This is just plain wrong, kiddies. Don’t try it at home.


April 30, 2014


Hiding my itinerary
in a case of nightmares
I come to death from nowhere.

I stretch time until it is nothing.
It holds me up like a suit I forgot to wear.
It holds me up like a body I forgot to pack.

Wiping away my skin
the rag leaves every hole uncovered.

I scrape off the remains;
I trip over wire;
I shake metal; I twist the shape of windows.

The train rattles to its destination.
I sprinkle blood in the smoke of my departure.
The air holds a record of my last seconds


“My words bite your thighs, it is as though my teeth were written. It is a delirious calligraphy, to be studied today by tomorrow’s graphology inside pyramids under an immense block of ice growing in the middle of the desert like a miracle. The mysterious calligraphy of illiterates where images seem closer to the objects which have not been invented yet, the simulated calligraphy of illiterates. I open you up like a horse and look inside for the bridle bit, forgetting you already hold it between your teeth. Night falls again, it is night incessantly. It is the witching hour, permanently bewitching, where the consistency of your being is far more certain than flesh, your bewitching flesh, permanently bewitching. I caress your ectoplasm like I would a shark. I sip you from tall beakers of crystal propped up on living frog leg. I invite you, I shout you, I bestow a name on you, any name.”—

(Gherasim Luca translated by Julian Semilian)
“The Volcanoes Inside Vegetables”

Titling Shadows

April 30, 2014

church on estuary

The church is on the other side
of the estuary being beautiful
may not save it.

I went there once
with the children
the day full of sun and chat

though something happened.
Gone now, the man’s dead,
anyway I never knew him.

Today the mud is bared,
the sea out
the boats tied and tilting

as if they might sink at high tide
instead of rising as they did yesterday
and Thursday and the day before.

The season s done and the inevitability
of winter is honed in the fresh winds,
the late sun.

Inside the tidy school – quiet.
Our children safe?

Nowhere is –
not the estuary mud or the fields
by the church, even the lanes
are haunted

and each day we wait breathless
for the rattle of the gate, the child’s shout,
‘I’m home! I’m home!.’

(Patricia Bishop)


“They wore blouses with buttons down the front that suggested the possibilities of the word undone. These women could be undone; or not. They seemed to be able to choose.”—

(Margaret Atwood)
“The Handmaid’s Tale”


Don’t take anything personally. Nothing others do is because of you. What others say and do is a projection of their own reality, their own dream. When you are immune to the opinions of others, you won’t be the victim of needless suffering.

April 27, 2014


Gay Collier

April 27, 2014


way high on brecon beacons,
amid the rain and sleet,
along came a dirty ole collier,
with wellies on his feet.

i said, you dirty ole collier,
my wife is fast asleep,
she’s always got an headache,
please help me catch a sheep.

i am a dirty ole collier,
my name is slimy sam,
but you see i’m gay boy,
so lets go catch a ram.

(ioan pearce)


So, maybe it’s not a maiming
but some weird daylong fairy-tale

as the door opens into a new chateau
and the moat closes over
behind you. It’s magic:
like pricking your finger, the pin
just some new animal, for your pleasure;
a kind of tickle, you don’t feel it

having gone somewhere beyond
pain, your
body limp and blooming as an anemone, o
the lush stories to tell! the extravagance! the irresistible
rules! to be
strapped to stirrups, your wrists
chained…Classier even than the story of O
it’s what the good fairy promised

and the good girls get:
the kiss in the turret, the happy-ever-after.

(Evan Zimroth)


I don’t wanna be your friend
I don’t want niceness
I don’t wanna be your friend
I don’t want politeness
I don’t want to go back
To a life that’s dull
A life that’s empty
And vice less
I don’t wanna be your friend
I can’t just turn off my feelings
I can’t let go of history
And all my secret yearnings

I don’t wanna be your friend
I don’t want texts
Saying “ Hi hw ws Ur dy? ”
I want sleazy phone sex
A list of deliciously filthy
Things you want to do with me
And when we do meet up I want us do them all
I don’t want a peck on the cheek
And polite hugging
I want hungry tongues
And inappropriate touching
I want us not to care
Where we are and who’s watching
I want to disgust the assistants
When we go out shopping
I want your hand on my groin
While your Mum serves up food
I want oral sex when she nips to the shops
We were always in the mood
I want lust and longing
That never ends
I want my old lover back
I don’t wanna be your friend

I want it to be obvious to everyone
That we’re a pair

I want us to go back to doing everything together
I don’t want to ride the bus
To my house all alone
I want to embarrass a taxi driver
As he chauffeurs us home
I want us getting undressed
Before we even reach the door
I want sweaty humping
Right there on the floor
I want long slow
Lasting lovemaking
I want hectic fucking
Till the walls are quaking
I don’t want the “honeymoon” period
Ever to end
I want us to go on forever
I don’t wanna be your friend

I want to wake naked and shivering
In the wee small hours
Being careful not to wake you
As I claw back the covers
Drifting off to sleep listening to
Calm even breathing
Lingering too long over goodbyes
When it comes to leaving
I wanna bask in the warmth
Of what it is to be near you
Hugging and snuggling
Missing not being with you
It’s friendship that turns into Love
Not the opposite
You turn me on and I can’t turn off
No matter how much I might try it
I’ve got enough I don’t need anymore
I hate this emotional dead end
I’ve room in my life for a lover
But I can’t just go on being your friend

(Paul Rafferty)