february  2018


...every day behind the ha-ha mask it is the same

and every night I have no choice


but to kiss the one-eyed oracle

my tormentor and kinsman


my traitor who gazes with contemptuous relish

on all that I have been


the child who still scratches the ground

in search of love


who even now snatches at the shadows

for feelings that are clean


and so I have no choice

but to draw my tormentor’s breasts up between my lips


the hope, the ascent, the tenderness

covered with make-believe


with the ethos of the infinite child

the traitor within the ground


my body’s clean treachery

behind the mask, behind the kiss


those feelings caught in the earth’s shadow

the love that has no choice...






...look, the ritual vice versa

has finally won


it is clearly a disturbing gift

contrary and courageous


to have spat out

the clockwise mind


and to have had the disfigured past

pulled from our spine


its myriads of glittering astrocytes

falling to the floor


over-flowing into rooms

filled with animated, gibbering tongues


it is exactly the courage needed

to dissect the last ever paradise


as death gazes out at space

and space gazes back at death


a final summit is reached

and these two curious siblings stand


as they have always stood, whispering

like scheming lovers


and neither the one nor the other

will ever be the first to relent...