Friday, 26 June 2009



The toilet completed its flush.

I stepped away to avoid the backlash

and chuckled: resultant of the fish shaped loo cube.

It had fins

googly eyes

and a general aura

that told me things would be alright for a while.

I mentored my limbs towards the kitchen.

A banana glanced at me

then ripened under the gaze of my crazy eyes.

Alternative rock played on the radio

and I retuned it, looking for an alternative.

The National. Nice!

I settled with a beer

and after five minutes, got up.

I was back in the toilet

howling like a madman at the eroded little fish.

Things were alright.

Wednesday, 24 June 2009


moulded plastic
soft rubber
gentle to the touch
and satisfying to hit the right notes
to an orgy of thoughts,
the bear carries off his little prey
fun fun fun. it’s
presently big c and me
and others to carry the blunt

drowning inside a vice-like flame
eyes wide shut and head first
to the heart of
this maelstrom.
playing eye tricks in a city sky
filled with bright reds
partly to jump up and shout

time to nominate the jug
insides jumping out of their birdcage
people are the greatest
things to take up the time to
shake off the past
though somehow still the present takes us back.
hotel made up from the dead
yet any human heart
could see that the occupants – past and present
served in a lonely affair

work in progress of
a sordid sorry mess conducts to
ignorance of its sustenance, similarly
water from a dogs back tell tall tales
of painted bodies.
heavy is the head that wears the crown,
aggression seeps through the pours
like garlic that lingers on ones fingers
giving back exactly the right price
look who’s turning round and round
heads spin to see what has been found
a pair of breasts. bouncing. beautiful. and beyond
the mere weakness of sight.

questions that need an answer
like jesus needs judas or a knife in a fist fight.
flashing rage of the utmost cruelty and the glory of aftermath
some could call it jealousy or others… madness
the sight and smell of cunt pushes you further
towards that empty space where all logic is gone
the need to bring climax and slit the throat coincide one another.
there’s many layers to your head
correspondences taken home,
and with a sour - why should i?
fighting dogs for the sake of dogs fighting
a face is hidden in there somewhere
yet its not empty heads where words appear to echo
a stunt rider in a steel sphere
me. me. me.

Tuesday, 9 June 2009


feet up, genitals down, the dogs sniffed the air. the fragrance of his favourite chair was now forever altered. no matter, like all bad smells it sits default after a while.

and with gallant smiles those icicles fell, sirens in the night time, calls for the replacement of missing lights, unblock your ear holes and remember the Romans, cleft in the nose, blatant eroticism of the heavy handed

-the way she moves her neck-

down by the blood that marks out where, screams from inside the earth, classical responses, given the time, the place & the folks involved i’d say we’ve all lost kontroll

Thursday, 4 June 2009



"What the fuck are you counting for!
Stop that fucking counting!"
For once, the eroded old winebox next to me
was well justified in his slurried accusation.
Christ knows how much morphine they had the poor guy on.
Without a doubt, he was completely devoid of sanity
not to mention fresh bed pans.
On this particular occasion his own private downward spiral
had synchronised with the real world.
A broken clock is always right twice a day
but at least it has the dignity to remain silent for the other 23 hours and 58 minutes.

This isn't health care, it's organised apathy, complete with time in lieu.

I hadn't seen one live person or one live person that actually wanted to be alive since i arrived.

A cleaner lackadaisically buffed the mirror in front of me.


Why the hell couldn't she stop hiccuping?