Aphorising

It was a hollow room with
just a few pieces. Interactive
pieces. I suppose the idea was
that we create our own art.
I liked that. Turning the mirror
outward; a collective self-reference.


I plot the satanist revolution
whilst hurling copies of
the Tao off the roof of
King's College. Elphistone
Hall seems a million
miles away now - clattering
along England's uneventful
buttocks in the western
night, in a long tube -
This is practically sodomy;
fitting, then, that I'm
coming from Brighton.


Chino XL distracts the mind
and makes poetry not good.


Dry white whine. In quadruplicate.
Seduction is practically a business.
Gotta make a profit; although
I was only in business
by accident; a case of
misrepresentation.


What is art? Is it a bunch
of lines on a page because
the hand cannot keep pace
with the moving image? Or
is art something metaphysical?
A notion, perhaps.


There's a girl on this carriage
who's gonna be gorgeous when
she gets older. If I was a
modelling agent I could
'discover' her. But what
the hell IS that anyway?


You twat.


When the sapphire lion
crushes the golden cannon
the rest of us lose hope.
Nature defeating weaponry
is nice, though. And those
fucking peacocks got a
taste of their own medicine
in the Orient.


Machine Gun, tearin' my,
body all apart.
The way shoulda been
over two years ago;
but this is just the start.


Sundraped clouds slither
over the heavens and
we'd like to call it
afternoon.
All our flowers are in bloom,
too soon.


We want eternity, cry out
for its neon claws - wait -
we got confused somewhere
down the line; someone turned
the arrow around.


Pakipakipakipaki


I am a great lover of words;
I shall write more on this
later.

Two Faces

Broken shafts of sunlight
penetrate eternal clouds;
God fucks the Earth.
Cosmic Love.

Crippling decay as bricks
crumble in our homes;
Man fucks the Earth.
Confined Rape.

How Depressing

Have you ever considered the rule
of the masses? - It's usually
'every man for himself' which is
odd. At crisis point, most of mankind
reverts to a Hobbesian State of
Nature; there's none of the altruism
present when everything's fine
and dandy. It's dog-eat-dog.

I think that says so much about
our false pretence of love for
others. It could well be that it
does in fact come down to
fear of one's neighbour.

How depressing.

Names

I rarely name my pieces
during creation, waiting
instead for the final
word to set.

Why is that? Names
always afterthought.
I suppose it's the
piece that matters,
names are, after all,
incidental. You know;
"What's in a name?"

I'm tired of being
two-steps ahead:
full-on is a word,
or even a name,
it doesn't mean a
thing. So won't
someone explain
why it keeps
holding me back?

Someone teach
me how to slow
down. Backsteps
aren't possible.

It's so cold.

Southbound Musings

I

Have you ever glanced into
a puddle of water?
The excellence of your face
amongst the sediment.
You, too, have but one life to
live. Mortality isn't mine alone.

I drift through the
sea of drifters. Aimless,
formless, yet wholly
dependant on the forms.

A beleaguered response
then, from our broken
apathetic generation.
Sailing endless seas of
dreams looking for a
place to land.

We plot existensialist
revolutions and punch
young men in the face.
Utter esmasculation
countered by female
emaciation.

II

I dream of Steven Carter,
I want to be Steven Carter
but I can't - I wonder
if there's a blonde
caucasian athlete God
who wishes he was a
hairy Muslim intellectual
poet.

Sometimes the blood runs
over my hands and down
my arms, it's a matter of
gravity. What direction to
lean-to.

What a waster, what a
fuckin' waster. What the
fuck will you do? Father
shouts angrily down the
phone.

III

"I am not beautiful" is the
battle cry of all the beautiful
girls I know. They should try
living a day in my shoes, they'll
soon see their inaccuracy.

Fuck Tom G.
You damn right I'm bitter.

I am not in Love
I am not in Love
I am not in Love
I'm lying.

I am not in Love (with Her)
I am not in Love (with Her)
I am not in Love (with Her)
I'm dying.

