You've snuffed flickering
Flames of injustice yet their
Hate dims your lantern.

As the light fades, I cannot
See the ablution of souls.

Am I the catch or am I now the bait?*
   I ask as you unhook me from your line
   And throw me into passioned arms that wait
   For loving eyes to move from your benign
   Beauty. You let your predatory whine
   Escape your lips as you bring mine to yours
   And stop. And tease. And take the lovers’ sign
   And stake it in my heart with smiling force.
You take his hand in yours. I drown slowly in air.

The sun shone on the school field
As it all lay out before me –
A bright prospect written on a golden apple –
And yet this is the reality.

..a bit **** really…

I was sold a lie spun by a weaver,
I did not catch his name,
Who took my firstborn dream
For a minimum-wage timeshare.

I’m angered by my idiocy.
Who am I, a Prince of the Estate,
To believe in happy ever afters
And the meritocratic lie?

Troy’s walls are lain siege
By the slings and arrows
Of others’ fortune until
We retreat to our place.

Dreams are merely adverts.
Richness becomes richer
As we forever chase rainbows
In the hope of a *** of gold

Only to find cigarettes of the soul –
False illusions. False illusions
Shattered into mirrored shards
Reflecting a broken man.

I am Prometheus – I stole the flame
Of Pandora and set it free
Only for doves to peck at my liver
And **** on my heart.

I remember, don’t worry
As your words softly drift over me
Like a body in the snow.
How could I ever forget?
You hold him as my arms outstretch
My reach and I fall.
Don’t worry, I know
You can never loosen his grip for me
Or your grip on me
Around my heart.
Don’t worry, I know
I can never shout from the rooftop
As your hand strokes my face
And surrounds my throat.

Across the aisle you write your vows
To David or Richard or Steve
As your full lips form around my name -
I’ll hold you forever in mind.
Goodbye face and hair and eyes
Unobservant of my longing.
Let me in – uninitiated and weak.
Nourish me with your powerful words,
Soft on my skin like a nymph’s breath.
Envelop me in your robes and offer me
Confession. Make me believe.
My little monk, why quiver and
Twitch at my strong-soft caresses?
I pass my love through my fingers
And pull back your hood to see your
Blessing. Shower me with kisses
Unbidden by taboo as life
Spills from us, wasted on the sand.

Stood by the subway, I see in your eyes
A flickering flame of desire;
A burning passion needing a kindling “yes”
Yet I let it turn to cinders
To feel the cold I deserved.

Now?
Bathe me in flames!
Char my flesh with kisses
And burn away my idiocy.

But another has re-lit the fire.
Tended it. Stoked it.
Kept it burning through dark nights.
While I look through cold-mist eyes
And cradle my burnt fingers.

Remember that suit at the wedding?
I breathed in hard as the clasp shut tight
Corsetting me to shallow breaths
And a constant tension of stomach muscles
Awaiting a punch.
You were my waistband
I outgrew and, out of desire
For better days, kept.
I forced myself into your love
And although having no feeling,
Comfort was in constriction.
And then you broke
As the seat of your love
Tore asunder and I
Was cold.

In a book of faces, yours picks me out.
Your eyes pierce the screen
Detached from me like your heart.
The daggers tear through my chest
And cut me up. Knot my stomach
And tie me down for I’m still free

To love a memory. I am free
As his arm reaches out
From around your neck. Stomach
Twists as you paint the screen
With the contents of my chest
And the beatings of my heart.

You still live in my heart,
Beyond eviction, rent-free.
Your playground is my chest
And, like the slide you’ve grown out,
It is hidden behind a tasteful screen
Of ivy and moss. My stomach

An over-grown garden. I cannot stomach
How you wipe your feet on my heart
By appearing on my screen –
An act entirely free
Of your will – with-out
The pain of us on your chest.

Lock my disappointment in my chest
And deposit the keys in my stomach
For them not to pass-out
Until you have left my heart
Free.
Free of the affects of this screen.

