he exclaimed, she hinted, he nodded and prodded

they giggled and whispered, he retorted, she snorted

he vehemently seethed, she triumphantly screamed

and no one said anything

I'm
stuck here
it's how I like it but
that's the third time this month
first it was Terrence
then Theodore
now me.
my limbs
are meant
for living
embracing
all things
from roots
to the heavens

after "The Walkers" by John Glenday


In those final moments,
I walked with them
unattached,
no longer one with what is,

a sudden finality ****** upon me,
like so many waves of fire
lapping at a paper boat;

I would never cross this river.

I stop at the bank,
to weigh my worth
and wait,

just downstream of a soldier
flicking his cigarette,
directionless,
one final hiss,
in surrender to the stream.

He couldn't see us
but knew his role,
and a shiver sent him packing
all the same.

I wait,
watching the walkers
gradual dissipation,
each ebbing more
slowly
than the last.

I see them fly
far above the tallest peaks,
lost to my vision
and the insatiable sky,
their light -
scarce as it is,
consumed by the silent stars.

I hear their final cries,
the longing hopeful,
the needy and desperate,
the triumphant and the downtrodden,

I listen to their pleas,
their anguish
and their resolve,
that we might yet heal the world.

Still, I wait
without grief,
and ask only of this humbling river,
how to mend something
that was never whole?

ur Fa¢es a ma.sk
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to dehumanise
to inc€ntivi$e
y.our neighb.our
not
NnNot y.our friend
it cou/d be y0u
you OR us
u r us
w3 are the ¢0llect)-(ive
a Unit
reAdy And Able
to b€e counted
e¥es and 4our willing limbs
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a Pr0phet MachiNe
no 0ld man is anN island
No ma.sk has a Fa¢e

".. - well, we don't really know what's going on down here, Jack, but it's bad, it's so bad, rest assured it's all bad".

such majesty

a nightjar call


eyes of a tragedy

after the fall


sprawling winter

baleful

gleaming


pale steps

hinter


ever redeeming


those before

swallowed whole


a horizon to go

They want to rub us out
like Jack never met Jill
vigorously
whether it's with culture or with pills
we're excised
by the rising tide below the hill
we'll die up here
who will be the one to make the ****?

They want to put us out
to pasture
like a light
They want us all to doubt
we have a real reason to fight
They've got us figured out
so They think
well, They might
switching up opponents
quick as day turns into night.

They want us to be quiet
as a mouse is to a man
They want our only diet to be
yellow eggs and spam
They want us smiling sweetly
like our teeth were made of jam
up here we only grimace
at Their sinister advance.

They want us not to linger lest
our love become the truth
They want us to move on
without a second point of view
They want us to point fingers
so that's just what we'll do
and who are They?
the question asked, the answer
could be you.

a case of addiction
a throw-away case
a waste of perfectly unusable space

a page of pulp fiction
a thrown away page
crumpled and tossed aside in a rage

a missed direction
a mystery chase
a tracing of a map misplaced

an act of misdirection
amiss and untraced
a misty night on a sunny day

a never ending cycle
a journey nowhere
a cycle with no journey
a re-closed cold case

don't get on my case
don't get in my way
I've already been in there for days

I've already seen the final page
I've already beat the denial stage
already been swept up in rage
I tried bargaining with the cage
better to accept it at this stage

I'll swallow up the burning coals
it's all I've ever really known
I don't have any decent goals
don't even have a go
but I sure put on a show
when all I have to show

are scars and blisters from my burnt out tongue
an itchy trigger finger without thumbs
regrets and defeat without wisdom
unsettling scenes obscene as *****
wet from the rain of fire from above
I'll settle on dealing by feeling numb

Without you, I'd die
you are the light of my life
lighter, I love you

there are no jumping cows.

no fields where trees
grow upside down.

they sprout from dead leaves

rising to meet the tired old moon
as it hangs
from an indifferent sky.

it melts away
like rain on snow

for the tiger tooth chaffinch
to make its home
among gnarled ebony
and shattered bones.

and even though I'm
wicked as sin
with a view
to excess vagaries

they tell me
I should pray to god
I'm not sure what for.

