One hundred years of sodden red sand
millions of innocents slain and condemned
brainwash the brute and send him to shoot
no more of a troop than a toy in your hand.

Pull the wool over why we send them to die
dossiers, mandates now malformed and broken.
Those who were 'chosen' to vote for the people
are payed off, promoted by power drunk creatures.

Our bubble of bliss is the last dying hope
of a stranded psychopath on a bone-laiden raft
tarnished by greed signed misdeeds
floating in streams: the blood of the past.

Hear the voice of the people unite against evil
to condemn your crimson fuel wars on the east
and like doctor to monster, quench the 'Vitai Lambarda'
fuelled by the foolish benefitting the ******.

Let the embers scorch, settle, and form a new mantle
where ideologies are transparent and righteous
and the poor of the world aren't corporate fighters
'speak up, speak up and veto the game'.

Inhale the burn, choke and splutter;
the walls sway, the roof descends.
Pass the vessel and cut the rafters;
the chair tilts, the table bends.
Exhale the fumes, laugh and mutter;
the floor shifts and window melts.
Spool back, slow down the pitter-patter
of those around; now talking faster.
Words whizz past, spill and clutter,
then echo round an empty chamber.
Retract a thought from lingering over
the tongue and through the closing shutters.
Rooms disperse and feelings clatter
with no impact on soft grey-matter
your brain swirls, and body disbands.
Through the barrel, **** the hammer;
pupils shrink and heartbeats race.
Fixated by a bold, young face
the grin widens, the wall moves near
and bubbles up in yellow blisters
wood-chip cheeks and cracking fissures
take flight and sober up halfway
through the bathroom window.

That night we were perfectly irrational,

your mother spoke like Rhea in an ancient

Greek tongue. We straddled the mighty
Norton five-hundred and joked of Marxist revolution.


She tightened her arms on the ascent.
Danger flurried down our spines and palms

began to sweat. At breakneck speed we whipped

round snaking grey meanders along the cliff edge.


Our compass set in lunar chatoyance

the stars were squinting feline lovers

as the night light washed upon her eyelids,

lashed with jagged stalactitic silhouettes.

We coasted down a sandy path; emerging from the hills

where the shepherds’ ruby grins were the nights hue.

Hearts cast in iron and minds sat on sand,
the sky snapped pink to blue, to navy dogtooth.


The spider grass on the dunes, the mirage

of twisting dancers and sand storm pirouettes.

Full beams off, we’d blink and stand amazed,

that very trace of privacy at night


which leaves you dazed, for unlike the crowded

light of day which knows no heart nor wonderment

moonlight dances on the pier, and bounces off the waves.

My first born son who parts the fog and clouds


to carry primal thunder; I gift to you,

the joy of life, and beauty of the oceans wealth.

The sand will bed and water cleanse,

the tide will carry and coral mend.


Until you, La Pedarosa of the floating world,

may sail over those who tell of any boat

you cannot sink and any fleet you cannot fell.

I’d **** to fall asleep
these ever sinking eyelids
break the black, the darkness parts.
Behind slits of light
reddening eyes weep
sitting moist, unnerving endings:
shards of vision ignite
swirling thoughts, impulsive pulses
of rapid electric sparks.
Sharpened spiralled contemplation:
daggers, knives of stimulation
emulating scythe like sweeps;
cutting spirals in the throat
I cough and splutter, mutter, choke.
What madness and envy lay
in the thrusting of hours passed.
She wouldn't let me fall away,
slump to slumbers thrown, alas
such beauty to demise,
roll down the blinds on rising skies.
Our crimson sheets grow ever-green;
her sunken body, lifeless, bare.
I imagine her final unbroken dream;
she finds this wealth, too hard to share.

In this age of 3D Entertainment
and surround sound speakers;
of high definition and films extra features,
electronic mail and internet dating.

Where tectonics fail yet can be shown on
paper graphs and charts and diagram art.

These decades of speed and cynicism.
Where digits reign as idols flop
from pedestals and into bars.
Where your wildest dreams lie not
in your heart but in your favourite shop.

In this land of greed and want
and discord of the highest scale.

Is it peace and virtue that won
you the right to work from home;
eating breakfast in bed, worrying
only if jokes are stale?

Is it fine that your success
has led others to fail?

In this game of snakes and ladders
who populates the pit?

Those who were unfortunate
enough to be born into it.

When I awake I become miniature;
ant to antelope, arachnid to man.
Creeping spirals, dotted lines, linear
thoughts. Calm I calculate, construe my plan.

Today is bland, grey skies, brown souls; stroll palm
in hand. I clap your smile,you touch my knee.
Contact of eyes, then lips; quivering arm,
blue eyes eclipse. I grow momentary
wings, sit on the stars as butterfly sings.

Midday passes, afternoon sun, boredom
arises. I leave you be, head growing,
you crowned my ego. Vision clouded;

I am Hercules, sovereign power.
Deluded grandeur, I perch on my tower.

I’ve spent days in stretched perception;
my elongated arms sit across the room,
my swelling hands bulge on the mantelpiece
and the room throbs like a ribbiting frog.

“Nothing’s wrong” I lie, dazed and *****
and close my eyes. One hand obscures the breeze
between lips, another clamps my nostrils shut.
But your hands are your own and bare no place
on my feverish, inclement face.

I **** bolt upright, and glare full beam.
Reel back, I tumble in and out of dreams.
Blink and the menace subsides; as cobra
turns to darting hare, you shriek and stare.

“What’s wrong?” your banshee screech pierces
ear to ear. Scrunch my eyelids, so returns
fierce medusa cursing in the mirror.
Hose me down and seize me from this fever
and for god’s sake woman, call the doctor.