For an age I stared at that heron
my camera poised ready to prove
that if you stare long enough at a heron
the awkward buggers just will not move.

But the moment you put down your camera
and move your eye line a little to one side
the sod takes off while you’re not looking
and there’s loads of loud groans in the hide.

©Joe Wilson – The Unmoving Heron! 2014

every time your eyes fall over me
my body is ecstasy
all that matters is electricity
lightening is what i see
as I'm taken into a frenzy
lips ooze static energy
bolts travel free
and i am me
electric as can be.

We were created out of the ethos and ashes..
She was lovely.
She asked, "what happened here?"
I replied. "Not sure..
Some great war.
No records survived..."

Long stretches of boring
Where's the shade?
Feel like picking my nose
But can't

Too hot
Sip, Scan

They go under
I hit the water cold
I reach them, too bad I have to kick one
He's pulling her under!
I clock him in the face

I tow her out and give her mouth to mouth
She spits at me
Nice
Phew, one down

Okay where's the other?

Does the lifeguard impose on others?
THIS life, No
I wouldn't wish it on anybody.

I hope to just
make it through the day
Too bad I had to crack that guy in the jaw
He'll live

She steps onto that same scale everyday.
And everyday, no matter what the number,
It always reads "Eat Less”.
And so she does.
All she wants is a flat stomach, small thighs, and to be skinny enough that she’s classified as bony.
Is that too much to ask?
She gives herself a gold star every time she goes 12 hours without food.
Creating the idea that she is doing something good.
She collected so many stars that a full stomach was something never felt.
Counting every calorie her body would intake.
Working out for hours just because she broke down and ate one cookie yesterday.
She has a constant reminder in the back of her head to **** in her stomach.
But now it does it all on it’s own,
Like an empty black hole.
She is a slave to hunger,
But he eventually goes unnoticed.
She got her flat stomach and small thighs yet still cannot stop.
She grows weaker and weaker everyday.
As her life begins to slip through her fingers,
She’ll die perfect.
Looking like a stick.

god is dead. and i'm not looking
for enlightenment. it's winter

and i test the world through fingerless
gloves: i touch, therefore i am.

so read the universe mapped out
on the back of my hand. your number

inked. and in this palm - the story.
let's trace the lines. the lies. and lie

here where it's written. past future
present here. this. this is all there is.

There was a vicar from Fife
Who never took a wife
Instead he toyed
With a choir boy
And buggered him up for life