Behind my camera their world carries on.
I focus on the narrow scene in front,
a smiling group, their eyes focussed beyond
my shoulders. I try to frame it tight.
They won't keep still for long from engaging
in the rythms they see beyond.

A never to be repeated moment,
heavily borne responsibility, not just a snap,
a future chance to look beyond reality.

What are they thinking? Oh, do get on!
Or, What on Earth is she wearing?

A picture triggers memories,
some warm, some forgotten.
But who was that at the back?
His name escapes me - a reminder
that memories may be blind.

There's something special about a named train,
the Mallard, the Royal Scot,
more romantic than a mere number.
Ours was the Red Rose, pride of LMS.

The London-Liverpool express
flahing North, four-thirty on the dot,
a sight not to be missed, exciting
street players of jacks and hopscotch.

She thundered through the blue brick tunnel,
erupted into the grass-lined cutting,
swallowed our footbridge in smog and sulphur.
The we loyal fans ran home to eat our spam.

I relax
Staring at the moon
Reflective beginnings

This is a day unlike no other
Before the dawn
Before the first zip or button
is fastened

The clothes lay at the end of the bed
Pregnant with possibilities

Step aside slumber
I'm awake
and feeling reborn

No second chances
It's now or never
No time for regret;
Endeavour

Now let us pray.
May hellfire rain down
on us today, on all those who
offered pay in
full metal change to watch
the life sized lights explode
& wicked witches
hanging by the throat
from a tenth floor window
it was all so cool.

so cool.

demon induced
dementia cemented in
an underground parking garage

sleepover
sleepless

starry eyed orphan
**** princess-
apparel section
regressing to an
oral fixation & a
need to keep the
fingers busy.

pink **** carpet
heart shaped atrocity

rotten thing.

you ain't the boss of me

paleface
scarab angel
seraph snake
made up cheap

heart tarnished
purely
black comedy
legs like a limousine
keeping company with
the holy cross
dressers on the
local drug scene.

oh how special.

yesterday
I fed my
edificial fetish
& I could not
stop thinking.

these high
arched ceilings.
could not contain
my feelings,
if they tried.


drive by advertisements
remind me there's
not much
to be excited about.

The black spinning wheel
tells my eyes what your red shirt
Whispers to the breeze
softly on your skin it breathes
you look back but say nothing