed, but somehow had survived.

28 February 2019


did you hear the moonbeams sing?

it was a low, soft, shimmering song

the silver filaments of night

coated the earth in honeydew

and the moon sighed

as she revealed

the secret feast nocturnal

and you and I 

replete in our birthday suits

shivered in the cool air

cascading droplets

from our midnight swim

and the unspoken promises

of all the lovers

in all the world

never touched our lips

22 February 2019


the coroner

ruled it misadventure

an accidental overdose

of pills and booze

but I knew better

this was the final act

of his incremental suicide

he’d been reaching for oblivion

for most of his adult life

too much was never enough

to feed the tyrant

that reigned as sovereign

over some secret portion

of a heavy heart

but who could name that beast

or explain its design

for here was a lonely man

who was never alone

who was well loved

and loved well in return

Over Easy

Tea Bag and Leaky Dave

made lunatic enquiries

from the edge

of the frying pan

and you can get singed

at the edge

of the frying pan

but what do poor boys do

when their alternatives

have shrunk?

some said it was a compact

others said that

they were drunk

and everybody wondered

were they pushed

until they jumped?

20 February 2019


these here
are just crumbs
I keep the cookies stashed
back at the gallows tree

I sneaked a peek
in your pyjama case
I see that you’re a stayer
but I’m about to leave

my bus is late
that’s not news
I forked out for a ticket
that may not be of use

I’ve grown used to delays
this entire route
is littered with no returns
stranded in transit stops

I’ve seen all I’ve seen
an eternity on the omni
takes a moment to discover
but a lifetime to express

13 February 2019


those were the dog days
of starving klepto mongrels
home before the bell
who knows what lessons
were successfully evaded
in those truant hours

back in my laboratory
I had been dissecting
the entire enchilada
and I found it suspect
from its shabby suburbs
to its furtive interior

our buxom benefactor
was obtusely square
and everything she did
seemed strangely angular
but her association
with me was perhaps
most oblique of all

I was a mere curio
the prodigious man-child
a worldly innocent
in a cabinet of horrors
and I wondered
how many junk shops
she had trawled through
just to find me

6 February 2019


it was an ordinary pistol
highly sexualised
it only cost him twenty
they had asked for twenty five
he stuffed it in his pocket
with pharmaceutical intent
now he had the power
readily to hand

he showed the fucker to me
its number had been filed
it had a dodgy provenance
but that was no surprise
I told him he should ditch it
but he ignored my advice
it only cost a score
but it made him feel alive