Everything is a Liquid.

Everything is a liquid she said,

and poured me into a glass.

She drank me down and rolled me round and churned and burned and digested.

And out I spilled still whole and wise,looked her smack bang in the eyes.

Everything is a liquid I said,

and poured her into a glass.

The Rose.

Deep inside I wear with pride
a rose I cut and set aside,
For a pretty girl, a cunning daughter,
(a match for any man that sought her).

Upon that day I put away
a glay-zed cup I'd made from clay,
To hold the sweat of fevered skin
and catch the dew of infant grin.

In her sleep a promise keep:
(steal a glance both long and deep)
writhe and shudder in shrouded dream
a hand on hand to quell the scream.

And when she leaves to build a place
away from paltry parents grace
grown and gone, her young mind certain
across my doubts to draw a curtain.

Deep inside I wear with pride
a rose I cut and set aside,
For a pretty girl, a cunning daughter,
(a match for any man that sought her).

For my pesky little daughter.

Jacuzzi Anyone..?

Soapy soapy
psychotropy
rubber ducks
and no more mopey
faces on a clouded day
bathe to wash the blues away
scrub scrub
rub a dub
loofer scrape
and fill the tub
with hot water to the brim
(file'ya toenails - trim'ya quim)
gurgle gurgle
gone away
no more soapy suds today
out you get all pink and rosy
into towel deep and cosy.

Thirteen ways to fall.

Falling she says. I’m falling.
And in turn I run.
Down the stairs and out the door
Slippers slip-slapping
Shirt-tails flip-flapping.
Crows feet at my eyes and arms outspread.
Like wings.
Heartflutter, mouthsplutter
Invective without directive.
Blood charging through my face.
I’m falling I say.
And sure enough -
I hit the ground full tilt like the world
turned 90 degrees in an instant.

Fallen. Felled. I feel battered, tattered
Beaten, cream-crackered. Harsh breathing.
Focus. There are feet at my face.
Fluffy pink slippers.
You fell she said.
Ouch. I said. You’re observant.
fucker she said.

Banana skin girl big cheesy grin.
All food and sustenance, mead and maul
Big blooming cheeks florid forlorn
Why ? she says.
You fell I said. That’s cheating.
Not the deal we dealt ourselves.

Addressed from on high
Stooden up, dressed down; 
dusted off, turned around.
Sick of being prepositioned,
Conjugated to death
I’m dragged like Peter’s shadow
restitched by Wendy,
flat on my black,
back home.
Where the heart isn’t
(Wasn’t/hasn’t been).
Tense. Nervous. Headache.
She triple locks the doors and windows
Plugs up the plugholes and bricks up the flue.
My father christmas days are over she tells me.

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.