My mind is burnt by the screen,
My heart rages in my chest
And I **** you within my ribs. Free?
I’d rather you’d knot my stomach
And let my heart
Bleed out.

But I must get out
Break the shackles of your making
And be free.

Can you sleep as the sound hits your ears
One at a time from this broken hill?
I mumble my fears down into the valley
As prayer-laden clouds echo my voice,
Sending a sorry shower of words
And a flash of anger.

Clouds part.
Your answer bathes my sky
In clear shades of blue
As my heart rumbles in the distance.

Can you sleep as rain kisses your eyes
One at a time from this broken hill?
A humble God’s dreams run over the gutters
Of nectar-sodden robes sullied by hope,
Ending in rivers running with faith
And flashes of futures.

You split your lips against my face
And morning shatters about our heads
And broke the silence with your breath.
We hang the floating shards from words –
Unclean, unkempt, unformed –
As the shadow of a sparrow crosses our eyes
And joins our cracking voices in song.

The linens smile in wrinkled grace
Like kindly elders above a child
Guiding the naïve to their fate.
Your hair glides calmly past sun beams –
Unsoiled, unspoiled, uncut –
When your laughter at my longing slices the air
And shakes my ego clean from me.

Like the haunting sustain of a dirging Marseillaise,
Your voice rings out, sweet and sinister,
And time slows before the unrequited.
A Goddess – omnipresent & surrounded by a halo
Of blonde hair flying in drunken celebration
– Lacking in omniscience as my secret sin
Stays hidden within confession. This beating
Of xylophonic ribs must be muffled by
Fetid fat from failing flesh
Whilst your light bellows in deafening tones
– A sustaining beauty untamed by man
– Outshining nursery rhymes in this chest
And limericks in the soul.
You smile.
You listen.
I grow and pursue your Liberté
And, in the spirit of Égalité,
Form the ultimate Fraternité:
Ou la petit mort.

Bang! The elastic of reality snaps
As all is true and nothing false.
Evidence scattered about your eyes
Like confetti – a novelty
To the assembled
Mob. My sympathy to apathetic man
Who calls it faith and nothing more.
Existence struggles forward to fight
An engagement – just flapping
At thin atmosphere
By thick heads.

The well-worn wind shifting the silver snow
And scent of a rose on the air.
They fill the tracks of bear and men
Wend their way to its blooms.
Floribunda stretches yellowed petals
And takes the bow as they approach
That delicate flower of desire.

Charging toward rocks of flesh
And sinew, the sweaty Celt
Grasps at the tattooed native.
Fallen, they writhe in the throws
Of an exquisite battle
To gain not yards, but inches -
The measure of one’s manhood.

Never forget the pain of September -
The dying of summer. The Autumn fall.
Foreseeing the harshness of winter days.
Yet, rising from the beds of memories,
Forever unforgotten, twin towers
Of love in the north and hope in the south.
Remembrance survives a terrored world
As love survives death and hope outlives fear.

Never forget the pain of September
And never those we have lost.

In the name of Kallisti,
Fate offered me a choice of bride:
Marry ambition,
Marry knowledge
Or marry love.

I discovered your naïve neck
With my Trojan mouth and stole you
With half-meant kisses
Our bodies warred
And sweat was spilled.

How passion makes bullies of men -
Cowards trapped by their emotions -
Ripping compassion
From hearts and *****,
Feeding false hope.

I long for the fist in the face
And the chain on your waist
Midst the rolling sea of black.
The speakers roar as your face -
Pale, pallid in the darkness -
Snaps sharply from me. Sweat
Sprays my senses as I bite your neck,
Vampirically suckling on your passion.

A jarring jolt in the base of my back
Brings me back from undead slumber.
Yet I still remember that reflection
Although I know it was never there.

Her hand reached out to clasp
The young branch, running along
Its woody stem. Thicker, wider,
Ever-growing shoots
Sustaining seed.
Rebirth.

She cupped the firm-soft fruit -
It quivered – tugging harder
For sustenance. Breathless. Panting
For her reward
Of sweet-fresh fruit.
Ecstasy.

