I can feel the moon filling 

rising in my chest, 
my throat 

a grip:
a commanding brand
blinding and hot
pressing down on my chest 
while my legs buck
on an operating table somewhere
then sated
by the cooling hiss 
of oxygen
(or at least
that's what they told me 
it was) 

"You're not yourself, Paul" 
a much shorter name than mine
and a bone saw plain
some numbing tune by th...

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by the flicker of my spark
by the cooling coals
beneath the hearth
by eyelids,
flittering then frozen still
where the snowflakes fall, today
where the Ash tomorrow will
our snuffed will lay to rest
a sediment of misspent youths
the rest will weigh fate's dander
o'er paths of long forgotten truths

brights buried
in moonlight
in alien sun in long-tread lost ways tr...

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For My Unloved

I will not write you a poem, for it is likely that you do not read.

I will not perform a song for you, for I cannot sing

or bring myself to learn these things.

my voice is that of a washing machine gurgling.

Let it be known!

I will not crush the stars into lanterns to light your darkness

don’t be stupid.

Nor will I mak...

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For Dicks

There are so many people with their dicks out on the net

I don’t want to watch a man wank off on Chatroulette

or see you sell your wares on interweb gaylairs, cock out

arse up, backwards lean, angles gleam’d to make you look

good.  No, thanks, I will not ‘post my cock pix pls’.

At least in a way there’s dignity in porn you see

for some might say at...

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