if you hold my hand

if you hold my hand

know that my fingers are small precious locks

that cannot be opened once closed


if you take a hold of my hand

Make sure that your hands are dry

there’s no slipping through these golden fingers

precious and unmalleable

your hand will not stand the heat of time

it will melt away


but my fingers are now frozen

now in this position

holding your dripping sweat

i wish i could hold it and freeze your gold


The Candy Man

The Candy Man puts out his hand to dance. That’s all you can see, his white and red stripes fox trottin’ in your bloodstream. Spikes keep spikin’, long as you get your sugar fix at the end of the night, it’s all right.

He don’t mean nothing bad by it, no baby, he don’t mean nothing by it at all.

Hours tick on and he’s got your fish lips hooked up to his sugar drip, suckle away baby at that bait till it dries oh. It ain’t gonna dry if you keep suckling steady baby; supply’s always gonna flow with demand. Flows by like it has for hours at a time, 19 on the first night, then five, six, seven, sixty one days pass by and now its truly something baby but now its time for the Candy man to bounce, his sugars run out baby, it spiked too fast.

The Candy Man’s got you hooked sweet cheeks. You keep on sucklin through your torn skin,  those yellow molars rotting but there aint nothing to suckle so lick your own sugar coated teeth, sweet licks, lick lick lick lick, rotting you can’t taste nothin’ else, his sugars too sweet, sweet cheeks.

No time for the Candy Man to ween his customer off, no he’s bounced to the next ball, stretches out his hand, ‘Wanna dance?’

Her teeth cracked like sugar rock, dribbling now red and brown and yellow liquid particles swirl on that bib like some Francis Bacon canvas, there’s no going back baby, wait for that next supplier, when’s he gonna come?

Sweet cheeks don’t take no more candy from those smiling strangers. She takes it anyway

‘Wanna dance?”


Press Gretta down into her seat

as you read her, thoughts

Put upon accent

somewhat Irish, somewhat not.


Indulge in her gawping eyes, vacuous, as you pour her a whisky on the rocks-

Invite her into your world of untouched pages, touch her mind

with intellectual gibes

that she doesn’t really understand.

You think you want her to, but you don’t really for


her awe is enough


as she sips and stares at

the poet that sits before her

whose presence is grace itself.


How lucky she is

Sir to be educated

By you.


and so

she draws little red hearts on her cheeks

excited for the day ahead

all the hope for sparks and flying liquids

certainly go to her head

let’s swim in the champagne of our souls

before we get too old


and then she cracks it open at  home

all alone

nothings changed

cork on tights

champagne for one tonight

or for none, more like.


She goes to the sink

ready for her drink


to wash off those little red hearts

drown them

scrub at them




layers peel off one by one

under the bubbles thickening

but still a thin layer stays


it won’t fade


go away


please, please go away

you little red fuckin hearts.

please, please go away

you little red fuckin hearts


she’ll wait for the morning to come

she’ll hope for the best that the marks are all gone

scrub away

scrub away

that’s all you can do

scrub away

scrub away

till it evaporates,

scrub away

scrub away

it will eventually

scrub away

scrub away

it all goes


scrub away

scrub away

it all goes

it all does

c’est la vie


Play it Again

Play it Again


Keep Humming,

Those succulent notes inside your head.

Tangled up, rumbling thin, sheep skin pulled on

tight, so it don’t slip-  SCREAM –  so he can hear you.


Silence her with dewy finger tips,

blooming on those rose thorned lips.

Hands wrapped ‘round her vine leaved neck,

that wilts blue from raptured silence.


Humming drummed deep in her throat,

Rise rise rising, don’t let it slip.


Just Hum till the Hum bleeds out,


till the Hum bleeds out

the Hum will bleed out


Play it again.