10 December 2014



Of course I stoke the pot from time to time – only to make things stretch a little further. Times is tough and out on the perimeter it’s often hand to mouth, but only a fool would starve if there is gravy to be had.

Oh Mother, shell a little corn our way and forgive our misdemeanours – taking countless previous offences into consideration. Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from the fat cats who would drive us into penury. No one works to be poor and we abide in the hope that there ain’t no paupers in the kingdom to come...

9 December 2014



Damn the stupid – for they are greedy fuckers lacking grace or art. There are holes in my mind where I tried to burn them out with poisoned liquor. One day it all got out of hand; I set the whole place on fire. I lit the inferno but others supplied the fuel. I saw them later, sifting through the ashes for trophies. Their laughter crackled in the air as they picked over my memories with hands as black as murder. The fireman told me that alcohol and drugs were common contributing factors in most fires. I am incendiary it seems – high as a kite – ready to light up and burn down the sky.


5 December 2014



the story for the most part

is lodged in my throat

I could choke on my words

if I could just let them go

some people make me sick

because they’re unkind

those green fingered monkeys

who plant worms in my mind

they tie knots in my guts

and bring tears to my eyes

they dissect my entrails

with their blunted knives

to divine terrible truths

and more terrible lies


2 December 2014


I tried to polish the connection again, but there was grit in my unction and it got into the mechanism. Now it won’t run with the smooth action that I was used to. Still, I rubbed and rubbed until I’d scoured its surfaces with tiny little scratches and its once smooth finish was dull and coarse to the touch. 

I don’t know what I was thinking. That was no way to treat something so precious. Perhaps I was trying to pare it back – to reach beneath the skin to a previous state of being. Whatever the reason the device is now scarred forever and it grinds where once it glided. It still works, I’m sure of that, but it will never be the thing of beauty that it once was. With a little effort I believe can still make the connection work – if I can ever forgive my little act of sabotage.

22 November 2014

Wasted Time


the spastic membrane

in my gelatinous mind

plays havoc with

my recollections

and I have turned

from fire to ice

I’ve embraced the cold

and the numerous devices

of frosty indifference

they came readily to hand

that thin line crossed

I barricade my borders

with bitter recrimination

and self serving lies

the heart is fickle

and memory selective

there is a history here

I care not to remember

I banished such reflection

from heart and mind

and labelled the past

wasted time


28 October 2014



the sky is dark and heavy

dismal as an infant’s funeral

tones of grey and black

divide the days

and we are hostage

to perpetual winter

the sun is dying

heaven is weeping

darkness reigns

in the hinterland


2 October 2014


or hardly ever
not now and then
but now, forever
they are out to get me
I know they are
their whispered fragments coalesce
to form steel traps
for my clumsy feet
tectonic plates shift
beneath the gut
beyond the entrails
into the deep
the heart of things
the end of light

my fingers are stained
with nicotine and blood
I’m high now – too high for comfort
each horrifying impulse
passes through my colon
with a nauseous thrashing motion
tearing like baby sharks
devouring their birthing sacks
I cannibalised my ego
to construct a prison
with no walls
and no means of escape
this crimson shelter
affords no respite
from the luxury
of self reflection
or the aching desire
for sleep

27 September 2014



crematoria tears fell freely on the Monday

lapsed into silence on the Tuesday morn

we were all here, but you were gone

I heard you breathing shallow now

but far away someone wept

that someone was me

we fear the loss of heaven

and the pain of hell

for we have heard the mother of voices

she calls us by name

and counts the number of our days


26 July 2014



It no longer hurts. I plucked out the offending instrument with bloody fingers and drew me a new one of purple with eight crimson limbs – each possessing a caring hand for a fevered brow – each tentacle a golden pathway to enlightenment – according to my sponsors who have been mysteriously absent of late.

I believe there is no saving anyone, even ourselves – especially ourselves. We are each bound to a fatal trajectory; we all reach the same destination over time. We come from nothing and it’s to nothing we return. We spend our days with the masses chewing the cud and shitting it out; we are all members of the one great herd - all bound for the abattoir.

