14 October 2015
Scarred
21 July 2015
Scientific Management
deep in the art of confusion the dissonance between the chord struck and the note heard rings awkward in the ear thoughts come thick as bricks truculent or tractable empire blocks of concrete and jelly some are solid gold and easily held while others are trojan horses disgorging disgraceful minions into the defenceless mind we inhabit thought in the land of contradiction what’s in you is around you what’s around you is only comprehended through the scrutiny of mirrors
when I was a young man I declared my emancipation with lightning bolts and free speech and I believed that I was free because I had no chains and made no claim on others but the price of that freedom was solitude I later realised that freedom was only the name of my cage and that I had constructed a prison of my thoughts an intricate lattice of values and recompense the instruments of scientific management
20 June 2015
Mescalito
22 May 2015
Manacled
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
.
1 May 2015
Painless
29 April 2015
Thief
I wasn’t fazed when she shied away from my touch. I expected that, top bird like her. She didn’t just jump into a situation like that – didn’t give her affections away to just anybody. Especially the likes of me. I was an imposter and I think we both knew that, but I guess I fulfilled some need in her. I made her smile and I wasn’t demanding her life. I just wanted a little of her time.
15 April 2015
Monster
6 March 2015
Nettles
It’s the stony cold silence
The morning after
A beating
That fragile feeling
Softly trembling
The queerness in the gut
When the ebbing throb reveals
The broken incestual jaw
Of the sacrificial lamb
In a garden untended
And filled with nettles
It’s a mouthful of blood
And a handful of hair
Nothing to write home about
It’s not as if you care
.