after Bukowski's "The Laughing Heart"

my life is your life
it was never mine.
omission of submission
leaves no way out.
what's an offer of forgiveness
to a promise of betrayal?
a lost shepherd leading the blind.
under a loaded sky
someone sang
"there is a light and it never goes out"
a marvellous truth that
has taken my heart.
there is light somewhere
but not in my eyes.
heaven can wait.
the gods will have to delight
in themselves
a little longer.

the engineers have left the building
architects now rule the roost
nothing gets made but there's plenty
tilting and cooing over the perfect view

It's the burst lip
slowly healed with tongues
softly
aching
warm as the sun

It's the grinning tooth
making incisions
sharp
through the heart
of its chosen victim

It's the once empty mouth
compelled to devour
the words in-between
the speaking in vowels

It's the voice that calls
before it's too late
the one
you always tell to wait

I use my prescription note
as a bookmark
a milligram per page
a page for every breath

the breath of wolves
of swollen air
and dreams too real

it's not as if
I really know the difference

I think I like it like that

Have you forgotten the painted tractor
that sits atop the hill
the rush of pushing through
rustling pampas
when the land you stood on was yours

Where the day was won
before one
and the sun was a horse with wings
when night
was where the monsters lived
before they moved in next door

How a fence presented
irresistible challenge
a mélange of invite and dare
so we climbed
to find our golden goose
and handled it with care

The best advice I'd hope to give
Romanticise The Little Things
that can't be traded, they're a Gift
The best advice I'd hope to give
The Little Things, for which you live
will be there, when the future sings
The best advice I'd hope to give
Romanticise The Little Things

therefore

I'm doomed

big pond
little pond
cardboard box

no fish
no frogs
one old sock

big street
little town
no one knocks

blacked out
windows
doors all locked

big lie
little man
walls that talk

cold sons
dark nights
eyes on the clock

dead winds
dying light
stars on a walk

big sky
little faith
clinging to a rock

I tried

My heart lies with the ones
who play with fire
blackened fingers
complement my eyes

Keep the shadow near
by our desire
we don't need to sleep
if we don't rise

I can tell you want to
get much higher
I've got what you need
you know the price

Angel, tell me
how do you trust a liar?
Tears and prayers
caught between the skies

My heart lies ablaze
in Heaven's pyre
lonely ashes
lingering
they complement my eyes

I can hold your fragile heart
And we can tear apart
All the pretty, little things
That made us feel complete

After all the pieces fall
We'll both see eye to eye
Separate our minds and rest
Our bones beside the pile

Suffer through the rising heat
That longs to leave our veins
Race across the creaking floor
In glistening crimson

Taste the burning afterglow
Resolved between your lips
Drunk on ghosts and
Comely phantoms

Let the
bottle
tip.

she's just the kind of girl
basement dwellers portray
scamming cash from weirdos
the dumb ones anyway

she wants to be a doctor
but life gets in the way
she still finds time to hit the gym
and keep the belly at bay

sometimes I have to pinch her
"just making sure you're real"
she smiles but I don't think she knows
the way she makes me feel

it's like rain at the window
while you're warm inside
it's finding the sharpest pencil
when you really need to write

it's the clinking of coffee cups
beneath the morning sun
and Euclid's consternation
as two remain one

she's just my kind of girl
that's all I have to say
the kind of girl to make you wish
you could sleep all day

I come from the great unwashed
womb of the child
who didn't dare dream
from a scheme
where the last lights are embers
from ravaging concrete flames

I come from the house fire of
denatured childhood
abandoned architecture
indolence in adolescence and
wrestling with the will of the wind

I come from crawling smoke
lingering in doorways
lining streets paved with
pejorative and placation
where the insightful ask is
"wit are you lookin' it?"
and the answer is always
a wrong one

