Formation is delicate.
A ripe cranberry will bounce.
Past times regurgitate:
Swap a gallon for an ounce.
I'm too soft,
Too hard,
White boiling, then cold.
This beanbag will mold
To every shoulder I hold.
Put the black ball away in its drawer.
STOP
BREATH:
Draw, draw.
"STOP!"
"STOP!"
(More?)
I should listen before I pounce.

January 2011

Resting:
Mouth wide,
Hands tucked.
A lust:
So ripe,
Satisfied,
Now ******.
Stale,
Stale,
Stale.
Awkward, sour, mouldy and pale.
And I won't brag of you there,
As she does of him here,
There is no need,
We're us,
Our intentions sincere.
And there's something so sterile about their romance,
Their drama.
Lost in translation.
Hot air,
Hot air,
Hot air.
And it's a joy to sit here and think of you,
Whilst she talks of him,
And genuinely not care.


December 2010

Her discomfort erodes,
Her howling glistens,
Her pain-stuffed groans
Are too much for a listen.
So my tears come thick now,
They come thick and fast,
As I watch my mother, a baby,
Vomiting up her past.

Corks of bottled pasts are popping,
Fury trains are slowing...
Stopping.
Recognise the ifs, the buts,
The wings, the ruts,
The shadows hopping.

Corks of bottled pasts are popping,
I'm a fury train and I need stopping.
Tinted blood,
Liver sopping,
Fetch a bucket,
It needs mopping.

Steam-rage bursts from veins and ears,
Peace erupts and all he hears?
"You've ****** me up for years and years,"
"For years and years and years and years!"

[Where is home?]
[Where is home?]
[Where is home?]
[Where is home?]
Not here,
So I'll destroy everything that you own.

"Restrain her!"
"Restrain her!"

Corks of bottled pasts are popping,
Fury trains are slowing...
Stopping.
Recognise the ifs, the buts,
The wings, the ruts,
The shadows hopping.
Boiling rows,
And dripping mouths,
And pools of vows
That now need mopping.

Life is a patchwork quilt of tea-stained elation upon a square of peach and yellow Liberty print.
Sour ghosts of maple tears were once so fresh, so sweet.
Now only a lifeless density drinks alone beneath the bare winter trees,
Abandoned by Spring's raw heartache.
Yes, density is the only distinct quality remaining to define those thick sobs of syrup.


March 2010

Fixed to you with bolts and nails,
I think of all the boats and sails,
Torn apart by angry gales,
Trains go flying off their rails,
Restless pain, it howls and wails,
Stabs again as plan B fails,
C's a risk, it's heads or tails,
But games and tricks leave endless trails,
And under bricks hide slugs and snails,
Like faces scared hide under veils,
I'm terrified but won't leave trails,
Of helplessness for hungry males,
My terror comes in buckets and pails,
But if I'm with you when all else fails,
I will not fear even fear itself,
Because nothing has failed at all.


March 2009

The sun pouts,
The carpet shines,
The one that doubts
is left behind.
The one that shouts
is pushed ahead,
Left alone, cold in the head.
Cold in the bone,
Cold in the blood,
Small on the throne,
Dry in the flood.


January 2010