Brixton’s Orpheus shushing me asleep all night long

Pour into infinity the ashes of me

            when this work finally sets me free

Eating sausage rolls on the train

Writing to see how naughty Nigel will get

            and whether he put on his leather skirt again

Frosted breath blows sodium gold frustration

Some day you’ll be kings and queens not beggars

Dancing o...

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In the toxic basement locked a querulous dog

tethered to a bench speaks out

Grumbling robots put washing up

liquid in Grandpa’s pipe as the

trains come & the trains go

The space between the stars

I failed my Latin exam in the high dusty hall

the guy next to me kept asking

How soon is now? and What difference does it make?

I watched the trains come, I wat...

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A stupefied, fuzzy silence in the garden

deployed carrier bags, even grimness dreams

Endure the pain and something may betide

A hidden gem that we may never see.

He was in love with his own reflection

Till he had a face of purple cheese.

A quiet rage of a youth misspent

Where small children play complicated games

He was in love with somebody else’s

...

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Bed-blocking King Duncan’s lifeless form

Kisses his lips sweaty T-shirts

Like a dandy rabbit this man once more.

What chance have we under the Dunelm Duvet

Goyt and Tame together plan the hit

on Lady of the North with a poker and coal scuttle

To remove the thorn from the flesh

of the knuckled finger-splitting hand

In a white blank room the die hard

poets r...

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Battery-operated soliloquy bequeaths

            lessons in bumptious authority

Shouted from the mouths of battery-operated politicians

Manderian king floats by, as some strange man

            photographs poets and disappears into the wall.

Vinyl grooves. Miles moves like an engorged Goyt

            but asks “Where are my socks?”

Ai is eating itself, while we all ...

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If God is real he has blue blood and wears a tin star
Miles and miles of special polish slips between glory and modesty

Blue is hot and hot is cool
Not precluding the toy tin star.
Titillation...or just tits? Best not to ask...

I went to the Rio Grande a King, came back a cowhand,
         best not to know.
Crafted chords stretch for miles. Make love to my soul.
         Best not to as...

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