Like a swarm they squeeze frantically,
armed with proof
slung around their throats,
pushing forward they point and grab,
not stopping to think
of that dying slave.


But look at you all,
like pigeons to the crumb.

I think I might be a pervert.

I mean, a mere bite of her lip,
stroke of the hair
or flick of
her hip
sends fire around my body
criminalises my mind
and throws me outside,
to look pressed
nose against
the glass,
breath blurring up
the window,
and my view of her ***.

Yep,
I think I might be a pervert.

Aren't you?
I mean when it's hot,
don't you get thirsty
from
sitting beside
the fountain?
Course you do,
we're all perverts,
even those baldy
monks up on some
breast-like mountain.

The snow falls, lands and melts,
the puddles swallow shoes and dry,
and the pavement is left with what it felt,
and lets out a long, concrete sigh.

Strange the weight a date
can hold, when what you've
lost just can't stay put
as a number shut in a box.
We are in the same city
under the same noisy sky,
and a year ago we looked up
and held hands outside. But
now we are not, and all I
can think of, is you red lipped,
smiling and twirling,
of men lying and you purring,
as those ******* flowers
boast and explode in the sky.
And to think of what I said to you,
or what you said to me,
of all the  I love yous and tears
and sweaty beds
and poetry.
Strange the weight a date
can hold, when every bleedin year
fireworks remind you why.

I lay ****** on the beach
curling
my
toes
in the sand,
my hands shadow
over my face,
as the lapping sea's sound
flowed by old toothless fishermen
playing dominoes over the only shaded ground.

I watched an ant
climbing grains,
and thought how the soft yellow
that surrounded my soft trance
must have seemed endless,
and the soft
ruffle of the waves like a roaring bellow
for his
scuttling legs and faceless head.

I watched the women's bodies,
the firm
flabby
all salty and wet,
bikinis hiding secrets
I desperately wanted to learn
and keep just for myself,
a cheap pleasure
left denied
as I lay
aroused in ****** unrest.

And then a boat shored up.

Four fishermen
dropped
a
shark
in the shallows
and took to it with a blade.

Off with its head to
retrieve the hook,
fade red into blue
like smoke exhaling out,
a clean slice from headless neck
to already fin-less stub.
In less than five minutes
they left,
and their ****** mess
stirred up all the woman,
who I had
already mentally undressed.