My breath like smoke in the air,
squelching my feet in icy puddles,
they are broken pieces of sky reflected.
Stomp, the image is dashed:
Nothing remains but empty water.

Mine’s a sort of light, musical, dancing
tread, a never-ending thread of notes
on a string, a slight ring upon the ears,
I like to think of it as:
cheeky, small, charming.

An underground solo orchestra
the music of my footsteps,
only I can play
and we’ll never be able to play each other’s tunes.

When your knees crack real good
you’re locked in a skin of sound.

Every bone in my spine cracks
crystalising form in bubbling molten blood,
Can you hear?
Breath is a knife to dissect unsynchronized rhythms.

In an empty house, we miss each other by seconds.
The sound of doors banging.

Footsteps on hollow floorboards.

I’d much rather push up daffodils than daisies,
should summer be renamed sprung?
Last winter, so cold
I worried all the birds would freeze,
fed them toast, dreamt of knitting them jackets.

A robin died in my hands on Christmas eve one year,
Found on chewing gum pavements barely breathing,
his soft little breast rising and falling heavily like snow,
his neck a little droopy, so soft he was almost boneless,
frighteningly fragile, lovely.
Osiris’ scales about to be tipped,
I tripped and skidded the way home,
broken bird in one hand, dog lead straining the other.
As the door swung open,
a **** for breath, his twist of head and then…

This bird is dead dirt.

His orange crumbled.

Buried in a dog food box,
The guilt of knowledge lies under the duvet,
the winter grows stagnant.

When she was very young she read Ann Frank,
And her daddy’s serial killer novels that he
Carelessly left in the bathroom,
Like a ****** weapon.

Strange dreams for a girl of eight,
****’s and bodies buried under patios,
Insane neighbours thirsty for the blood of the innocent.
The danger of the unknown stranger.

When she was young she read Shakespeare,
Voltaire and discovered Fred Astaire.
Her faith in humanity was restored again,
She tap danced her fears away.

Stuck, screaming in a traffic jam, the cars
Suddenly veer across the lanes. Desperate-
To get to their destinations. So late,
Their whole lives depend upon a green light.
Fists clenched tight, feeling the cars’ vibrations
Dimly beneath their blind rage. Wanting to
Lash out, like animals kept in cages
Waiting to die. Feels like it’s been ages
And ages… I can’t take this anymore
I scream!! Pulling out my hair, I’ve gone cra-
zy. I put music on to soothe my nerves,
But I’ve gone deaf. **** it, I’ll blow them all
To kingdom come. These are my traffic screams,
Caused by the engines repetitive hum.

Cold damp streetvoid,
Lamps illuminate the blanks.
******* sacks on stained old mats,
Alley cats searching for rats.
This cannot be the same world.

Thoughts unfurl like smoke.

You blew a circle of it,
your face lay in the centre
encircled by the grey, billowing fumes.
Beautiful
ever-changing,
twirling plumes.

We accept our fates blindly
like mice.
Sipping ***** from a jar
that once held
Ragu.
A Frisbee as an ashtray
I’m dancing stupidly with you
Ol’ detective Gribble
who dribbles down the phone
and whispers: “sweet nothings”
in my ear,
I hear.