The Lost selfie of Kim Kardashian.

Astarte, Holy Isis, Diana,


  unknown nymphs of wood or wave ,


all encompassing Nut,


 whose gracile arch holds up the heavens clear.


  of such fierce womanhood I would hear.


 But ever does my old lyre Wish to strum,

  Only for that bulbous bum.


 Hittite badonkadonk! Great ass of Akkad! 


Whose forebears defied the might of pharaoh ,



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Giant steps are what you take...

A serene orb of palest celestial fire

My nocturnal mistress sits supreme above the fray,

A long exiled lover yet to deliver her ire

As she continues through the heavens on her lonesome way............

But 2 be Sirius little Miss Pale is naught but a ball of rock,

Stoney lady by my estimation a quarter millie miles from my green front door,

Best be all singing and dancing nay twer...

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The poet Shelley once proclaimed 'my soul is an enchanted boat' 


 Such elegant maritime metaphor appeals to the double islander in me. 


A piece of flotsam upon the wide ocean of the world and human history


 Transported westward by the calculating economics of empire 


 Washed up dishevelled onto the volcanic outcrops of the Caribbean to begin an unearned sentence. 


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After Christmas.

After the rude warm lights are gone and sumptuous glitz is fled.

What in the name of sweet St Stephen are we to do stranded in Europe's northern climes all winter?

Dear Father Christmas, please spin me southward, To some, any, lapis lazuli lapped isle.

Where the salamander sits serene on warming stone.

Where the air runs thick with spice and sun. 


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The Curse.

Grab a pinch  of quantum soup

mix with fresh picked arrowroot,



gasping gluts of interstellar air

with corona of Altair,


dying light of Betelgeuse 

cast around him double thrice,



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Wowsers in my trousers

For serious

ever seen such bouncing globes of translucent cream

that make the mind spit and spin Catherine wheel style!




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I feel awkward without coffee

 I feel awkward without coffee

like chasing pert sylvans round Helicon's hills

constant under Urania's dissapproving eye.


Makes one want to get deep into the wood with goat footed pan

erection flailing wild for Bacchus rites.


Or better yet to smash skulls for the ruby juice 

thick Teutonic forest leaning close.











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Fuck me eyes.

A look clear into a pretty girls eyes

clear hard water forced down your optic nerve

the abyss of beauty deep and cold looks back.

Like that mirror stare when an odd flicker calls you back for more.

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read poetry while high

Double fuck

hit with some starry metaphor like a hammer smash

can taste the iron of proxima's atmosphere

tangy on a tongue like steak was slapped.

In jest I speak but truly sweet holy fuck

when those twisted sibilant sentences scathe and scrape around the cranial pits.






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What bid the upper spheres to roll

about our grandly tomb of space,

in wild misanthropic patrol

propelled by some unknown faceless grace,

the same who bids all landless work?

for wage sustaining slavery,

and fashion law that government dirk

to prolong their own sad tyranny,


all this we must endure without tears

upon our once bright aeolian hearts,

where anxieties...

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