22 May 2015



it was bad patter

well out of order

and a bitter repast

for blackened eyes

and broken teeth

I was a pollutant

and filthy to the core

a bi curious creature

and apostle of magical thinking

young enough to hunger still

old enough to know better

those razor edged memories

slash through the 3 am

in procession triumphal

for they have conquered sleep

one day I’ll go straight

but I’ll never sleep again

crack giants

in suicide squadrons

loom large where dreams

once haunted my bedclothes

the chains my forebears fashioned

are branded into my flesh

wrought iron keepsakes

of love meted out

between the blows


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