I have no idea.

Eyes closed blackwater night-time. Night-time warm thickness tree branches ripple breeze, incubated deep in water. Night-time filmy fish slow-smooth past like vowel-sounds. Open-mouthed oh oh ohs of fish mouths noses play glass-smush. Streaks of phosphor body snaking, curlicuing thick water. Resting – slow heavy dancing. Bodies ripple, swaying algae, flat rhythmic blinking eyes. Open-mouth oh sounds, weightless carrying free float, all flow-flow-flow deep languid.

Sunny day

Four times a week, she says,
a little nasal. I try to do the
maths but I’m distracted by
her round red-purple
clog-toes blossoming like
tulips. Her smoothie matches
her psyche, or do I mean her
footwear? –

It was the oddness that
was compelling, I offer
by way of explanation –

Our voices disappearing
half-drifts hiding inside
traffic’s fog-breath,
toes rested on
London sad grass

pretending to be
astroturf.

Every day I get more puerile

...this is some mid-life crisis.
or pre mid-life. whatever. i
can't stop submitting bullshit
writing.

and i think i'm ageing backwards. the other day
someone said 'sucking soggy nuts'
(she was talking about almonds)

and i choked and spluttered.
and she cracked the hell up too.

once in a feminist
seminar, i laughed at
the word 'vagina.'

tea-addled mind.

what ever happened to China?
we ask unconcerned, sipping down its tea
in pretty cream-colour porcelain. detoxing
our odd-tainted souls with slow-flow green tea lakes.
waving 'free tibet' flags on
half-mast arms, pinkie fingers extended
eternal. prodding murdered crabmeat
to see it it regrows hobo pincer-claws
to fasten around our necks.

The woodcutter

His ceiling cries slow-oozing tears
& he weeps for this.

*

He stuck an axe in the light fixture,
twisted til it bled a
crackle.
Plopping glass tears & dripping
blood gumdrops

over the
shiny tile-floor.

Limerick Of Implied Violence #2

There once was a bloke with a knife
Who had a six-headed wife.
Brandishing it: ‘sweetie,
This will not be pretty.’
And then her heads were five.

Limerick Of Implied Violence #1

There once was a fellow called Fred
Who never meant quite what he said.
He told his wife ‘Dear,
There’s nothing to fear’
Whilst holding a gun to her head.

Red Velvet Curtains

When the ground is arid flatness. When
the last dregs stop wind dancing &
your mouth is dry and dull. And everything
in the world is a stilted ache.

The intermission rolls down a curtain;
ice cream-strapped ushers
roll in by clockwork.
And the phone
brrrings like a heart attack. -

Her words make my thoughts
washing machine water
swirling.

spam.

He says we found them strange and mystifying.
We are intrigued. Google ads responding say
Feeling a little salty? Always.
Discus fish delivered! [This is ]
How to Get Her Back. I wonder what it is you do
with a discus fish.

Slacker

Today will be my day of productivity.
No, really.
I’ve lit nag champa. Music belting. Today
I’ll GET THINGS DONE.

Really, I have had such a productive couple of months.
Whilst I have put off two real life things I have done so
Much BLOGGING. Submitted stories about
Real doll dead girls. Dated some. Done so very much
blogging.

The Possibly Not Very Reliable Witness says
I’m making a zine. Would you like to submit something
one day? I say
I’ll write something RIGHT NOW!


Really, I think I’m excelling at productivity.

My lunar calendar says
New moon tomorrow.
Today’s the day! I think.
Yes it, yes it is. Today’s the day
I won’t procrastinate.

Then I notice I urgently need
hobnobs. And understanding that they’re
most important of all, dash out the door, and then I’m gone.

I think I win at life.

Format Abuse

she tosses words around like confetti

until they - (she) - are used up

he says

he says

I like the

happy silence.

My Inner Monologue Probably Takes Special Ed

The optician is doing that eyeball to eyeball move
they do as part of the exam.
This is maybe the only time that anyone normally
stands quite that close
unless they’re moving in to kiss you
(or just basically unnerving.)

-

HE’S GOING TO KISS YOU!
Laughs my inner monologue
WELL NO HE’S NOT GOING TO KISS YOU
reasons my anti-surreality.
Oh fuck I want to laugh
Mustn’t laugh, mustn’t laugh, you’re not SIX YEARS OLD.



HE COULD KISS YOU !!!!
My mouth quirks into remedial laughter.

The optician is a little guy with glasses on.

Muttering sheepish ‘sorries’ to Mr. Eye Exam
I giggle like he’s eye-tickling me.
He grins and he laughs too.


Ten minutes later he’s looking
just a little bit impatient.


Moron.

Morning

Distracting from Rooibos steam

a white-pawed black cat
tip tap dances on stony roofs,
almost-smile, lapping milk-white chinmouth,

And I think, fleeting, how nice it might be
to be an occasional pet –
perhaps just five minutes daily;
a Sunday interlude hand-nuzzle.

Hold the thought, and scribble (purr) you an e-mail
to make you work-desk smile-squirm.

I'm not a Christian

Let’s go trip down stained glass pathways.
Play crucifix fingernails like keys
for sneaking doorways.
Your tongue’s the host;
I ate already.
And no salvation / redemption / life long sermons.
We’re only here for the free wine.