I come from malnourished minds
where the bytes outnumber
the starving they would feed
from where the drowned
still walk around
coveting concrete feet

desire is an enigma
rearing heads
razing beds
and god, the stigma
enough to make pretend
that
you never felt the fire
never used it to inspire
never wanted to get higher
like a vocal by Meg Myers

a falsetto
in stilettos
piercing hearts
robbing temples
unheard prayers
or the little death
that holds you
in your final breath

hope ferments

a sweet berry
intoxicating

as the patient table
tending to the wine

bottled blessing
blood of a saint

gently rippling
in silence

and indifference
a crutch to hold your will

the black dog sneers
growls in your ear

I was on my way to bed when I had this thought instead
I should lay here counting sheep, surely then I'll fall asleep
that's when Bo Peep broke in my window
started throwing about all this lingo and stood there on one foot like a flamingo
I jumped up requesting "what in the world!?"
she said she was looking for the final girl and if I happen to see her to give her a twirl
I promised I would 'cause I'm a Samaritan, gave her my word I would gather a garrison but only if she would show me her garden -
that's when she got mad, face red and hardened, quaking with rage almost fell out her cardigan, she screams
"Did you confuse me with Mary? I'll show you something quite contrary!"
I could tell things were about to get hairy so I floated out the broken window like a bloated fairy but when I hit the ground I landed upside-down so now I make no sound when I'm running around

Look at the way she moves
I see her in my dreams
dancing with colours
painting shades of serene

The canvas she adorns
is layered with her screams
her name is dark here
but I see what it means

Her eyes have been tempered
through fire and deceit
to burn is the cost
of a lovers heartbeat

Her voice is a story
of violence unleashed
her words, allegory
cascade through me

When angels are fallen
only they grieve
baring their souls
they forfeit reprieve

Her blood is the reason
my veins are replete
she drowns in the flood
so I can still breathe

I'll make the beat
    you bring a little melody
We'll find the words
    fit in to it perfectly

All we could need
    written in a reverie
Nightingale songs
    inscribed inside memories

Time is the tale
    of pen's wish, eternally
Yet none remains
    time is uncertainty

Ours is the ail
    of branching eternity
Unhear our names
    to learn who we're meant to be

Moxie?
I seen that once in a museum
next to the floppy
good old human beings
price of admission doesn't seem worth the plot
thank the poppys I was born a bot!

we worship the same open sky
some of us asking why
some think of how
some wonder who
but me
my thoughts are clouded by you

Clinically depressed
the clinic's a frickin mess
clinician's under stress
popping patients' cipralex
at her dinky off-white desk
still wearing last night's dress
reminiscing on the days
when she just tried her best

Head won't give it a rest
wishing she'd failed the test
could have been an insta queen
at least got in on the tiktok scene
instead she feels bereft of the chance
to take a breath

She'd rather take a slap
than see another fat smackhead
but she has to pay the rent or
start living in a tent
"It's a living"
that's her mantra
written on the pens
and every one they send
is another couple cents

So she just pretends that
what she does makes sense
punters in
prescriptions out
no time to make amends
patience measured in pence
she can potentially spend
perpetuating searches for
that promised happy end

up on Gray hill
an old ash tree grows
just who planted it?
nobody knows

some eat the fruit
some kick the leaves
some sit quietly
minding the breeze

up on Gray Hill
where an old ash tree grows
come rain in summer
or springtime snow

where fairies are crowned
and eagles have fallen
where children run
until Mother comes calling

where lovers have carved their names in the bark
as starlight kept the night from its dark
up on Gray Hill
the old ash tree grows

just who planted it?
well
nobody knows

the night moves in time
with your hips
and the rhyme on your lips
is my reason to tip

let me taste it
I won't waste it
exhaling your soul on these pages

can you fake it
while I make it
put a show on
forget where the stage is

you're now alive
thanks to me
shedding skin
so I can feel

the way the night moves
under a dark moon
the cost to put out
the light in a back room

I know you taste it
bittersweet
anathemic
lust worth the fee

just come with me
and don't forget to breathe

you're not alive
thanks to who?
shedding skin among the darkness

and I'll survive
thanks to you
worshipping a godless goddess

vigorous willow
facing down a hurricane
the tallest tree sways

If the perfect storm was never enough
what can blow us away?
Can't tell the difference between lovers' love
and a love for lust anyway

something in the way we stare?
Open souls are laid to bare
weigh the difference
between lovers' lust
and a longing for love and care

Connections seem few and
far between
when we exchange our hands for screens
affection expressed through
likes and memes
projecting the best of our lives
in dreams

