april 2017




...inside every skull is a brutal infinity

a gutter running through the mind


a one-and-only starry circus

that pins vast roses to the sky


so ask not what is lost or gained

when visionaries mumble into your hands


their god is our bitterness

but our loneliness is our freedom


for it is sight itself that now dictates

the terror stretched over our faces


the eye's circling blindness that spies the rose

and takes its beauty for itself


and yet here we are trying so hard to smile

at the masters of ceremony, at the goons and clowns


as they high-five our children’s heads through the air

where’s the harm in that they laugh


our god is your bitterness

and blowing kisses they cart-wheel down the gutters


and out into what remains of our brutal freedom

rose petals falling from the clouds... 






...these irate, invincible word-snakes

are now beyond control


the mad muscles in our throats

have finally taken flight


devouring history

setting fire to milk


demanding of each prepuce

that it spits frogs and bones


that each vulva swells with crucifixions

they have even called for universes


to emerge without minds

and for hearts to pump only water


yes, a wily delirium has without doubt

bitten into our wrists


and the magic of re-booting humanity

has now passed into the hands of a narcissist


a manicured glutton who devours burning milk

whose prepuce has taken flight before the world


whose heart pumps only water

whose universe is without a mind...






...although so far I have escaped the wooden face

the eyes soiled with age


yet there is still no freedom

from the cold, cold narrative of my own irrelevance


and even though the acid rains of Venus

have thinned my blood


and the clays of Mars

have entered my soul


the peoples of the Earth

have been loved by no-one but themselves


so it must be said

the Sun should have done more


far more than merely fuel sex

day and night for four billion years


clearly it is the confidence trick of oblivion

this grotesque, special synaesthesia of the peoples of the Earth


to have everything and call it nothing

to have nothing and call it everything


an old, old narrative

where shadows merge and never yield


not even to freedom...






...I have finished with being human

absurdity now holds me in each of its fists


and in each of mine I too hold absurdity

we two are killers


obscure, immoral predators

who roam arm-in-arm across this inbred conscience


seeking deliberate ambiguity

anything to camouflage the tightening fists


the instincts drooling as we close-in

on those who scavenge from our sad, selfish memories


the child racist

who stuffed snow into my mouth


and the mobbing crowd that knew

a little delirious butchery


was the very best life could offer

and so everywhere around me


the sunlight began to turn black with ignorance

and I became a killer of killers


a chimera betrothed to the absurd

standing arm-in-arm watching the skies darken...