Wavelength

We are Janus:
one whole divided. Riding
the cosmic double-helix
of flame and ash borne
of our hair. 'Friendship'
is a thing which fails
to compare.

Anna

Anna;
your eyes flicker 'neath
flowing waves of flame;
Again and again distance
leaves me crestfallen.
Odes to thin-air, nothing
to compare or prepare
me for this headstrong
rush to the precipice,
thrust by a gust of
venerated whispers;
Making The First Step.

Unfurled

Soft-filtered light burns;
the world burns Red. Red
is our desire, crafted yet
wholly spontaneous - singular
strands flow loosely over you.
And so it is, an upward glance
looking at those behind the
lens, but we are behind the
lens. We took this photo for
you, for us; for everyone to
see that you could mean the
world - we, we believe that
you could mean the world, and
be the world, and everything
about the world will whirl
whilst being hurled into
your Cosmic Love
unfurled.

The Folly of Man (Chapter Three: Nostra Nihilum)

Accessible features conceal what is otherwise a blackened canvas, your eyebrows
arch into elongated V's, your nose blushes with its L-curve and your mouth is the
perfect O. All in all you're just a delicious set of letters I'll never be able to hear
or feel, because you're not mine, you're his, His, and I can't resent that because
it was your choice; and I'm a big believer that we all make our own choices
even if it's a grand illusion to cover up the fact that we're living under jungle-law;
dog-eat-cat-eat-mouse. Fucking Causality. Nothing you do matters because you
couldn't have done it any differently, so how can I blame you? I can't. And that hurts.

Slow dulcimer, Pinski's skull slowly erodes into nothing
but the pounding thud of stone against steel - 'How
does it feel?' I'd like to ask you, just once, and maybe
get an answer. Janine wandered into the sunlight, it
stung her eyes. 'This is why man moves slowly,' she
muttered to herself. 'A direct attempt to reach infinity
results in pain and nothing less.'

The pine trees swung gently in the autumn breeze,
I thought of you in your tanktop and folded-down
dungarees. The world was a simpler place back when
you could watch the sun slowly set over the banks
of the river without reverberations of bad hip-hop
from the nearest piece of iCrap. Modernity is bringing
us all closer together just to pound us into nothing;
Humanity's Final Solution.

Happy Birthday

Wouldn't you know it - dropped to earth by
a six-tonne blood-sucking Buddah, clasping the Tao
written in Shakespearian-full-blooded-English-prose
but turned back to front and signed by Nietzsche.

Carl Jung promised to take me camping
to Nurenburg to watch Hitler dance the
waltz with Churchill's mother. What in the
name of gOD where they thinking when they
let him take our temperatures?

I'm hot. Too hot.

Somebody stick a cork in me, I can't stop the cognitive-bile from spewing out of my neck.

This could get messy.

The Folly of Man (Chapter Two: My Generation)

I watched as the
best poets of
My Generation were
drowned by a wave
of pseudo-Ginsbergian
literary charlatans.

I watched as the
best minds of
My Generation
destroyed themselves
on the mouldy remains
of last years grain.

I watched as the
best bodies of
My Generation were
barred from sight
by rails; the ribcage
is not an erogenous zone.

I watched as the
best soldiers of
My Generation
wandered through
Iraqi streets at dawn,
looking for an angry fix.

I watched as the
best jesters of
My Generation were
lost in a hazy
mist of flatulence
and broken bones.

I watched as the
best ideas of
My Generation were
dismissed so as not
to offend those who'd
follow all laws anyway.

I wept as the
best part of
My Generation
never even got
started because of
a poisonous sense
of fashionable apathy.

The Folly of Man (Chapter One: Our Inanities)

I

Envelopes crusted
from misuse, containing
the past, containing
all that could be
based on what has
been. What have
you seen?

II

Smoke fills the air,
contracting around
the trachea, how
does it compare?
Smoke fills the air.

III

Belief structures;
Earth ruptures from
the sound around -
I refuse to accept
that you refuse to
accept my truth;
genocide abound.