The rain roars like fire
  As rubble smoulders
And two nations take stock
Of one copper's blunder.

  This is my Tottenham -
  My home and my heart -
Where fried chicken and Spurs
Unite communities.

  A father was shot
  While holding a gun.
He'd injured a PC.
He'd tried, and failed, to run.

  But then we heard cops
  Say 'We can't comment
But we know he was mad,
Mental and unstable."

  With no evidence
  To back-up these claims
As long as he's guilty
He's also fair game

  To be slandered by
  Those who should serve us
But anger the public
Who met at the station

  To voice our concerns
  But...

  The Met ignored protests.
  A wall of silence
Hit our vocal worries
And led to the kettling

  Of innocent fears
  And beaten youngsters
Demanding answers and
Justice but getting none.

  So houses were raised
  And lives set aflame
With passion, emotion and
Righteous authority.

  Who can we blame for
  These acts of aggression?
Twitter? The young? Maybe
The poor disenfranchised?

  No.
         Blame our police,
  Our ignorant chiefs,
Our public school leaders
And populist news briefs.

  All we wanted was
  To speak to the boss
And Nero said, "*******!
I'll fiddle while you burn."

Under the eternal lime,
In the shade of Woolley and Ames,
Grows a patch of hallowed turf
Where more’s at stake than simple games.

Bowling on despite the wet -
You never did mind a sticky wicket -
Undeterred by rat-a-tat
Of leather-on-willow, it was met
By pained cries.

Then you enlisted, weapon under arm,
To guard our stumps…
An explosion of noise.

Out.

Another tomorrow, caught in time.
Two people’s hearts; intertwined
In each other’s limbs. Kissing;
Passion rolling off their bodies.

The lovers tomorrow, lose their way.
The love’s long gone, but in their days
They yearn love lost. Dying;
Slowly killing off their bodies.

In truth I do not know what I should say.
My lack of prosody has found me out
And now I shall go hide or run away
From facing up to it.
                                   And yet I stay
To torment myself with dark thoughts about
My inability to have my say.
My lips are stuck, my mouth is choking on
My tongue.
                     I will not yield.
                                               I cannot face
The pain of knowing that my touch infects
All with decaying love and marks them for
The dark dog Depression.
                                            Killing all beauty
And previous wonder found in life.
I hurt, I ****, I maim, I destroy the
Beauty of words.

The bath is cramped. I fold into it,
Rosemary between my legs,
Grazing my thigh.
Sharp tendrils scratch the skin
As I’m enveloped by wet warmth.
The scent of Rosemary grabs the air
As I sigh in the steam
With a woody glow.

I find myself slick and ready for change,
Madly twitching toward clouds.
Winds of anxiety bring storms of regret
And a 4-lettered ***** back from scarlet nights.
As dawn breaks, the dream is over
But the candle still flickers,
Although not as bright.

I draw from you when I am not quite whole.
My legend’s ending but through you I keep
A name, a life, a body and a soul.

My life was torn asunder with my role
By this disease. From the wound despair seeps.
I draw from you when I am not quite whole.

In you my mind escapes this fetid hole
And revels in the seeds it plants and reaps
A name, a life, a body and a soul.

Yet soon I know Time will take what I stole
For dreams are only for when I’m asleep.
I draw from you when I am not quite whole.

My tongue withers. My heart burns hot like coal
For deadly thoughts in silent rooms will creep.
A name, a life, a body and a soul

Will all soon die. In you I must cajole
An urge to stack the shelves with memories
I draw from you when I am not quite whole -
My name, my life, my body and my soul.

No man, before or since, has gazed
With such abandon at my face.
The net he built to capture me now
Lays in the corner of a forgotten field
Of hay. The hallways now remain
In their cold, clean, clincism where

Death, like a spectre,
Meanders the river-run
Of wires and tubes.

No-man, before or since, has gazed
With blank abandon at his face.
Pallor stains the tear-dropped face
Of God, and Santa, and all that’s holy.
We threw words at the air. We heard
The Morse reply that it He is

Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.