march 2016




...I am the creature with a million eyes

a million acetylene eyes


each one a bright-cutting conscience

glaring down the void


a light overtaking even death

yet of myself I see nothing


my soul is sealed

a mystic scrap of verbiage


though, I suppose, there is my hapless magic

my confusing sleight-of-hand


that swells and bursts with zeros

therefore there is nothing invisible to me


I can see the passwords of the dead

the generations that never were


the tricks of the killer cells

the unravelling nuclei, the plasma


even the haemorrhaging of ideas

yet, of myself, I can see nothing


my soul is strangely mute

a midnight void


sealed with a million eyes...





...each day, eyes wide, I walk on

deeper into a perilous cave


it is my own personal labyrinth

a confused act of terror


which, unknowingly, has become my life

this obsession with forcing back the blindness


of running my tongue along the walls

desperate to express a subterranean birth


my belly swollen with lava

my breasts rising to meet my lover’s mouth


the cave kissing me through the darkness

and so the days passed, one by one


a collage of haphazard tenderness

that soon became the first ten years


then the crumpled tissues beside the bed

scented with fresh semen


became the next

moving, of course, always deeper into my narrowing cave


while above, far across the earth,

humanity threw itself back into the dirt


its pious dementia

like brittle prayers trying to shatter the truth


mensch, hominid, fossil

the passion to live


an obsession turning lethal... 






...behind these metamorphic smiles

a disease moves


the hooded moon squeezes through

bullys its drama further into the heart


an anger so intense

so surgical


it forces the blood inside

to rhyme with the words for bastard


these venereal messiahs

who drag their genitals


from mouth to mouth

who use our children’s bodies as pillows


the unclean miasma

that hammers laughter to the walls


that can, even from the air,

distil the fascist sweetness for war


poor child, moon child

in-the-black sand-face-down-child


love did not love you enough

too soon did the hooded moon enter your eyes


these sages and priests

injecting infanticide


the app of apps

the hit of all hits


the cocaine foetus

conqueror of this so virtuous, so stellar world


then again the disease moves

smiles become metamorphic


and the miasma drags

our children by the hair


across the black sand

down to the sea


and on into the unclean drama...





...but then why this nothing, nowhere music

this irritable melody


that burns the ground beneath my feet

my blackened, smouldering footprints


all that is left of my existence

pages of spluttering, uninhabited words


holding a queer resonance

an odd, muted testimony


to the final overthrow of risk

the nowhere music an ice-flow


the ice-flow a disturbing emblem

the emblem a black crown


a nowhere fanfare

echoing down the corridors


the odd resonance

history’s terse homeland


an immoveable page set in concrete

all that is left of existence


the will to make some sense of

the crowns, the footprints, the risks...