Because I have nothing else to offer

I watched the slowly setting
sun; lights heartbeat slows
to one. Night has begun
before the day is out, turn
about is fair-play, I watched
you play today: joyous in
the water; heartbreak as I
gazed upon you. This is no
romance novel, there is an
end to this, this pseudo-bliss,
love's remiss, heart's amiss.
Miss miss miss miss - and
because I have nothing else
to offer, I wrote you this.

Nadine #3

Sweetest thing I ever did see;
cute chipmunk cheeks and
lips stung by a bee.
The low picture-quality cannot screen
the motherfucking hotness that is Nadine.

The Anti-Kate

Anti-Kate is her name;
pseudo-lookalike full
of hair-extensions and
kung-fu smiles. Fall
into the GAP and
drown. Someone toss
her a rope. Seminal hope.

Deaf and blind, stumbling
down a twisted alleyway
half-sober, fully-sombre,
yet thoroughly excited by
the prospect of going to
dover. Bend over Rover.
She's awesome all-over.

The Anti-Kate rises
from a throne of year-
-old Coors-Light cans
with a slithering sliver
of a silver sword-cane
in her hand.

Lady Zatoichi, if you will.

Fake bullet time led to
many cuts and bruises
but all was ignored in
favour of lusty advances
towards John Cusak,
and rabid Critic-Sex
with yours truly when
John Cusak was
unavailable.

Shabba
Shabba
Shabba

l0v3

You are the chipped
coffee cup on the table;
You are the photo album
of the stable - gilded
memories from when
our passion did not lack -
You are the crimson
scratch marks on my back.
You are all this and more,
less, more or less the best
and I'm more or less a mess,
because I would kill the
children of a thousand worlds
just to see you smile.

Kids

Orangey brown to pasty white,
some of these kids just ain't right.
Browny black to muddy brown,
Some of these kids look like clowns.
Various browns and varying greens,
Nature owns us all it seems.

Park

I

Pen poised to write something,
but you never will. A cognitive
roadblock with your hand
inches from the frozen quill.

Strangers in the park, writing
us writing them; writing everything
dipped into the well, emerge
soaked in possibility and promises.

Hollow steel creates ambience,
makes you really want to dance,
Fuck this fake atmosphere,
Kiss me and take me out of here.

II

Head cupped in my laps, reverse
fellatio - pure romance. You
brush my hair; a simple stroke
of genius that you know.

This feels like Austen's latest
work, or, like reading Keats
and Steele in Iambic Pentameter
during the First World War.

Even the dirty, mud, is so
beautiful. Vomiting cliches
so fast I may have to lie down
on the grass, can this last?

III

I struggle to wish to remember
before you. Erasing it all
bar some sticky nights in
the back of clubs, for fun.

Between the Cutty Sark
and Deptford Bridge lies
the source of all my
happiness; dl-right to my heart.

Johannesburg at 2 O'Clock;
Pakistan at 3 - Worldwide
tours wrapped in your arms:
the Globe for you and me to see.

IV

You're so beautiful it defies
my mind, in time, with you
I hope to find a sense of
direction to where I can shine.

You are so completely everything
I need to complete me; you
are the people and the scenery
in the portrait of my life.

'Love' cannot describe our
infinite bond that will last,
and last, it will never pass,
now let me lie down on the grass.

The Amazing World of Seth and Sadie

Thundering pawsteps
crash along the floor,
watch out, they're
coming around for more!
Fatal war with a
jovial core, it's like
a sadistic game of 'it'.

Morning's light bursts
through clouds and
Seth and Sadiw scour
the land for suitable
combat arenas.

Streaks of ginger in
my peripheral vision,
wham! Too slow,
they strike with
lightning precision.

Back and forth,
we've been over
this, but repitition
allows perfection.

Sadie! Sadie! What a
lady! Quite the stoic
and sexy, maybe. Seth,
oh Seth, he won't
settle for less, tactile
Prince of miaowing
gingerness.

