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

in pastures green

by the still water

son of sky god

mother nature’s

favourite boy

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


21 May 2014

Whores Of Babylon

my psyche
and pushes
my heart
to pause
for a second
the sacred
of Babylon
in ecstatic
to forge
a link
and earth
they meet
my sheets
and cradle
my heat
to melt
me into
my lover’s

20 May 2014



the room is empty

seven months gone

pregnant manifestation

of fractured promise

it’s not the first

probably won’t

be the last

even as a boy

the feeling

of desertion





19 May 2014



Religion makes no sense

There is no comfort there

Nor in the platitudes of old friends

If you only knew the names of the things

That are eating at my heart

You would wonder that I could nurture

Such monsters as these

I know I wonder – and I’m their host

Their inventor and proprietor

I should remove myself from company

Until I have straightened my way

Before I do or say something that shames me


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 illicit love we shared


2 May 2014

Working Girl

Chris said his missus
was the sweetest
little whore
in the city
that she pulled
two or three hundred
in a day
which I guessed was
mostly spent on junk
she worked in a sauna
during the day
and walked the streets
after dark
he’d wait for her return
when she’d come home
with the hard earned readies
he’d rush out to score
in a frenzy of junkie haste
but he always took his time
coming home with the gear
he was a social creature
when he was stoned
and had pockets full
of cash to spend
it was the missus
who had to wait
climbing the walls
until he returned