Thursday, 27 April 2017


I am not a zombie and like all human people who are not zombies I do not subsist on brains and guts. If you have seen me walking slowly behind you with my arms outstretched it is because I believe in hugging. A hug is a cherry balm for the soul, so they say, and like all human people I prefer banana ice cream to a big flank of thighmeat. I know that sneaking up on horses makes you the predator, but that is fine, because I do not sneak anyhow. I have a slow walk. Scientists say that brains are for turning lights into thought things and guts are for turning food into inedible things, and I agree, of course. What a good use for those body parts. We are all human people here together, let’s hug.

Wednesday, 26 April 2017

26. FEUD

You mean all this time we could have been friends
is a hard tack to swallow, but who among us has never
held a pin between our teeth? Sometimes there are hems
and sometimes it makes sense and I confess: I’m a
sucker for the death bed reconciliation. Sometimes I can’t
tell if my grudges are too thick or barely enough to keep
myself warm. Am I the bent branch in a strong gust or too stiff
for ballerina shoes? You know, they say an optimist
is someone who does the same thing over and over again
and expects different results. Well, I have always
preferred butter to the bread’s lonely side, but I lied,
they didn’t say that at all. All this time we could have been
playing dead instead of snagging hooks in the septic pool,
praying we’ll come up carp. They say if there’s blood in the sink,
it’s already time to stop spitting, but even an iron rod can
believe in happy endings. I confess: I’m a sucker, again
and again, so I'll close my teeth tight this time,
and pray for my lungs.

Tuesday, 25 April 2017


When I say I can’t even think straight I mean
I am a bent wombat and things are better like

this. There might be many straight things
from a distance but when you get close they’re

like the necks of giraffes. Grateful. They’re like
the Jack of Hearts. When I say bent I include

many things but mainly you in the pink and
me in the stairwell. They say eighty percent of

dragonflies have done it this way but who needs
excuses from the bugs? When I say I can’t even

think straight it sounds like I’m trying but
the magnet on my moral compass is


baby, mine.

Monday, 24 April 2017


Sharks, my love, are old. Older than
trees or flying bugs. There were sharks

before there ever were flowers.
It is hard to tell how ancient, because

sharks’ skeletons are not made of bone.
They are more like noses, &

when noses die, there are no nose fossils.
There are only holes.

It is hard to date a hole.

Sharks, my love, have no ribs, &
a shark on land will crush itself.

A heart exploded under the weight
of history and a whole body.

Sometimes the past is like that: sometimes
heavy & sometimes just a hole
        where a nose had been.

It is not hard to date a shark.

We leave teeth behind, my love,
so check your own ribcage. 

You are printed with fossils: last night,
last weekend, February 5th.

You are your own history now.

Sunday, 23 April 2017


I have mistaken festive for feral again
Woken with a spill of gut in my gums
Don’t blame me it’s snowing in Easter
The weatherman is dead today

We called our first child Kidney &
You were the one to scream
But she looks surgical in clementine
She is such a second helping

They will be here soon and it will not matter
We will call all our sons Breakfast
My darling human person, let me feed you
Let me wipe that drip from your chin

(with thanks to @SICKOFWOLVES)

Saturday, 22 April 2017


The King of Hearts is the only king
with no moustache. In love

we do not need to hide our lips.
Just stick a sword in your skull

& say it’s done. Hair’s a odd excuse
for coming up rosemary, but I forgive

you if you need a curtain to hide behind.

The King of Hearts is sometime called
the suicide king & when I try to type king

it keeps coming out kind. These are small
facts of little importance, but still.

You cannot hide your throbbing heart
behind keratin. The other kings

are solid objects: weapons & precious
stones. Enough to break your teeth.

A heart is a soft wet thing.

Thursday, 20 April 2017


Some men like to take a beautiful girl and hide her
from the world. Some fools believe in towers.

Well, if you really believe my long hair’s your ladder,
I guess you’ve never seen my tights.

If you’re crawling up anything, it’s to the glory hole.
If you sever your feet on the way, I don’t mind.

Whisper it: my cunt’s the Hadron collider. My knickers
faster than the speed of light in Switzerland.

Last night we found negative matter. We posed
the thought experiment. We didn’t mind.

The tower came down.

Some men don’t understand what it means to say
her body is an axe. These men are slivers of glass

you won’t see until they’re stuck in the flesh
of your foot. Then, ladders don’t matter anymore.

Listen: you can be the lightning or you can be
the people falling. You can make her tiny

or you can both be storm clouds, rumblestruck
and kabanging. What would you rather?

Are you under the tablecloth yet, or all the crystal
glasses still standing?