But enough of this bovine philosophy – I have a boat to catch and my memoirs to forge. This shit does not cook itself. It takes days of careful preparation and intense deliberation to float these little dinghies. There’s a cheap and cheerful cliché – a clumsy metaphor requiring little imagination; little boats adrift on the glittering ocean; the flotsam and jetsam of tiny shipwrecks; no survivors to tell the tale.

I plucked out the offending instrument with bloody fingers and set sail for new lands where they’d never heard of me – or my sorry tale. I ate my ragged sails and burned my little boat on the volcanic shores of some forgotten land where they remembered nothing, but they remembered me. It was raining, I recall, they laid on a hero’s welcome – complete with friendly lynch mob and an accommodating tree...


24 July 2014


Funny disguise mask. Vector.
I can’t write. I have no talent, no finesse, no nuanced phrasing or beautiful prose. I recognise my key attributes now. I’m the devil’s bagman. I’ll poison your chakras and I’ll piss in your well. Just so long as I’m felt – just so you know that I’m there.

This woman – random bitch – in the hospital called me an imposter, because I smiled when offered a cigarette. I smiled and said ‘thank you’ – a crazy move in the locked ward. No one smiles in a locked ward, unless they are staff. For them it’s a job, for the patients it’s a grim vocation.

I have me a new vocation – king of the night, burner of the midnight oil. I’ll sit and drum on this machine until I’ve squeezed the venom from my brain pan into some form of magic - something that leaps from the page and makes for the jugular. I don’t care who likes it – I’m not handing out sweeties – I’m signing death warrants.

Here is the new credo – love is for suckers – hopeless sentiment for rascals and liars. I’ll be fooled no more by pretty words and winning smiles. I’m the singular and heartless beast that lurks beneath the breast of every man and woman who was ever burned. I’m an imposter; feigning interest in truth and beauty when all I care about is getting my rocks off and cataloguing my experience for the prurient thrill I derive from playing the game with style.

6 July 2014




in the laboratory

of my mind

I concoct solutions

to ubiquitous problems

the silken intrusion

and delicate rub

of afflictive memories

the cocks and cunts

of youthful infatuation

the fascination

of the flesh

meshed into pornographic


forced into grotesque

and novel shapes

made to adopt

censored smiles

and null identity

but these subtle devices

imperfect in design

only breed new monsters

bittersweet and unkind


18 June 2014



there is no dumb

eternal essence

no spiritual spark

that electrifies

the synaptic gap

we speak ourselves

into being

and our language

articulates ideology

we are the vassals

of whatever ideology

we call common sense

they have prohibitions

that control your body

and procedures

to improve

your ideology


17 June 2014

Dead Men


I write like a dead man

with knotted fingers

and a feeble grasp

I cast no reflection

into the pool of life

here on the outside

the far outside

there are no windows


no welcome in the hearth

and there are no songs

for dead men

to wrap their tongues around


15 June 2014



“no-one fucks like that”

she said

“unless they mean it”

I had given it full expression

and I had meant it

in the heat of the moment

with the fire in my loins


hers was not my circus


those were not my monkeys


“what’s wrong?”

“don’t you fancy me?”

her eyes searched mine

I averted – shame faced

silence was evidence

of my betrayal

I did not know what to say

the feeling just wasn’t there

well, that was my story

and I stuck to it


that was the story I told

and told over again

until I forgot it was a lie

it was a story of innocence

it was far from the truth

I have two glass eyes

and a silver tongue

I can lie with the best

and often do

but most of the time

I only deceive myself

with my harmless

acts of treason


23 May 2014



for my head

Shug said

he gave me a wrap

for the pain

all fingers and foil

trembling slightly

I inhaled

the acrid smoke

burning lettuce

slipped easy

into grateful lungs

I was waiting

waiting on a wave

a cool dark one

to sweep me up

and lay me to rest

I smoked myself sick

but even that felt good

in fact everything

felt good

too good

and I saw that

a man could lose himself

chasing dragons


Only Dreaming

years later
long after
you died
I dreamed
of you
in the dream
you were sixteen
and altogether
death had yet
to touch
your brow
your life force
shone out
and proud
and I woke up
if I was only dreaming
or was it really you

