all the words i ever write
anymore are stained with you.
                     even the words that
trickle down from my lips drip with
    your blue gridline thoughts,
your pitter-patter raindrops of
words, your hindering heart.



nothing about me is quite
the same shade anymore
                  because of it;
      the fabric of my eyes
               tinged brighter,
    specks of gold blinking
beneath my skin.


i could scratch symphonies
into broken concrete or
        smear paint
                 across windows
or sway my hips this way and
that and they would say nothing
            but you you you all over


            my heart is just you you you all over

There was a time, when we
had to vacate our alcoves
before the shops opened.

The Tories put paid to that,
providing accommodation
for increased homelessness.

Living on The High Street
is all our aspirations, park
benches pin stripe ones back.

Penny for the #MeToo Girl
with the gridline face, who
could be a frowning Boy.

A brown paper bag with
an empty plastic bottle gets
recycled by a vicious wind.

The dog pretends not to have
seen it, despite the fact that
it was raining cats -