Something new
in the way we all stare
digital pinnacle
obsolete miracle
there's something to
how you look in the glare
something mythical
infinitely kissable

Swipe right
just to see see how you're doing
don't want your number, we just need a room
polycarbonate amorous gloom
the future resembles the present's doom

How many times can you save yourself
before you lose fidelity?
How many matches are made
to melt a heart of insincerity?

searching hard for the fear of god
in an overflowing ashtray
digging through the pile of grey
for memories of honest days
bittersweet reprieve
a pause
before the final applause
swaying in a symphony
of smoky dreams
someone else could believe

ah canna mind
the Spring in bloom
the buzzin o' hospital lights
the midwife's panicked rushin'
ti bring air inta ma lungs
or ma polymer palace in beige


ah canna mind
ma mither's greetin', when light
wis still entwined wi her form, before
colour drained fae her perceptions
or the shade o' the devil whit took it


ah canna mind the ald grey hoose
on a cracked black road in the schemes
or the wid paneled livin' room
an' stickin' ti dark leather
dreams planted neatly doon the side.

A willing captive
gripped tight by her eyes,
steely, grey
and sparkling bright
in love
I watch her talk,
a loquacious fluence,
and study her lips like
a foreign language

your attention is slipping.

not at all.

well, she said
haven't you ever been in love?

I must have been
surely, I think
or something more akin
to time standing still,
the sands sculpting a moment
of a thousand lifetimes.

of course I have.

where is your love now?

right here, I think
chronic and immutable,
boxed into lines,
safeguarded and sound
in dreams and reflections,
vicarious,
a farce of mimicry.

well travelled,
I would say.

like blood from a stone.
well, she said
I'm glad you came,
will you come again?

and she went,
leaving me
with a pocketful of sand.

of course I will.

you don't get me
+
I don't get you

cynic
pedant
seer
believer

royal
peasant
meat
and cleaver

solicitor
enquirer
teacher
denier

conspirator
healer
pr­eacher
and liar

lover
fighter
bestower
detractor

reader
writer
audience
an­d actor

‏‏‎ ‎

i.

from across the street
a single shot
silence
then another

ii.

"it's that same ****** close
where that poor boy got stabbed!"

the same boy
who fancied himself a man
running with thugs
a pile of drugs in the van

iii.

"it's only blood -
you clean it then!"

and so.
everything
is washed away

eventually

I have not spread my toes on the banks of Loch Lomond,
nor hearkened the call of the Northern shore, drowning in its boundary with the kelpies.

I have stepped on blue suede shoes
and been dragged in to selfies.

I've never tasted a pastry en français
perusing Parisian cabarets
never took a walk with la Seine by my side, smoking cigarettes in the hazy moonlight.

I have seen dolphins spend summer nights in the Tay, laughing along the Ferry Esplanade.

I have not seen New York scrape the sky
I have seen a lot of people scrape by
I have not witnessed a single display
compare with a simple act of the heart.

I haven't reached the end
I have made a start.

In the thicka the Perth Road's pretence
millin aboot the fustian
o the ald "Hunter S." basement
(cuz there's nae Scottish writers ti name a pub efter)

cap scrapin the ceilin
Bohemian Monk Machine
gettin set on the tiny stage fir a bit o
funk-jazz-sumin-or-other

a hud ti step ootside
wee bit o fresh smoke
a few lads sauntered past in thir
designer gear an zirconian ears

"let's go in here -
nah, am no into country music"

it's ca'd Maker now but
ah it maks me is restless

I find myself
without a rhythm
a lack of lyrics
back in a prison
I thought
I'd escaped out the back
but the fact is
I backtracked
back by my own volition
and wishing
on familiar chains
to be free of dusty days
deep breath
inhale
choke on hope
and blow

in a minute
I'll be down on my knees
lost in a prayer to your hips

I don't even notice
that the honesty is free
making for the blood on your lips

let me taste this
while you show off
in this space we made
nobody knows of

come and fake it
let me go off
to another place
you make it so

so pretty
when I inhale you
consume your faithless body

compelled to feed these
ugly thoughts
awakened when I'm honest