Pages

1 March 2014

Blackened

Heart
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?
.

12 January 2014

Sunny Side Up

[sunny-side-up%255B3%255D.jpg]
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

Scream

Scream_02
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
.

22 December 2013

Speed Bomb

speed-bomb_02
awkward high <> like a speed bomb that went down the wrong way <> all new oblique angles <> strange dimensions and hollows <> each crevice a new expression in feeling <> strange there should be new situations to chart <> this late in the game <> a familiar sickly taste <> with a different flavour <> impossible to quantify <> pleasure and pain <> this knife cuts both ways <> unease has become an art form <> the pool is still <> but under lurks <> a drowning <> a car crash <> a train wreck <> a fucking catastrophe <> if it’s true <> it’s not true <> but what if it is true? <> get a grip <> your morbid imagination will be the death of you <> that which you fear <> you draw to you <> you have to reach for the man within <> or be the man without <> keep a sceptical eye on the bad news <> favour the good thing <> catch that positive curve <> slide in under the barriers <> when the bogey man looks away
.

18 December 2013

Dolphin

Dolphin
He once failed a micro flocculation test. It came back positive for syphilis. He said it was the last time he ever paid for sex – the whores on Cockburn Street were riddled with the pox. I was feeling decidedly antsy – crank bugs from the blue flake – Peruvian magic dust, the finest money could buy, ninety percent pure, or so he said.

A creeping numbness spread through my limbs, my heart beat like a hammer and my mouth was dry as dust. He fuzzed in and out of focus for a moment and I listened as he traced the contours of depravity like a veteran whore master. “We are all whores,” he pronounced, “Everyone has their price. The only question is how much?”

We snorted some more charlie and he scratched his crotch with obscenely dirty fingernails. He said he’d just as soon fuck a hairy arsed boy as a beautiful woman and he eyed me salaciously. He seemed brutal and repugnant to my young eyes. He spoke with all the eloquence of a rabid baboon; “In this business you have to be like a shark. You have to be cold and ruthless. I understand these people ‘cause I’m a shark too.” It was then I realised for the first time that I was a dolphin.
.
.

Necrophiliac


cadaver
poor boy has a gimmick
he contacts the deceased
with glass beads
and cardboard figurines
his memory resurrects
the dear departed
through necromancy
and bad poetry
he disarms them
with his european smile
and easy charm
but his smooth patois
conceals a deep distrust
of the living
and morbid fascination
with the dead
.

17 December 2013

Euthanize

Revolver_01
treatment is symptomatic
there is no cure
no wonder drug
no universal panacea
just elemental narcotics
to ease the pain
of twisted nerves
in a deviant body
a little chicken soup
for a tortured soul

who conjured up this
slouching abomination?
his furrowed brow
and unnatural posture
speak of untold burdens
so feed him, free him
turn him loose
put a bullet in his brain pan
and bid him farewell
.

15 December 2013

Voiceless

voiceless

Poor Boy looked into the sky and said:
“Oh God, please get me outta here...”
But God did not hear him
The distance
Between
        Heaven and Earth
Being what it is

Silenced at birth by unseen hands
It was more than just the money
(or lack of it)
There was a poverty of spirit
And a quiet sense of shame
That couldn’t be erased
He was a sounding brass
A hollowed out man
Just one of billions 
Stuffed down the crapper
The justice in that
For the moment escaped him
.