Obsessions with black
bags aside, Seth and
Sadie won't be denied -
What they seek, they
see, and usually, they
leave little over for
you and for me.

Harriet the Rat would
like a look-in, but she's
stuck in a transparent
prison.

Seth and Sadie begin
again, Seth and Sadie
try to eat my pen,
the word tastes
so good to them.

Inspired

Soft black
rims are all
I see whilst
circling the
marble sea;
she speaks
to me with
mirth and
glee she
bleeds and
exudes
empathy,
as well
as sincere
pleasantry.

She makes
me smile, oh
she makes me
smile. Sometimes
she makes me wait
a while. The wait, the
wait, it's worth the wait;
worth the weight, she's a
full-plate; a clean slate; She's
that great, there's just no debate.

Shutting down every
night, her presence
signified by a blinking
light, her flame-red hair
shining so bright - it's an
allegory for her soul, man.

Nadine #2

Full lips, grabbing hips,
good tips, rubbing tits.
Ice eyes, man's demise,
cock rise, sexy surprise.
Pucker up, bitch.

'Ode' to Sister Salvation

Dancing through you
with a view to start
anew; call her Dru
or Magdalene,
she will always
remain the same:
vivacious vixen with
claws in mittens and
a healthy love for
poodles and kittens.

Odyssey

Test, test, testing,
April is the cruellest month,
cruellest month.
Lilacs in the warm rain
blossom on Yorick's skull,
summer days are all the same.

And here we sit, we of
sullen posture and eternal
night sky; always wondering
why, yet never having the
courage to ask the Right People.
We, the next generation!

We're a stone's throw from
the answer, clutching a map
with no names; thus no
beginning and no end.
Without words there was
never anything there at all.

The fall, the fall is steep, the
hole is deep; and down we
creep. Down where there's
nothing but perpetual black
and post-modern pseudo-
-Ginsbergian literary charlatans.

You! You, with your insufferable
pessimism and ridiculous
adjectives! You, with your split
of disorganised free-verse
and trite abab rhymes;
No harmonised blend for you.

Deceivers!
Contraveners!
Blasphemers!

The silence of a thousand
sons was broken in a vast
cataclysmic blast of energy;
Supernova Jehovah. But, what
is this demon? This sphinx?
The beast known as language?!

Communication is the new black,
that is a fact. Attack. React.
Imagine as though nothing is
lacked. Attack! React! Society
demands that you react! Seek
the word to discover the fact!

And this is our indeterminable
existence; dawn or dusk,
positive or negative, beginning
or end; all is one under the
warm summer rain in the lilac
eyes of the demon; language.

Synergism

My soul was strewn across the page,
yet nothing had been said,

The silence turned my gaze inward,
my fragmented mind there to be read.

The wrath was warm, and damp,
and still - a tiger tethered fast,

Striped emotions: dead and alive -
life's duality - first and last.

Still comes the languid curtain call,
our make-up smudged and garish.

Mascara streams down our faces; I've never
seen such beauty, but I wish, oh how I wish

the veil would disintegrate,
skeletal clarity etched on your retinae;

Sight and sound meld as one;
solar-flared sonic booms concuss our lungs;
fire for hire.

Modesty forced and synergy coaxed;
binds start to chafe,

Struggling to break this beautiful bondage,
100% cotton bites into our skin - the
mind's eye inverted, time to die...

...And death is release and the heat makes us shrink.
Inversion, coersion, dispersion,
goodbye.

author of inline stanzas: jen bolton

Yuriy Toyolanov's Demise

Emendation of the intellect,
Yuriy sat down to introspect.
He planned and plotted an intricate design
for a flying machine that follows The Line.

The Line emerged from Baker Street
beneath all of the bustling feet,
and it reaches up right into the sky
beyond all the clouds - even the most high.

His aim was to chase this Line to the End
or the top, where none could pretend
or lie, or act, there all was fact,
and the search for this purity left his mind wracked.

