february 2017




...across the table, each night, a sulphurous face

invites me to join the well-wishers


it even winks in my direction

and nods its approval


yet defiantly I clench my mind

unprepared as I am to grimace my part


this act full of hazardous intent

an acid that would doubtlessly dissolve my entire person


for how can I ever forget

that I was once born alone


fatherless, motherless

just littered, dropped on sacred ground


and left beside the road to decipher my own existence

alone with reality stuffed into my mouth


so please do not expect me to show obedience

to the stench of birth


or to any montage of well-wishing saints

who, with their sulphurous, yellow breath


inflame and then suck my body dry

and so my grimace stands


a part of my undissolved personality

I am, I suppose, the serious fugitive


the thief with hazardous intent

whose hands have, for years, been clenched in rebellion...






...like dry leaves crowding the gutters

everyone knows the way to the underworld


the harsh, crimson vortex

that feeds on memory


on the ash of faces

this immense, devouring silence


that treads and marks the universe

that shows to all its impeccable hostility


to what could well be the last few spoken words

crowding the gutters


these hellish, wild, delirious psyches

being eaten by fire


as the first heavy drops of rain

smack the leaves


high above the universe

it is indeed a harsh, devouring thunder


this oppressive certainty

of only ever having been


some pointless excrement of creation

a simple error on a page


of tumultuous dreams

and all that was memorable and good


consumed by the first strike of lightning...






...often, all along the infinite boundary

there are these whispers of the changeling


the shoreline where rocks articulate chaos and bones

and, of course, these ever-so timely bastards


emerging upright from the surf

humans who roar with joy


because they hold behind their eyes

the seething malfeasance of a million predators


celebrities who, with perfect teeth

cheat each and every foetus of its ego


whose whispers seem to burst with immortality

with some fabulous rendition of the truth


and yet rising from the sand

come the many hands of the dead


and one very special changeling

who engraves the names of god on its faeces


all along the infinite boundary

the ocean’s brutal, grotesque choreography


the one threat that decides the fate of all

the roar behind the glass...