red yellow blue saucers

in my honey bed.


haematoma proof

of the love you just bled.


sacrificed under arc in flight.

the sting of conquester's wing.


never did you scream but in

colours did sing


to your sisters heralded

Chloris in the dying chorus

molasses with the stink of gangrene
blisters from the wound;
it will not run

foul slow swelling putrescence
of plasma and, past cells
can only be lanced

it will not run.

congealed crust of scab
and keratin strands
is shield for eyes
and, the point.

it will not run.

past where ***** lie
beside christian soldier
whose older and bolder
panhandling shames guy.

eyes lift from dirt to seat.
overflow shame is then
crammed in a telecoms pen.
salvations' hat sits complicit

with our gaze raised upto
other responsible 'sort'
whom donations taught
to be our virtue.

rolling a tulip.
gone.
eyes soft. heads nod.

walls of alabaster layered cave
hazy bodies litter rave.

i am folded: foldin rizla blue
first a pocket by lick the glue.

toast some bensons
add in some resin.

filled and build over tube.
sweet trick, the petal, dude.

small tribe makes the ground
that the tulip travels around

rise and fall under feathers warm exhales.

you are added to the invisible.

consequence nothing remains of details

that inflated the anger made hate risible.


as I lie limboed across the shared vapours

of moments past part making the next me.

so irrelevant now, flow of dark humors,

that we buoyed into and ground out to free


that dancing dream exalted by the hair

floating like gossamer without me there

rise and fall. faintest of exhales
you are added to the invisible.
thus:
nothing remains of details
or the anger made hate. risible,

as I lie watching a twist of your hair
dancing in your freed dreams.

swiftly passes some grey occluded light
when temperature and high currents shift.
not excluded; that worried moon at night,
yet their voluminous nothings drift.


happenchance that such collisions can wreck
the fusion made dance of light and heat.
a silent complicity has no check
to balance this pirouette of deceit.


not seeing the empty left by your draught
he is all rapt in the swirling eddy.
trapped with me now giddy and, mad laughter
in the blooming gloom, casting shadows, steady.


we,too much like drab dancers on a stage,
lit tragically for such a tryst parade.