For the End was myth, and urban legend,
but no one had actually reached the end,
so in fact, it could well be real,
this turned Yuriy's resolve into solid steel.

He was determined it would seem,
to reach the end and fulfill his dream;
of which he wasn't entirely sure,
but knew was there as he always wanted more.

So he sat and though, he thought and thought,
then he passed out because his mind was so wrought!
He later woke up after ten hours of sleep
and drove straight to the lab in his cherokee jeep.

Now in his deep sleep, Yuriy had found
the missing link; it wasn't a sight or a sound,
nor was it a smell, or something to taste,
and you couldn't touch it as it had no place!

It was something else, some kind of aether,
he then met a woman with a tortoise benath her.
"I am the end" she scornfully said,
she then sat on Yuriy until he was dead.

Betsy

Lauren's a Canadian poet,
and I s'pose she is quite sexy.
But since I know two other Lauren's,
I think I'll call her Betsy.

T

Literary sparse; but
densely packed when
active - thought
provoking microcosms
and a wit that's thoroughly
reactive.

Eliot, Borges, Banks,
and even Will Shakespeare;
This odd gent is quite
well-read, coarsely nice,
and not queer.

Cake

Take impeccable style and
captivating eyes; mix
with two teaspoons of
superb hair. Stir for
twenty minutes until
creamy - toss in about
a dozen sarcastic quips
and a tablespoon of
classic 50's charm. Pour
into stencilled 'beatiful
smile' tray and place in
oven. Cook on a low
heat for the duration
of Chopin's 1834
fantaisie improptu
on the piano. Serve
as part of a traditional
supper meal (but ensure
food is hot before serving).

Enjoy.

Mirrored

I looked into the mirror
and saw myself, a
distorted self. This
was no Id, no shadow
or mask - this was me,
but caucasian, and thin.
I was shocked at first,
but engaged it in
conversation.
I'm glad I did.

Inaccurate

Phoenix; believe this,
if I had the ability to
tell you of your
brilliance then I would
not hesitate - yet, you
rise above words, so
you'll have to wait, for
an accurate description
at any rate.

<3

That was the best
that I could do, that
I could think of to
describe you.

I'm sorry.

The Ballad of Kaka and Cristiano Ronaldo

Ronaldo and Kaka
sitting in a tree,
doing things girls
like to see.

Ron and Harry
were looking on,
with Hermione's
thumb up their bums.

Techtastic

sexsexsex
techtechtech

It's a shame more
women don't think
like this chick.
She likes to suck
dick, she's not a
hick, and she's
all about wit.

techtechtech
sexsexsex

Freefall

Blinding paragon
of perpetual
discombobulation.

FREEFALL! ALERT
THE TITANS! MOLOCH
HAS RETURNED!

Golden-haired
nymph with sunken
amber eyes.

FREEFALL! RUN!
RUN AS MOLOCH
STOMPS THE GROUND!

Facially exceptional
and yet anally
steadfast.

FREEFALL! MOLOCH
UNLEASHES DEATH!
LASER BEAM ROCKETS!

Mother and Lolita
in one unified
whole. Actualised?

FREEFALL! THE END
IS HERE! FREEFALL!
MOLOCH TRIUMPHS!

FREEFALL!
FREEFALL!
FREEFALL!

Rose

Rose; gliding with
gentle grace toward
the horizon; craving
the light. The light.

The folly of man,
melancholy of man,
towards her he ran,
and to him she sang -

O! Glory glory!
Gentle man before me,
O! Glory glory!
Regail me your story.

Sunkissed lips of bleeding
scarlet and a raging halo
of fire ordaned her
fragile mask. Her
voice, it echoed
through eternity long
after her mortal coil
unwound; her sound.

Nadine

Cheeks flushed,
head's rushed.
Lips hot,
forget me not.
Eyes hidden,
orgasm's a given.

Twenty-Fourth

Art feedback,
creatively stuck,
a Scrubs episode that didn't suck.

Not much sleep,
channay nuts,
girls that like to be called sluts.

