June 14, 2018
Heavily they fly
necks broken
by their realism
thudding into
the glass of a sketch.
Black pallette
and darker,
vista approximate,
future crippled by
an unexpected surface.
Their tangible presence
creating perspective
mapping distance
from here to there
as the crow once flew.
June 14, 2018
until the final seven days. From the moment my mother dies, terror becomes an added instrument of torture. Everything stays the same, propped up in bed, no cooling fan ever quite strong enough or in the right place and a reluctance to eat that turns his face the colour...
June 14, 2018
On leaving Psychiatric hospital and entering six months rehab
For ten years I am Travis Bickle. Staring out exposition as bubbles pop and fizz. Surface bursts, not Magic Kingdom fireworks. I tell my therapist answers to questions he has yet to ask. His discomfort shuffl...
June 14, 2018
Honestly,
it depends
who's
asking.
The Iggy Pop
7" action figure
is there for that special day
of no fun.
I can't bear to delete
the cinema style popcorn maker,
despite the garish way it shouts
no style, no cinema, rotten snack.
And a Wild Star
awesome unicorn
double/twin duvet and...
June 13, 2018
The deadly serious suicide attempt that left me alive was back on the agenda.
Blister packs of pills stroked my fingertips, antibacterial cleaner filled my nose and the sound of duct tape tacking off a roll sent a shiver up ears.
The pills were ready, ant eggs on my duve...
January 2, 2018
Little usherette, piping hot drinks positioned like a cow-catcher at the front of your brushed steel trolley.
In this world of narrow aisles and apoplectic travellers, you are a purveyor of overpriced beverages and snacks attempting to slice your way from rear toilet t...
December 31, 2017
Little usherette fix bayonet and head for Ramsgate
you are the first line of defence against marauding Syrians
migrating economically north
instead of battling barrel bombs south.
With your tin hat and floppy vegetation fascinator
you will find them on the beaches,
the axles...
December 31, 2017
Little usherette rock pools of empty blister packs scratch the soles of your
beige slippers.
Are they yours, or another careless sad person?
You are dog sitting a dog for your sister, a black dog.
Cherub is licking his balls on your sofa, piggy eyes believing his Frenc...
December 31, 2017
I am stirring soup as rain beats against the shutters of my restaurant.
It is closed, it is two miles up in the Andes, and it is where I spend every afternoon with my cook, Miriam.
She chops vegetables, I stir soup, and we talk without looking up.
It suits both of us, sh...
June 17, 2017
I was front row in the Shrine Room, eyeball to spectacle lens with the chief nun and her big spongy microphone.
The setting could scarcely have been better: a beautiful gold Buddha, scent of the Gods, a lovely warm room full of eager acolytes.
The chanting started, line...