19 May 2014

White Lightning


Those hard junk faces

Wrinkled dead like burst balloons

Scary in their pit bull nightmares

Full of toothless bite and spit

Weeping from excess of white lightning

Zap ‘em straight to the fucking brain pan

Rattle their medulla oblongata

The alky villains who stole my clothes

Looked just like you do

Lonesome, confused

And in search of a mother


15 May 2014

No Angels

White Angel Wings

there are no angels

there are no demons

there are only survivors

the world stones its saints

as it buries the innocent

and in the end no-one

remembers their names


4 May 2014


Sango Bay
Take a picture of this
We were holding hands
We had heavy heads
And happy hearts
We were stoned
In the regular variety
We rushed to the shore
The sea lapped at our feet
The wind tugged at our hair
We were immortal then
We were cleansed
Spotless as in infancy
The world had yet to find us
To bind us to convention
And condemn us - all three
For the  love we shared

27 April 2014



she said the right things

she wore the right clothes

took the right drugs

read the right books

and listened to the right music

but she wasn’t right for me

there was something about her

that made me feel uneasy

she was too eager to please

her every action was

designed to gratify my needs

you’d think I’d enjoy that

but you’d be wrong

I felt caged by her love

I had all the power

and it proved a burden


we had a friendship

that caught fire

it was a matter of time

before we got burned

the love we shared

had a gravity of its own

it began to drag us down

it had to end somewhere

and it ended badly

one rainy night

it simply dissolved

she said she hated me

I didn’t doubt that

she wore her love

like and open wound

it was bound to leave a scar


20 April 2014



there were days

when we lived

as if we’d never


days we were


among the race

because our love

was the first love

to ever reach

those heights

we were sixteen

and did not know

that time was a thief

who’d steal our love

and leave us naught

but our memories


16 April 2014



It was a glorious summer’s day and I was pleasantly stoned. Two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints knocked on my door. I must have been pretty high because instead of palming them off with the usual spiel about my being an atheist I let them in. It was a hot day so I served them some cold lemonade.

We discussed the bible and Jesus Christ. They told me about Joseph Smith and Brigham Young and they gave me a Book of Mormon, so I thanked them. We even prayed together – though I did so with a certain amount of mirth. I talked and talked about Christ, Buddha and Krishna – mostly I just talked until they could not wait to leave. They informed me that they must be making tracks. I looked doubtful and said:

“Are you sure?”

“Yes” they replied

“That acid I gave you ought to be kicking in about now.” I informed them.

The blood drained from their faces as they reeled from the shock. They unravelled from smug satisfaction into deep consternation before my eyes. I laughed and shook my head.

“I’m only kidding. I wouldn’t do that to you guys.”

They seemed unconvinced and left rapidly - still in a state of shock. To this day No Mormon missionaries have knocked on my door since. I see them coming down the street going door to door, but they skip past mine. I think I’m on that database of theirs as doomed – an instrument of Satan.

12 April 2014

Little White Lies


once I had two lovers

I know what you’re thinking

you’re either thinking lucky dog

or filthy rat

I think the latter is more accurate

I was definitely some form of rodent

nervous and fearful of discovery

scurrying through the dark

from house to house

and back again


both girls new about the other

but it was still an emotional minefield

so I used to lie to them

little white lies to smooth the way

little white lies to spare their feelings

I’d make up stories about my day

never mentioning one to the other

I’d tell stories about where I’d been

and what I’d done there


I had deceit down to a fine art

it got easier to lie as time went by

until it was second nature to me

that’s the thing about lies

they breed like rabbits

one lie begat another

until I was swimming in an ocean

of those little white lies


when I took all those lies

those little white lies

and put them all together

they made up one big black lie

my whole life had become a lie

it was hard to keep up with them

and they were discovered

one by one

in the end I lost both girls

because I was such a liar

and liars seldom prosper


28 March 2014


Bobby and Susan were best buddies
It was purely platonic, so they said
In fact they were so close
That when I asked Susan home
Bobby came as well
I could tell he was crazy for her
His eyes never left her
As we sat drinking coffee
In my living room