A stunning storm,
a power cut,
quite a day for Mr. Butt!

Fun with Philosophy!

Descartes and Spinoza fucked your mum,
they took her cunt and took her bum.
Descartes loved the difference, or so he proclaimed,
but Spinoza said they felt pretty much the same.

Nietzsche thinks we're selfish pricks,
Derrida thinks we're brainwashed hicks.
Foucault believed a bit of both,
Russell pondered linguistic growth.

Wittgenstein, Wittgenstein,
a man with an incredible mind.
He spoke on everything he could,
but hated himself and thought we should...

The Brave Little Idealist

what is mind? doesn't matter
what is matter? never mind

Walking cheerfully down Park Lane
on a Monday morning with no sight of rain,
is a brave little Idealist on his way
to the fair in Hyde Park where his band is to play.
'Today is truly marvellous, this I do declare!'
said the brave little Idealist on his way to the fair.

He passed The Dorchester Hotel
at seven o' clock and all was well,
he crosses the road until he saw
an Indian Elephant asking for more.
'Why the devil is there an Elephant sitting over there?'
asked the brave little Idealist on his way to the fair.

Arriving at the park gates he got a shock
caused by the emo girls that did not rock,
but the biggest surprise was yet to come
because these girls were boys with makeup done.
'I doubt you are real, but is it rude for me to stare?'
asked the brave little Idealist on his way to the fair.

As he stepped on the grassy ground
he heard quite a frightening sound,
turning around he saw a vicious stampede
of Indian Elephants, but he did not concede!
'Not one of you exists, this I do declare!'
said the brave little Idealist on his way to the fair.

This is for all the women I ever knew (except perhaps those one or two)

This is for all the women I ever knew,
except perhaps those one or two,
who I think of as sisters, and cousins too,
but the rest? I'd really like to screw,
because you're all so god damn pretty.

I won't mention the girls I don't mean,
because that could cause an ugly scene,
with the ones left out, who'll kick and scream,
but if you're a 'sister' then you'll know it anyway.

Of course I'm not including family,
they're immediately left right next to me,
with judging faces they stare you see,
and expect me to be a chaste Muslim boy.

But I just wanna rock and roll,
with fast women who got lots of soul,
and awesome eyes with hips to hold,
'coz I'm gettin' tired of all this freakin' solitude.

I wish I could write you a rhyme so fine,
that somewhere way on down the line,
would make you wanna blow my mind,
with hot sex followed by coffee and cigarettes.

Please don't think I want a relationship,
I just want you to suck my dick,
and let me penetrate those hips,
coz that looks like it could be a good time.

I'm not sayin' you're not a great friend,
the fact is I wanna know you 'til the end,
but I'd like it if you could stretch and bend,
your moral code and fuck me just the once.

I hope you don't take this too seriously,
because you see, it's six twenty three,
and I woke up a fucking hour ago,
with morning glory and a lonely soul...
well that explains it all, don't it?

16 year old girls on myspace!

Who is this strange
maiden? Who is she?
Fake flaming hair and
eyes like faded marble;
the cracks are part
of the perfection.

Exhale, watch the cancer dance,
watch it bob and weave before
your eyes. Death is beautiful, or
you're stuck in an addicted trance.

But persevere, brave soldier!
Fight on! She is worth the
effort, worth the stress and
unsightly blisters. She'll give
you all that you desire; good
company, unlimited wishes,
second-hand cancer and
butterfly kisses.

M

I wish I knew just what to say;
with the literary skills
to make pain go away.

I had a list, a
little list of big
words; big big
words saying
small small
things - like
summer dew
and the joy it
brings.
A starling
sits, it sits and
sings: advice
and ideas roll
off its wings.

But you've heard it all before.

Pain and Love are
the same mistress;
one is dressed for
evening supper at
the manor, the other
for a night of filthy
debauchery at a
remote hotel.

It's all how you look at it.

What to do? What to do?
Won't someone tell me what to do?

