What are you meant to do today
Sit quietly and enjoy the view, to pay
your dues and wait patiently for improvement
while so many ants scuttle on by,
Talking and biting and lighting cigarettes
and I lie in my bed and I fret
about all the things that don't matter
like why are we here?

Who are you meant to be, and
what's the purpose behind your story?
Weak poetry makes the world go round.
That and people not getting enough sleep.
I can't remember who I was or who I am going to be.
I'm the one that won't make it
because I'm the one without a dream,
like my father before me,
no passion, no cool,
no fashion, just school and work and pension funds
stepping up each rung of the ladder
but you fall off and dunno what to do
because now the whole ******* ladder's fallen on top of you.
Weak poetry makes the world go round
and lonely singers in lonely bars
with their hands on their hearts and their eyes on the stars
because it's a star that makes the earth go round.
Magnets and the sun or something like that
Dinosaurs and satellites and bureaucrats
and peace and war and what's for dinner tonight and all of that
and none of that matters.

I don't know where I'm going with this
I'm waiting and writing until I can get ******,
when I run out of antibiotics
and have successfully quit the deathsticks
85 per cent of throat cancer is caused by smoking
but so was 85 per cent of my good moods
so now I have to choose if I'd rather be happy and die
or live long and sigh and cry after every meal.
Eat and breathe and believe
that weak poetry makes the world go round
because I'm full of it.
I'm full of **** but at least I'm full of something.

How did I end up here?
In the sun and drinking beer
in a world of boats,
smiling in the photos taken by the host,
thinking soft as I gaze across the water
and hear people sing.

The dogs all drink from the bowl.

My goal is not to spend all my cash on drinks
but at home there's more cash and more drinks
and I'll wonder how I ended up there.
I had tasty food and squinted in the water's glare
across at the pretty girl
sitting on the other side of our drinks,
between a glass of pinot grigio and the sun
between me and the sea.
I think she likes me.
I'm sure I feel something
but I'm having too much of a nice time to care.
Stare into my eyes.
Find what you seek and do so soon.
A lot could change in the coming weeks.

Weather closes in
Flags and bunting writhe in the wind
as the water squirms below
I start to get cold
I've lost track of pints
but don't feel drunk
I think you're hot and funny and cool
but don't want to bunk up,
I just want to go home and write words on a page,
sit there alone and chase the silly pathways
down which my mind stumbles.

Sinking sand,
cool my toes
my ankles, my calves.
tickle my knees, soft and gentle
and caress my inside thighs
Excite me with your wandering touch
****** me much,
acquaint yourself with every angle and crook of my limp body
devour me from leg to waist to fill my belly button and massage my stomach
I have gorged myself enough and now it is your turn
digest me as I digest my last meal,
feel every vertebrae of my lonely spine
know each mole on my torso,
each nasty spot and scar
and rid me of them as you rid them of me
lick my chest and tease my neck
leaving no mark
let each grain of your being make me more supple
learn me and let me lean into you,
my clammy body relaxes upon you, fresh and ready to go
I lower myself down,
I lounge in your eternal sheets and enjoy your breath moulding my neck,
the base of my skull,
my unshaven chin falls down,
mouth open
your kiss becomes my kiss becomes one final lingering kiss,
tongue tastes sand for the last time,
remembers all the food
all the sand it has enjoyed
I will become sand, my energy ready to become something else's
worms and snails and plants are hungry for me
though I have no hunger for myself
and as this thought dwindles so do I
my nose is gone, my eyes close, my ears fill with silence and overflow with silence and darkness and silence become blissful everything
only my beautiful blonde hair remains and suddenly that too is taken by the earth,
cool and wet and hungry
sinking sand
cool me
down

I am breathless
A tree in the city

I am tired
A desert stream runs dry

I am young
A baby bird can't yet fly

Your teeth are real
They're ugly like mine

Your smile isn't ugly like mine
It's not real either

Thank you for the big hug,
it made me cry and smile.
I'm twenty one - I've been invincible for a while
and it's a shock to stop.

I'll hide away in myself for a while,
and as I try to smile at the good folk
who surround me,
I'll see the concern in their eyes
or the awkward sympathy in the way they don't meet my gaze at all.
Your eyes say it all.
Hello, goodbye, thank you and please,
Excitement, weakness, pleasure and greed
all in the concentric circles between your eyelids.
Globes.
Green, blue, brown, grey
A whole other world at the top of your face.
I could travel the earth in one hour with you.
But I may have to stop hiding away
And dip into my savings account.
There are expenses to pay
If I am to holiday with you.

Here again
The same old table
The same modern, open, space.
Natural light floods through the towering glass windows
And I think,
Why human?
Why couldn't I have been a rock or a tree or a waterfall?
Do trees fall out with one another
Are rocks concerned by the density of other rocks around them, or their plans or relationships or purpose
A rock is a rock
All a waterfall needs is gravity.
I'm human and I have just as much gravity as everyone else and I'm still unhappy
I'll have another cigarette.

A waterfall is water falling
All a human needs is
Something
about people or love or food or the motivation to cook food or the will to eat food even when sober.

Don't forget about money.
That's very important.
Without that, I couldn't buy tobacco.

Your voice
so small, sweet
but low, gentle.
Generous hands
petite feet
I'd be mental
to refuse that dance

What am I to you?

A friend
A mystery
A gargoyle
History

What are you to me?

A blackbird passing
An indulgent feast
after fasting.
A morsel at least
of something new,
Something good.
Of the many you're the few.
What's for pudding?

What a pity
What shame
Sand and grit
are in my teeth.

I need to know
what's in your head
I can't trust
Do you have a toothbrush?

I have one
It works well
when I use it,
and I feel good.

But my teeth get *****
more than twice a day.
Yours could too.
I would know
if ever you flashed me a smile.

It's sad to say but
the sight of your face
reminds me of all the time I have lost.
Faces older than they were.

Shadows of houses grow -
black teeth closing across the road.
Long yellow fingers claw between.
Golden, all the lines I have crossed
without thinking twice.
My general, I conscientiously object.

There is no point me being here
or anywhere
I'm a ticking time blank.
No explosives,
only whining, only moaning.
Ticking,
tocking,
mocking myself.
I am no good poet,
and no musician whatsoever.
I draw for fun
and sometimes read.
Hear the music in the street -
car engines and pelican crossings can't hear me,
They have no need for me.
Nothing does.
There's more where I came from.

Get out of my head.
You weren't invited
Too many are already
on their way, unrequited.

Love has been cruel to
me too, I promise
and to all who ever
suffered my kiss.

I'm sorry, I'm honest
Love is best that way
Ugly, fearful and true
Get out of my head
or I'll be honest to you.

There's something between my mirror and me.
Something on my lip (maybe)
A signal in my eyes that I can't see.
What could it be?

It could be you,
or that which is becoming more true,
every morning when my mirror looks at me.
I wish it would say what I want it to.