Changing eyes

Can eyes really change colour in the span of just a day? Can brown flicker into green into a meaner gray?

Can pupils which spun as wide as orbits shrink into the small sized mundane plug hole sink?

Swirling down your throat along with your midnight drink.

To see those eyes of hazel brown stare Into your own- would lift the furrowed brow from that aged face.

One more look, although never will a glance suffice.

 

One Breath

One Breath

 

Inhale (slowly)

As the old man hunches over at his desk

And cries escape, whist aging solid beams

Crumble under his stone body.

 

Inhale (slowly) now,

As Felis Catus claws scratch at young child skin

And fragile wings whimper at the stroke of his silver scythe.

Preparing now, for its jellied membrane to face his instrument of

Love.

 

As tweezers pull apart the delicate strings of her laced corset body

Watch patiently,

Watch graciously,

As the white blood pours crumpled little stars onto the brick brown desk

And the tangled mesh of rainbow pattern deflates in seconds.

Exploding in unison, with the wilted candle flame,

Burnt out by the dancing wind.

 

Its neon tinted ashes-

Remnants of those clipped fairy wing-ed bones,

Which were not blown in an instant

But rather tortured in his dusty chamber.

 

Stretched to a plasticine consistency-

With little, gentle stabs, pricked, daggered into the center of

Her heart core.

 

Now,

Stare through his metallic frames, to pierce the depths of his enjoyment

Watch his blubbering black beads of ecstatic eyes

Carefully observe his pulsing, pea-sized pupils

As they enter the thrill of it all.

 

Simply aroused by its (silent) suffering and

the beauty of its

last

breath.

 

As it rests now (finally) in the glass coffin.

Exhale.

 

‘Bigly’

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You say ignorance is bliss,

but sometimes it’s the hiss of a gun

being reared up with thick bullets

waiting to be fired into the neat, pretty, white holes

of tasty empty heads.

Such a pretty victim, such an easy one.

But just you wait, for the blood to run down those outer city streets,

until they trail right into your home.

But they all say how juicy it is

when you get to the bone.

Such delicate marrow for teeth to sink into

as cries blow outwards.

Baby

You wanted her to call you Daddy
even though you’d never be her Father

You wanted her to be your baby girl
But all you did was push her to grow up faster

‘Princess’           ‘Princess’

She wanted to be your Princess

Not some ragged, rotten, rascalled, enslaved
Damsel in Distress

And when you tied her up
You tied yourself down

Revealing how you’d never be able to
reach your thin, spindly fingers
up to the jewels in that crown
which you so wanted to wear
to be her king.

But, we all change our minds some day

And as she coughs, she tries
to push out the virus
Those little dots of green
to match the lining of her little dress.
So she can feel space within her body
So she can feel something but your
Dirty Fingers- stuck up inside HER….
Throat.
Crawling in and out
as they try to replace that Dummy
which she never had
and which she never needed
but which she now desires

Raising this blank canvas now to show
the picture, that he wants it to

But Daddy, you are no Rotcho
and neither am I your muse-
Turn to the bleach blonde straw
stack of hay instead
she’ll bend and do what you want her to.

So go
Leave your Baby
to grow up
on her own.

And chuck those faulty training wheels
to the side
For your baby’s made up her mind.

Chips for two

A tragedy, in other words, of love

Two candle lit faces dance in the mesanscence of the café where

Children writhe in their seats; babies cry from their high chairs, man and wife, boy

and girl, boy and boy, hold hands across the wooden block upon which their elbows so rudely rest.

Smoke from the kiln in which crust and dust mingles into the room, burning to the brim of the invisible incense stick- its just their breath.

Savouring the sweet salty combination of their words- aromatic, acrobatic with his wit and with her judgement,

Lingering on their savoury thoughts.

A swift gesture of the hand as yellow speckled stars of parmesan

Decorate the delightful dish, made by gentle wrists as taste buds touch the terracotta plate. Her eyes envious forever of his eyes- opposite

so blue. so marinely exquisite. so true.

From that moment the incarnation was made complete,

as the hearts ribbons unravelled down towards the street. Waltzing cells searching for hotels, empty without the two, an appetite unsatisfied, oh to filled with you.

First

Grey sleeves, catch on tops

Strings unravelled, tied in a knot

Buttons opened, tight, now closed,

A secret entry, for only us two to know.

Pristine white, crumpled grey

Stained with fire- liquid, nay-

Tear drops of youth, quenches their thirst

Exciting passages, will always be her first.

See those Swans at window?

See those Swans at the window?
She said.

They’re stuck in Ice cold waters,
Prickly feathers, frozen
But still gentle- My ‘Friend’.

As they tickle you in your sleep,
Floating into Blue.

Prey awaken as strong necks,
Cuddled each other to sleep.
One half for you, one half for me.

Nestling, lulling white hairs into that-
Good Night.

Goosebumps rippling in a circle,
Blood Tight.

Those Swans at the window
Their sailing around the world,
With one chipped wing
Each- a pair of eyes,
Shared between the two.
One half for me and one half for you.

Thick bottoms,
Circling, circling with no
Cause,
Guided by the smell, the hope
Of
The
Applause.

Swimming with no compass now,
Sailing slowly
Towards
The doom.

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