I thought I had struck out
Things being the way they were
With Bobby there and all that
I stood up and stretched
Said it was time for my bed
Susan stood up and took my hand
As we both left the room
I clocked Bobby’s dial
There was a look on his face
I’ll never forget

14 March 2014

Rose Of Jericho


I pushed her buttons

And she opened up like a flower

What’s that the image of?

An unfolding fleshy flower

The sacred rose of Jericho

Tattooed to my ribs

The five wounds of Christ

The seven veils of wisdom

The smiling secret cyphers

Signalled between a lover’s lips

Behind closed doors

Between the sheets

Beneath the heaving flesh

Sliding – rolling on the mattress

Pressed against her bosom

Jammed between her thighs

Inside her velvet prison

My walls come tumbling down

But just in the moment



13 March 2014



Take him and lay him out on the tall trestles

Put him in the shop window

For passing trade to see

Maybe some use can yet be made of him

I won’t dirty my hands with the details

Some words cannot be retracted

I’ll just say that he was here and now is gone

On twenty one occasions I asked for his forgiveness

He just shrugged his shoulders and slouched away

“No”, was all he said

Come on girl – no use moping after him

His journey is over now

But ours is just begun.


1 March 2014



When did we learn how to hate?

Was it incremental

Like the constant drip, drip, drip

Of a leaking faucet

Delivering the droplets of hurt and humiliation

That gradually painted our hearts black?

Was it as sudden as the illumination of betrayal

The spike of ice cold acid in the veins

The shock of the inevitable,

The realisation of all our fears?

Or was it always there

Carried within

Before it ever had a name?


24 February 2014

The Man Who Lost His Soul



The engine was an old engine – it whined and coughed, but to him it was singing. It was the song the crows all sing, a song of life and death and chaos. He resonated in sympathy to each discordant note of the music that only he could hear. His gum had long since lost its flavour and his mouth was dry and reptilian.

“Roll the window down a bit and let me breathe.”

There were many miles to go before morning splayed her thin grey fingers over the land. He rolled another spliff, just a small one - all he asked for was a little dab of fire to light his way. The road was long without even a whisper of which way was home – perhaps there was no way home – just the road and the memories.

He went to see a man about a monkey and left her standing in the rain while he sipped warm tea with his doctor. He couldn’t care less. He was that kind of arsehole. The kind that bleeds for sympathy when he’s dark from psychosis and suicidal ideation, but blows smoke up your arse when he’s high. He could be quite charming when he was high.

“I heard you got married.”

“Aye, I got married.”

“What was she thinking?”

“I have no idea.”

It would never last – it never did. He gave it two years before she worked it out – they all worked it out eventually. It was the secret that would not be concealed – the man had no soul. He did not sell it, or trade it for eternal youth, riches, fame, or power. He didn’t gamble it away in some diabolical game of chance. He didn’t even throw it away in a fit of pique. No – he simply turned around one day and noticed it was gone, like a missing shadow. He had mislaid his soul and had no idea where, though he thought he may have left it standing out in the rain somewhere.



12 January 2014

Sunny Side Up


it’s been a thin time all round

inky black and such

hard graft for the crooked

a long stretch for the touched

the good people of the parish

shell a little corn into my cup

but it’s one of those deals

where you fight for your meals

it’s not all sunny side up


2 January 2014



This writing is futile

I can’t express how I feel

Not in so many words

I’d like to take my pain

Roll it into a ball

And stuff it down your throat

So you’d be mute like me

Your seams leaking

Blotting your copy book

With a silent crimson scream