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


21 October 2014


1146139 - CARRIE

There she goes, crushed and confused, off to the shop to buy more booze. A faded rose with a wan smile on cracked lips; she’ll never meet your eye preferring instead to gaze at her feet. No time to speak - she has to hustle – her man wants a drink and he wants it post haste. His tongue is razor like and barbed with cruelty and anger. He’s a brow beater and a bully. She loves him, she says, because he cares for her – though seldom shows it. His love is the proprietorial kind, as subtle as a punch in the face. She bends to suit his needs, but in a history of futile gestures no kindness goes unpunished.

Migratory flocks bring news as sad as death; another year has passed – lost to the clouds that hang heavy on the horizon. She’s marking time with her heavy feet; her trudging gait and slumped shoulders convey the defeat that hangs like funeral shrouds around her head. The dust of so many lonely years has settled on her brow – the grit gets in her eyes and blinds her with tears that fall as autumn rain. Ashes and sackcloth - tinfoil and cheap wine; the powder put a hex on her and she aged before her time. The needle and the pipe robbed her of her looks – the man who waits impatiently has stolen her dreams.


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

and a crown of thorns

for my weary head

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


1 October 2014

No Refunds


The dead weight of your affections nearly broke my back, but I’ve spent my last day on tour with your psycho mafia. A thousand days was my sentence and each fell like a blow to the heart. Strange the thoughts and deeds that lead a man to despair – bitter the taste of recrimination that sticks to the gullet with barbed edges. Honed to the personal – only familiarity can breed such accuracy. You score a hollow bull’s eye with every reproach, but your anonymity does not hide the blade in your guilty hand. I’ll be your hostage no more. Your name sat heavily in my little black book so I tore  you out and burned the evidence. I never knew you – you were never here. Go back to your lonely simulation of a life; you’ll find no refunds and no apologies here.