Wednesday, 30 September 2015

ghost view

how stark to be forever
sliced from you. all the darkness
in my story eclipses
the flooded sunlight
of your view.

Sunday, 27 September 2015

Bullet Taster

 
Once you taste metallic, there is no biting back.

ghost fleece

is it all
about me again or is it finally
After the Fall,
and I may
alight, moth-like upon your window veil?



Friday, 18 September 2015

carnival crossing

grim carnival
with its swollen stalls
of bruised umbrellas and sun-stroked fruit

each event is now
entertainment: campaigns, rallies, processions.

one who would trump them all
trout-lips the words "not nice"—his wet pout sullen.
I watch, listen, mouth stretched
to an uncomprehending O; it's all too much.
Dystopia wasn't invented to be on parade.

Friday, 4 September 2015

My Pretty Fish

sniff & sniff
three days later
you and Putin
are discreetly unwelcome

the houseguest
who never left, the fish
who once caught
could do nothing further than rot.

a somewhat lighter shade of dark

dog owners scoop multiple now
the canine conspiracy of sniff
and dump

I predict a ludicrous plague,
but confess to never having been a fan
of rut and stink

tempo: retarded.

moving along to felines.
at least there are no
teacup varieties

oh, sweetest genesis.
I've been blocked, expunged, denied

reviled, celebrated
in unlikely places.

lipstick should always be rose
tinted. Should is suspect
yet humility somehow inevitably
manages to reinvent.