I wish I could
I wish I could
I wish

<3

You say you need
to be fixed, but I like
you broken - I think
you do too, think about that...

Porcelain

Passion engulfs me in her presence;
Porcelain Goddess; perfect china
doll - won't let me play with you?
Won't you let me play?

You capture the genius of men
beyond my scope - but would you
descend and attempt to immortalise
my fragmented mastery?

Idealisation puts us on a beach
with a kiss and wanting more -
Reality puts us fucking like dogs
on a seedy motel floor.

To dance, perchance, I'm in a
trace. A lingering kiss, a
warm embrace, your silken
lips, that angelic face.

Beautiful.

I am

I am everybody

I am all the men who can't get a girl,
and yet the only one around. I am
all the women who loathe their
self-image, and are fixated with
the ground, the sound, the pound
of searing flesh that drips slowly
from my body and is cooked to
a state of cremation in the pan:
I am a man

I am somebody

I am the twisted reflection of
Narcissus. I am the lost spirit
of Odysseus, trapped and
bound to Ithaca - I am dancing
beneath the light of dawn
still shrouded in perpetual
darkness.

I am nobody

I am a series of neverending
questions. I am a dreamer
with limitless power, and
yet I am conscious for
every hour.

I am
I am
I am

Their shadows ablaze

I

Broken sword,
broken dreams.
Life seeks to
vent, it seems.

Life seeks the
simple notion.
Life seeks the
word unspoken.

Life seeks the will
but! - Life is the will.

The will, is desire
The will, is simplicity
The will, is the colony
The will, is

II

Behind the will
and the act;
Falls the shadow.

Between the will
and the act;
Falls the shadow.

Beyond the will
and the act;
Falls the mind.

Control.

Drowning, in mind
Drowning, in thought
Drowning, in intellect
Drowning

III

I am the ants,

ablaze.

I am the dust,

ablaze.

I am the will,

ablaze.

I am the shadow
I am the shadow
I am the shadow
I am, ablaze

Til human voices wake us

I

It's all coming apart isn't it?

Falling, breaking,
crumbling into bone dust.
The ash on our sleeves is all
the ash the burnt roses leave.

Burnt rose stood proud in the rock,
the dead rock gives birth to the burnt rose.
The burnt rose in the middle of the Rockland.
This dead Rockland.

I'm with you in Rockland.

Let's dance on the rocks,
my love! - bare feet burning
on scorching sediment.
Dance with me,
dance,
dance.

II

Do you remember the day we met?
That dawning day.
The sun shone that day, bright and
beautiful, illuminating the grassland
outside the houses frequented by
old men in long coats.

That day, I will never forget,
that day when you held my
hand and left me hyacinths
in my room, my flowery
room was all in bloom!
I will never forget.
Never.

Forget

You held my hand and kissed me,
kissed me so gently in my room,
my room where people come and go,
talking of Michelangelo.

Talk talk talk, but we kissed. We kissed.
Your lips were soft like buttermilk.
Kiss.

Kiss. Kiss me on the lips I said. Kiss me.

You didn't care for the flowers!

I did I did, I cared, I care, I want life
to live - I want it to blossom, I wanted
it to blossom in my room, I wanted it...
but it didn't blossom, there was no
radiant bud, no beautiful blossom -
it wilted and died, there was no life,
and when it died I cried, I cried
because it died. Wilted and died.
Dead.

I loved it, I wanted to love it,
but you can't love death.
You cannot embrace him,
I have tried, no, death is
a cruel joke, a cruel joke.

We all die someday,
we all die tomorrow
if today is the day
of our lives.

Today is the day!
Carpe Diem Avalo!
Fly fly little starling, fly fly.

III

It's all coming apart

I don't want it to. I'll hold it together.

You can't hold on forever.

I can try.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

I can do it. I can hold on forever!

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us

and we drown.

Rosy

Rosy fingered Dawn,
on a dew-filled summer morn'.

