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      (iv) voice...
reverberating ultrasound syllables
moans...
her breath
ALL wax lyrical from her gold frond tongue
dripping maple syrup rhythm
all over
              & through me

gold rush pulsing in my veins
to the tune of a hypnotic narcotic. 
intoxication.

her tongue is an aspergillum
soaking me
from head to denim
in holy water
& my once bland arid gard...

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robotic trails

the same songs, the same breakfast and the same people

over and over and over and 

replace me with a bug, a computer

fill up my mug with something truer 

transform me from this hollowed shell 

who knows painful repetition all too well 

i used to be so smart 

now my bleak life craves the abstract art 

which once gave it colour 

and a nihilist, my hopeful...

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‘Picasso’s not all he’s cracked up to be.’

He’d had a few by then, but understood

The dangers of hype and adulation

Of the spineless, unconditional kind.

We were on the last train from Fenchurch Street;

Among the massed drunks now quiet or depressed,

The air was thick with smoke and rancid ale.

At first, when he leant over to my side,

I groaned, half-expecting some hard-luc...

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i would fall from heights
shaking Lucifer terrified
for Luna's starry skies to linger,
in a Jashar night, by your side.

floating on Chopin stroked ivory nocturnes
swimming in deep ruby pools of Pinot Noir
dancing on your flowering lips,
sweet with vanilla cigarette smoke.

life is beautiful.

phosphorus waves of purple patches
carry me from seas of stormy eyes
onto shores sanctuary ...

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