The Great Worm

I’ve been cutting about
with the sharpest metaphoricals
and audaciously deployed similes
which drip from my tongue
as cool as porcelain
and clear as glass
I’m unfettered by traditional gravity
some think I’ve caught religion
but that’s the death of imagination
and the refuge of villains and fools
I shall not be seeking absolution
the great worm does not absolve
it renders men to meat
and then picks their bones clean
regardless of their beliefs
I’m already consigned to the power
that wields the bloody fangs
that tear the life from flesh
but until that final butchery
I’ll live as a free man
standing on my own two feet
and not a fucking slave
on my bended knees
.

Islands

I was never sectioned. I went in voluntarily. Still, getting in was easier than getting out again. I had to play a game of incremental improvement - softly, softly catchee monkey. I spent a month in that shithole, pretending to get well. I never felt so isolated in my life. The wards of that crumbling old hospital were named after Scottish islands. That seemed appropriate, because the people in there were islands too.

Moonbeams

did you hear the moonbeams sing?

it was a low, soft, shimmering song

the silver filaments of night

coated the earth in honeydew

and the moon sighed

as she revealed

the secret feast nocturnal

and you and I 

replete in our birthday suits

shivered in the cool air

cascading droplets

from our midnight swim

and the unspoken promises

of all the lovers

in all the world

never touched our lips

Incremental suicide

the procurator fiscal     ruled it misadventure      an accidental overdose     of sleeping pills and booze     but I knew better     this was the final act     of an incremental suicide       he’d been reaching for oblivion     for most of his adult life      too much was never enough     to feed the tyrant       that reigned sovereign in his heavy heart     but who could name that beast?       or explain its dark design?       for here was a lonely man      who was never alone     who was well loved         and loved well in return

Over Easy

Tea Bag and Leaky Dave

made lunatic enquiries

from the edge

of the frying pan

and you can get singed

at the edge

of the frying pan

but what do poor boys do

when their alternatives

have shrunk?

some said it was a compact

others said that

they were drunk

and everybody wondered

were they pushed

until they jumped?