23 December 2013



Coming down heavy

From a four day high

Physically exhausted

But mentally wired

I wait for the pills to bite

For black venom to envelope me

And the touch of night

To wrap around my heart

I’ll embrace the spreading haze

Like a long lost friend

Succumb to the kiss of death

As if she were my lover


22 December 2013

Speed Bomb


awkward high <> like a speed bomb that went down the wrong way <> all new oblique angles <> strange dimensions and hollows <> each crevice a new expression in feeling <> strange there should be new situations to chart <> this late in the game <> a familiar sickly taste <> with a different flavour <> impossible to quantify <> pleasure and pain <> this knife cuts both ways <> unease has become an art form <> the pool is still <> but under lurks <> a drowning <> a car crash <> a train wreck <> a fucking catastrophe <> if it’s true <> it’s not true <> but what if it is true? <> get a grip <> your morbid imagination will be the death of you <> that which you fear <> you draw to you <> you have to reach for the man within <> or be the man without <> keep a sceptical eye on the bad news <> favour the good thing <> catch that positive curve <> slide in under the barriers <> when the bogey man looks away


18 December 2013



He once failed a micro flocculation test. It came back positive for syphilis. He said it was the last time he ever paid for sex – the whores on Cockburn Street were riddled with the pox. I was feeling decidedly antsy – crank bugs from the blue flake – Peruvian magic dust, the finest money could buy, ninety percent pure, or so he said.

A creeping numbness spread through my limbs, my heart beat like a hammer and my mouth was dry as dust. He fuzzed in and out of focus for a moment and I listened as he traced the contours of depravity like a veteran whore master. “We are all whores,” he pronounced, “Everyone has their price. The only question is how much?”

We snorted some more charlie and he scratched his crotch with obscenely dirty fingernails. He said he’d just as soon fuck a hairy arsed boy as a beautiful woman and he eyed me salaciously. He seemed brutal and repugnant to my young eyes. He spoke with all the eloquence of a rabid baboon; “In this business you have to be like a shark. You have to be cold and ruthless. I understand these people ‘cause I’m a shark too.” It was then I realised for the first time that I was a dolphin.




poor boy has a gimmick
he contacts the deceased
with glass beads
and cardboard figurines
his memory resurrects
the dear departed
through necromancy
and bad poetry
he disarms them
with his european smile
and easy charm
but his smooth patois
conceals a deep distrust
of the living
and morbid fascination
with the dead

17 December 2013



Treatment is symptomatic

There is no cure

No wonder drug

No universal panacea

Just elemental narcotics

To ease the pain

Of twisted nerves

In a deviant body

A sickened soul

In a broken man

Who dragged this beast

From the depths of Hades?

Who conjured up this

Slouching abomination?

His furled brow

And unnatural posture

Speak of untold burdens

In a hungry heart

Feed him, free him

Turn him loose

Put a bullet in his brain pan

And bid him farewell




I’m strung out and in the dark

Those goofballs I swallowed

Won’t tie me down

No rest for the stupid

That’s what they say

There’s no dignity left me

No stone to hide under

I chart the contours of a deep unease

That languishes in my gut

And finger the suppurating fissures

Carved into my heart

It’s a lonely occupation

Borne of necessity

The pain will pass – it always does

That in itself seems sad to me

Looking back now I realise

That love was not the answer


15 December 2013




Poor Boy looked into the sky and said:

“Oh God, please get me outta here...”

But God did not hear him

The distance


        Heaven and Earth

Being what it is

He was all awkward angles

And nauseous instance

A blunted blade

Drawn through rancid entrails

Expanding ever outward

Into unanswerable questions

Driven into the corner allocated

Silenced at birth by unseen hands

It was more than just the money

(or lack of it)

There was a poverty of spirit

And a quiet sense of shame

That couldn’t be erased

He was a sounding brass

A hollowed out man

One of billions of souls

Stuffed down the crapper

The justice in that

For the moment escaped him


14 December 2013




Gasp clearance of the reflux

That’s a choking sign

Many are the good men

Who drowned in their own vomit

Cancellations will occur

Due to unforeseen circumstances

The final slumber, the open gate

There’s an easy route

To accidental escape

Don’t swim too far

There’s a shallow shelf

Then it gets real deep

The undertow will drag you down

Beware the undertow –

Drag you down


13 December 2013




I own my shadow

(Thank you Dr Jung)

It’s there

  It’s in there

    It’s always been in there

Some nameless arseholes

Have suggested that I’m morbid

In my preoccupations

But I don’t need the remedy

Just the culture

I exercise my demons

With brisk forays into verse

Life will kill you

It’ll make or break you

I was forged in adversity

That’s true of everyone

That I’ve ever known

Each had burdens to bear

And every burden borne

Had a story of its own


12 December 2013



Lend me your implosion

Spin me some indica

Light me a sensitizer

Pass it on quick

I’m not long for this dimension

Give me metabolic connections

To the man within

Direct me through the proper channels

To the district coordinator

For the living dead/undead

The lean mean concrete machine

Is grinding me down

Dehumanised and processed

Into human pate

I got the F-E-A-R



11 December 2013



the smell of stale perfume -the acrid taste of cum mingled with sweat - the compensations of the flesh - all that folding and enfolding – pressing and heaving - the menstrual stains on tangled sheets - we went eyeball to eyeball – but eyes sometimes lie - just as tongues can deceive - I grant them all a sleepy benediction - we are all free of sin - just for the night -

I planned my stratagem - I’m seldom wrong - an act of love - without the context - no strings attached to my marionettes - the viper in the bosom - that would come later - no repeat viewings of my dirty treasure - I know where you been - I’ve been there too - too often to mention – but you’ll want to know

I’ll tell you some tales - for your delectation – depravity lurks in the purest of hearts – libido is damned – by too eager beavers - you ought to unwind - just let it flow - the tentative half impression I weave from the bed clothes - promises gaudy revelations that flee from the light

the road to Damascus is crowded with blind men - I seek no salvation - just a temporary reprieve - I’ll crack on then – before the daybreak - arrives like a policeman knocking your door


3 December 2013



Chaos bless them – prisoners of the winter skies – whose ghosts await the settling of the sun to frolic macabre through lonely nights. The night sings songs of damage and pain. Silence seeps from the cracks of less well ordered lives to soak the heart and stain the soul. There are those who would not trade their sadness for joy, but would hold it dear for it denotes the passing of something precious. There are some who would hold the empty night close to their hearts as the only remnants of loves lost or dreams that died. There are those who would hold back the dawn preferring the company of ghosts.