children sit on floating benches, smoking pulsing electricity
through beams of neglect; spinning webs of burnt autonomy,
they deal cards of fortune, raising stakes, to fold – to execute
cheating through smouldering sunrays they remembered it all

they remember growing beards, rising within freedom
and through broken promises of eternal love, to drown
in intoxicants, wishing to remain broken and greying
so they were able to return, unfinished and scripted

blank pages of knowing filled their brains to the brim,
swirling data through the eyes that examined the ticking world
of soft bedding and cold coffins, buttons had been placed
inside their wardrobes for the mental breakdowns of the night

small palms grew into worn bark, sprouting amber leaves
and unfolding into a photo album, you remember swinging
with that red cardigan, you remember the flightless bird
who died and couldn’t remember how to return home

the children ate, and talked, lifting the burden of their smiles
bruising their bruises with the lust of escape, they decided,
tying knots with expertise they assisted eachothers suicides
hanging serenely from the decaying trees, they sang to death

wiser and slower, they emerged, translucent; limping forwards
studying their younger bodies, they laughed and laughed and laughed
they helped the last child expire and heard the click of her neck give,
carrying their baggage to the floating table, they resumed playing.


Two Capsules of Deception

my exterior resembled yours, a stony skeleton framed,
with eyes, lips and skin; drifting lazily against expectation
my form gradually pixelated into the razored atmosphere
sewing my veins back through my creativity and out again

my fear smiled, becoming lost in a temporary condition
my normality escaped from my lips in graceless bursts
ribboning the searing needles that skewered my brain
static indulged electricity, stretching out my skull

my tongue could only drone murder, every passing thought
was invaded with scarred children becoming exorcised
my disposition fluctuated between taxes and sin
unable to breathe, I dislodged my dusty trachea

my week old form was slumped over pieces of poetry
emotion had drained me; synonyms became sadistic
foreign words violated mine, holding a gun to its head
reaching for my pills I kissed the disappearing trigger.


the birdless sky had exchanged places with the littered earth,
children slept on the clouds and the moon lit up the ground
blue and green sunspots evaporated into empty cigarette packs
silver haired creatures grew from the shining waste, spitting
their victims came numbered for their revival into purity
blackened hands held their necks under the glimmering water
useless and pale, they drowned in flashing kaleidoscopic rivers
bodies emptied of grudges as their scaled foreheads imploded

fishermen looked on. their clarity had tried to hook the dead back to life
all they caught were frozen limbs, their tears could not warm them
dying of sympathy, they flipped coins into the river, wishing for solace
but their golden coins floated, worthless, back to the surface.


House of Bone

I was dying; blissfully, painfully
lying beside a Man who I couldn’t remember
my forgetting had torn him apart with its teeth
and shifted through his glistening organs
finding his heart it drank without remorse,
gulping down his disease, it flourished;
sprouting black Lilies from its forehead

I told him I was sorry
I told him I was dying
but he just stared; introverted and silent
at the person I no longer was
emitting carbon monoxide regret
towards my bloodstained form
I choked on my lethargic betrayal

I asked him if I could have his ribs,
he didn’t reply
so I stole them and built a magical house
I wallpapered the walls with his skin
and painted the doors with his blood
I used his intestines to build a Hammock
I could never swing past the heavens

The house had told me that it was my Father
and that I should do what was right;
do what people with hearts did
I packed my house into a coffin
and asked the world to build a tunnel,
to the centre of the earth where he would live
and then, I buried him out into the bubbling sea.


Phases of the Insane

these amber mornings were made of discoloured highs,
buried neatly under the mapped watermark of purpose

unable to function in present tense or think in adjectives
I drowned where I slumped, under lethargic layers of white

my glassed lenses arrived wrapped in crinkled gold paper
now – I could only see in negatives and hasty shadings

oh wasted sepia mornings! veiled behind patterned blinds;
drinking zamzam water from the cupped hands of the dead

climbing the wallpaper walls, I squatted on the ceiling
watching intently as the children ate their own flesh.


of Death, Dreams and Hell

all I’ve ever wanted was to fall through my bed and straight into hell.

the clouds screamed manic frustration downwards, through my skull
I waited, all packed and dressed, for death to absorb my pain
I dreamt poisonous wild flowers were eating through my skin
perfectly decorating the intentions that had torn a hole in my side;
perfuming me with lust filled suicides and stormy horizons.

damaged voices split my thin lipstick smudged figure in half
I collapsed on my splintered spine, falling on little plastic stars
starved of empathy, I took shots of gold and inhaled doses of dreams
spluttering my fantasies back into the air, I was unable to make it stick;
my lungs, burnt with the morbid intoxication of glittering sickness.

but I couldn’t fall; so I had decided I would float to the flames instead.