29 February 2012

Flat Face


Every now and then

I fall flat on my face

The perfect pancake

Bloody nose

And broken spirit

But I like to live that way

No safety net

No precautions

I like the thrill

Of tumbling and falling

I love the lack of control

Perfect nudity brings

Like an auger of disaster

And romantic folly

I like my liquid change

With a good head on it

And a bitter taste

Like life in a butcher’s shop

No remorse

No tears

No sad reflections

In fractured mirrors

Just the perfect symmetry

Of absolute chaos


27 February 2012

Walking Shoes


The gunslingers claim their kills

In the name of experience

Psycho’s claim them in the name of love

That love gun is always loaded

Ready to point blank

Any and every one of us

Who wanders into sight

Me – I got mojo matic for my blues

A killer app for the weary and wary

I got John le Conqueror root for my shoes

I don’t step on snakes unless I have too

I got no space for small talk

Nonsense just clutters my brain

I avoid the bearers of old news

I’d cut my tongue out before I’d talk to you

It’s nothing personal

It’s you

There’s a bad vibe around here

And you are the prime suspect

So before you chalk me up

As your latest chump

Let me ask you

Are those your walking shoes?


26 February 2012


Cats and dogs swing by candle light
Their burned spoons and droppers
Strewn around the bitten carpet
Evidence that the war on drugs
Was misdirected and prohibition
Makes criminals of playful fools
Grip that lace in your teeth
Prepare for the blood's release
Skin it up in the ancient ceremony
Of shared smiles and wasted eyes
The chuckle brothers and sisters
Make mockery of legislation
Designed to cramp groovy times
And herd the rebellious spirit
Into corals of tedious libations
Of jungle juice and firewater
That burn the loosened tongue
With fighting talk and solemn lies
Accidents and emergencies
Clumsily gotten on battlefields
Of limited consciousness
And animal ferocity
Nine out of ten cats
Choose nature’s bounty
Of sacred roots
And forbidden foliage
The poppies tears
The magic resin
Universal panaceas
For whatever ails you
In the constrictions
Of your daily lives
The price of temporary freedom
In little dime bags

25 February 2012


I like the opiated flavours
Of complete abandon
In the soft of night
Hold me close baby
I want inside your skin
I want to beat in unison
To bang your drum
To blow your horn
I like the thoughts we share
Through our limbs
Let’s get together like mayflies
Joined at the hips
Locked in deaths embrace
I like the link that binds
Your soul to mine
And the heat
That brings our bodies together
Trace my lines with smiling fingers
Caress my surfaces with questioning lips
The tautness of my flesh answers
Yes! Yes! Yes!

22 February 2012



Some kinds of love

Smell like hate

Some kinds of devotion

Feel like possession

There are truths

Made of lies

Like the stories

Told by jealous souls

Of bitter adoration

And unwanted assignations

Where romantic weapons

Are used with cooler calculation

Yes, some kinds of love are poison

Some lovers are gentle assassins

Devoid of natural passions


East Of Eden


I’m back in the dog house

My mouth is full of wasps

These words are poison

My gestures are lost

In wild and defiant excess

Send me into exile

Like Adam’s boy Cain

Twenty five years of barbed wire

Hangs around my neck

Had my dry shave

From my cut throat razor

Had my long stretch

On my hangman’s noose

There’s gonna be a party

Far East of Eden

All the sinners and heathens

Gonna kick up some dust

There’ll be blood spilled that night

New sins will be invented

In the hours before dawn

Cast me outlaw

Knock me over

Gun me down

Make me a martyr

With a beggar’s crown


Illustration by William Blake “Cain & Abel”


21 February 2012



There’s a tear in the sky

Where the rain gets in

Acid soaks our treetops

Sulphurous and acrid

It seeps into our waking dream

Bleaches our imagination

And burns into our horizons

The poppies tears

Are heart pleasing

They render us numb

Stoned at root and branch

To the burning fingers of death

The squeaky fan belt

The bleeding ferris wheel

The rattle of a stick in a bucket of swill

Latent memories that leak carbon monoxide

Into sealed vehicles –

Old hoses and recreational suicide

Bifidus compounds and bottle tops

Used condoms and sanitary towels

Exhibits in our gallery of nonchalance

Artifacts in our museum of chaos

Who eats, drinks and breathes this shit?

Who produces the mountains of trash

That threaten to engulf us?

Are our inorganic existences

Our cellophane wrapped lives

No more than effluent

Gushing from a fractured pipe?


9 February 2012

The Music In You

I hear the music in you
I see the truth within
I know the secrets hidden
Beneath your marble skin
I know your every fraction
I know just where you’ve been
The colour of your dreams
And your every single sin
I know the fears you conquered
Where they end and you begin
I know you like a lover
I know your everything

4 February 2012

Entertaining Angels

Fervex vixens bite bigger boys
Drawing blood in the afternoon
It’s playtime for playthings
In the naked arena of boredom
Cast offs and casualties
Graze like bovine cannibals
There is an exclusive club for punk bitches
Who never hold back
Because there's never enough
And a gourd full of anything
Is better than a handful of nothing
Fill your fists – this is unarmed combat
For the lonesome and amorous
The last of the Casanovas
Coughs and rolls over
His syphilitic root
Burns in his conscious erection
His truck stop girls
Never satisfy his ravenous infection
It’s the game of life
Dog fuck dog
Bitter candy
Dished out by strangers
The casualties of love
Dance alone

2 February 2012

Black Butterflies


are your bowls colanders?

do you have holes?

do you leak like a haemophiliac?

the zombie Jesus

will resurrect you

and cleanse the monkey in your soul


there are

freak shows in the cities

and outdoor asylums

where black butterflies

blot out the midday sun


lucky thirteen juice

bingo liniment

mixed with mojo oil

to renew your skin


lucky cat Incense

high john roots

burned by insane bokors

who never go further

than too far

in vegas

you can have happy endings

but they cost a little extra


1 February 2012

My Life

My life has been a confusion of colours from brightest crimson to deepest blue. My long and ragged road meandered through collisions and confusions from bliss to despair and back again along broken tracks and stunted cul de sacs. I was a traveler in the fourth dimension, a waster of so much time. My memories are runaway trains that echo down my tracks, their songs haunt my waking hours and trouble my dreams.
I was a crooked man who walked a crooked mile – who laid his plans in sand and filled his boots with clay. Who’d build things up to fall apart, then go back to the start and do it again. I was the artless dodger; relentless in my pursuit of the shortest route, but the easy score demands an unreasonable price. I paid with the sweat of my brow, with my blood, and with my tears for the limitations of my aspirations. My horizons were obscured by smoke; my Fridays were fuelled with the illusion of hope, my Mondays were filled with disillusionment and left me strung out on the wire – I always did all my own stunts. So raise a glass to those moments bereft of all meaning – the endless procession of waking hours that constitute a life devoid of inspiration.
My glass houses made easy targets for stoners and judges and I was smashed more often than not. But life is a great teacher I used to think my freedom was mine to take – now I know my freedom is mine to give. The shifting tides, the oceans wake, cast ripples through the lives of many who touch concentrically; wheels inside wheels orbiting coincidently around hidden stars. Each has left, for good or ill, an imprint on my heart. Of all these rogue satellites one star that burns brighter than all the rest beckons me home to her loving arms and peace at last.