october 2017




...with these rare, scribbling, sapphire moments

my reason to exist returns


birth is again imminent

the old, mysterious, inky virus has begun


to trickle down my legs

back onto the page it once left


but this, I know, will just be another messy renaissance

bringing nothing tidy, nothing clean


just another savage, wild rush of anger

another expletive which is supposed to drag mankind


down from its delusions

and yet the truth is, this inaudible clutter


may be all that is left

when tomorrow’s souls start screaming


it’s not fair, how can our love

have burnt away one half of the world


while the shelves are so, so empty of deodorant, it’s not right

but what’s also not right are these blue, fat flies


that can zip so swiftly in and out

tasting our wounds


searching, always searching for some grubby resurrection

for their own savage reason to exist...





...in many ways these lines are undisguised rhapsodies

cries to the aeons yet to come


the approaching, two-way mirrors

that reveal life’s final payload


to be an impenetrable megalith

a silence so utterly violent


the air, our thoughts and even our bones

are stripped to insignificance


it is the end of imagination

of man’s conceited consecration


somehow the future has arrived

without a name


the disguised, two-way colossus

bending mountains


twisting the ultraviolet earth

until the aeons break apart


and reveal their monumental indifference

to the wastage that is all human suffering


these rhapsodies without an end 

this future with no name...





...maybe the delusion is, what I chase chases me

this life’s cruel asymptote


the looming shadow of a shadow

the gift that feeds the many strange mouths of infinity


a bowl, perhaps, of bright, challenging sunflowers

that for no reason


throw their blinding yellow at the universe

the as-yet-unanswered, dazzling wilderness


that each day slides its mad angels into my veins

for we have always been


the flames, the affinities, the shadows

the excuses for all that which is hidden


the hard-core primate who refuses to die

who would rather learn and then conspire to lie


house of bone, mouth of stone

I have always struggled with the sneaky ways of the wilderness


and so I have run right through the mirror

and out along the yellow, swallowing curve


where the angels shriek with ecstasy

and the universe cuts into my face...