‘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.

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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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Fickle Fires

Fickle Fires

On my mantle piece, lie
Candles which burn slowly
Flickering throughout the eve’
As the crescent moon hovers through the window,
Nearly crashing on my sill .

Head pokes out for a deep breath of air,
Sucking in a vortex of night time life.
Dizzying swirls which seems stiller than the day,
As circles and squares merge into the dark.

But, lets lick our fingers and sizzle out the flame,
Travel to the sun and stroke its raucous mane.
In an attempt to tame both ourselves and the Earth.

Blackened hands having been burnt to the crisp
As we look over the horizon now,
Only to tumble down into the abyss of light.
Jump.

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