Romance

Sits scrunched-up and sleepless
fists poised on the bed
looks down on the woman
and makes lists in his head:
Things done and not done
things said and not said
bare midnight minutes
that are wretched and dead.
In the morning he yawns
rubs his eyes cracks a smile
then his mouth goes all crooked
and his guts fill with bile.
She stretches and wriggles
her eyelids still closed
murmurs and breathes out
and clenches her toes.
He hates without passion
loathing lazy and slack
hates each of the bones
that run down her back.
She wakes up and looks up
bedraggled, bedreamed
her face tight and tortured
by a regime of creams.
And eyes that once met
over food and good wine
meet once again now
cross a surfeit of time.
She turns away,
hunts her slippers
he too turns his back
and both walk like gunmen
ten steps,
turn,
attack.

Neurotica

Lost her name in the sea
overboard off the side,
it pulsates below
dragged in/out by the tide.
Just another Natasha
all fishnets and smiles
broken-loved mouth:
black rose that beguiles.

Click-clack/tick-tack
over the tiles to the sink
to hawk up old sperm
and wash off the stink
of dirty-dog paws
and manicured claws
uncaring caresses
and unsightly sores.

She looks in the mirror:
sees a fragment/a scatter
a gobble-groped quim
gnawed down to a tatter.
Breast-belly butt-thighs
a gross jumble of meat
fat finger-food buffét
grab all you can eat.

Squinted spotlighting
bright crescents of tears
brain raw and edgy
full of broken-tooth gears.
Fresh blood on her thighs
under lycra and lace
and burns on her nipples
to teach her her place.

Joe says that he loves her
as he brings down the cane
coming by every Tuesday
just to hurt her again.
It's her eyes that he likes:
their Siberian haze
and her translucent skin
with its malnourished glaze.

He wraps her in cold-packs
and fills her with ice
puts blue on her lips
and inspects her for lice.
Swills pills by the fistful
and shaves all her hair
photographs all her angles
under a thousand-watt glare.

Chill flesh gone still now
pulse slow in the vein
breathe in bare whispers
wracked rigid with pain.
He clambers onto and into
- covers her like a shroud;
she remembers her birth name
and cries it out loud.

Life goes on...

Down drown
dismal and frown
caper mothlike
round and round
flying to sizzle
wing-pop and frizzle
no big bad storm
not even a drizzle
to mark the deadend
of an inglorious life
bound round by children,
hard work and a wife.

Lies lies
in loving disguise
whispered to hush
our little-one's cries
no ghouls in the cupboard
or under the bed
And Auntie Jean didn't
eat Uncle fred's head
(her legs in the air and the
whole bedstead rocking)
that time when they saw
her all bra-strap and stocking.

Dazed hazed
exhausted malaised
sleeping so little
you're patently crazed
forgiven perhaps
the odd little faux-pas:
the pants full of crap
the dent in the car
So childish so shackled
so green eggs and ham
please somebody shoot me
dead dog that I am.