Monday, 29 February 2016


Decomposition is duller than dedication
and I delight in that fact.
The denouement of a decadent demise
is the determination that I once lacked.

Friday, 19 February 2016


We live the bitter rush
the cracks to the skull from words thrust upon our heads
a plaster on the wound and we're good again.

We refuse to see
the earth is not beneath us it is above us
hinging on our backs
and everything tips
but the weight is there.

Thursday, 11 February 2016


The lone man stalks the road,
old patched jacket sewed
marks snake where he once strode.
A stolen meal, nothing owed
he still lives by moral code
that lone man nothing slowed.

Wednesday, 10 February 2016

Late Night Reading

The glass of sea in my right hand
obfuscated the light that the window
did not confiscate. These black bleedings
of thoughts that time had spat out.
The bowling blues of green sea-hues
turned beneath the waves of sheets.
The Captain called for his ail,
as I drank my fill of refuge and seaweed.

Thursday, 4 February 2016


The wind howls in an open corridor,
caged like a bird but singing nonetheless—
it seeks not an escape from the confines—
but to wreak terror on the terrestrial testing that trapped it there.

The clouds part and the jailer appears,
grinning sadistically, keys in hand—
the sentence is simply existence—
and the sounds can barely escape the wind through all of the seeping shade.

It has prepped its face for a death,
an unkind death, swift and stiff—
It will become as rigid as a floorboard—
and you will hear it creak at night when all the little lights go out at once.