May 2010
2 posts
Racing to the Grave
Brace you ankles,
when we hit the cobblestones,
you’re wearing your high heals,
so pass the light - and I’ll wear mine.
Tonight - no toasts made in sadness.
We’re racing to the grave.
-
We sneak our ciders in,
engulfed by rowdy rabble,
let’s toast to our mortality!
Here’s to you and you and you!
This one’s to all our wrinkled mothers,
and elder...
Brazil Built You for Me
The apartment in Ipanema,
had more types of lino than bedrooms.
We closed its door and pushed two single beds together,
and I fucked you as they crept apart.
You were not so brazilian then.
“Already?” You asked.
I scooped beside you,
pushed my hip to yours and touched your face,
you told me to cherish and not to waste,
our beautiful collision.
-
The Aztecs bled for you.
Blood spilled...
December 2009
3 posts
Farmer Baddingfield's Junk Food Cows
Pineapple soda in the cattle trough.
Hyperactive livestock - faces of stupor,
Smiles racked with yellow teeth.
Eyes congealed with fairy floss.
Glucose veins.
Sugar-cube brains.
Brittle legs of musk stick.
Tasty sugar-sick ruminants.
Grazing implacably under sherbet Nebula.
Farmer Baddingfield’s junk food cows.
November 2009
12 posts
get out of my favourite cafe
I go to my cafe and you are there again. Cyclists. In hordes. I just want breakfast for once without the view of your sweaty lycra covered figs. Plus most of you are still fat anyway - just with really toned quads. It must be all those hash browns and lattes you have after every ride……it’s counterproductive. I don’t get it, Cyclists. Drinking a milkshake while wearing...
Salvador to Lapaz
From sealed bus windows the derelict cannot lick you,
and you find yourself in Salvador,
five hands in your pockets,
only one your own.
Desperation swarms to you,
in the city at polar ends with its beginning.
So we suck ourselves back to seventh floor balconies,
and dream their open hands, hollow eyes, and the place it once was.
A place where a leather-tin man was once-a-walking,
his only...
milkshakes
Whatever happened to milkshakes? One day I’m guzzling them down like a devil-child and then….pfffft….they’re gone. First I thought maybe alcohol killed them, so I made a cardboard gravestone that said “R.I.P. my dairy friends”, and had a stiff drink to blur my grief. Then I discovered that they are not in fact dead but alive and well, living in run down...
October 2009
0 posts