Wind blows in
the long grass,
photoshopped
for stunning
saturation,
looking to the
heights of
imagination -
now when to
step beyond
contemplation?

Nature's cruel, Staros.

Discussion Forum

I think about many a
thing as Prof Hewitt
talks about the
justification for not
writing as a solely
Scottish writer.
A fighter, he engages
the ears but the mind
wanders and debates
whether the girl replying
has an annoyingly nasal
American accent; a
curious point to ponder
as her words do linger
for longer.
I think iPods would be
beautiful if they'd just
remove the buttons,
keep it simple, stupid.
Cupid, he's a funny 'ol
chap; sat seven rows
ahead is a girl who
gave me head, then
discarded me like a
used condom, or a
moudly loaf of bread.
Ribbet ribbet, what an
odd ringtone, schools
should be shown a
selection of languages
to teach: Latin, English,
French or even Scots;
ae didnae amour cogito, cunts.

Scottish Miserablism

Balmy room, balmy room
filled with gloom, gloom
and doom fills this room.

"Welcome! Welcome!
Sit and talk, sit and give
us your views, there's
nine things to choose!"

chirp chirp

Not that there were
birds in the room, the
balmy room filled with
gloom, but the feeling
was rigid as a loom.

chirp chirp

People sitting, quiet like
a riot, a riot of hot breath
on cold air, the aether
locked in a great battle.

chirp chirp

Balmy room, balmy room
filled with gloom, gloom
and doom fills this room.

Broken Heart

You wore a white dress
lined with black - your
lingering sense of death
was quite subtle tonight.

We sat by the fountain
next to the Jazz band,
I wanted to dance, but -
you refused, then broke
the silence with those
dreaded words;
'We need to talk'

I sat and listened while
you spoke; staccato
sentences spilling out
haphazardly. 'Sorry,
I don't know exactly
how to say this.'

I could sense it coming,
with each syllable that
slithered from your lips,
every little utterance,
and on the rare occasion
you managed it; every
single sentence

I looked at my watch,
it was quarter-past
nine before you finally
ended the torture;
'I've met someone else'

You Fucking Cunt!

I wanted to hit you,
but I couldn't bring
myself to do it, you
did your best to
provoke me though;
Telling me about
your new man, and
how much you loved
him.

An Argentinean doctor?
Good for you, now
fuck off you spiteful bitch.

The words remained
grey matter, I should
have said them, but
no - I sat and listened
to more. More staccato
shit that you tried
so desperately to dress
up; 'It's not you, it's me.
Can we still be friends?'

Can we still be friends?
Can we still be-?!

I should have left then,
but my heart wouldn't
let me. So I sat, I sat
and reminisced about
the time you and I
went down to Islington
and made love in your
dad's old van;
But that didn't change
the fact that you had
broken my heart in Milan.

No Subject

This is the beginning
of the end, of all things
worthy to be defend-
-ed. Frozen bread is
our staple - A hefty
promise cashed in too
early to be worth
more than a slap in
the face. Lifetimes
gone to waste.

Ay bee, ay bee.
See dee, see dee.

Constructs of the
vaguely poetic
spoken in dialects
never used before.
'I find your innovations
quite pathetic, and your
rhyme schemes should
be used no more!'

Analyse the incomprehensible
if you can, if you can;
If you can't then arrange
for a series of cunning
distractions with str-
-uctur-

-al

chan-----ges

to

deceiv-

-e

the

read-

-er

I wish I had the talent
to make words never
sound the same.
I wish I had the talent
to write poetry again.

No Taxi

The thin layer of snow crunches
beneath our feet, as we walk with
great care down this old cobbled street.

Hair and shoes, tits and waists;
tonight for a time we were above
our place - Dancing through
postmodern maisons d'opium,
sporting saddles with belts and
drinking overpriced apple juice.

'What's that? Speak up babe,
I can't hear you.'

Conversations began and
ended in confusion, with
the in-between filled by
shouted pleasantries.

The hustle and bustle
of the brown man's shop
was a comforting change -
incandescent tubes of light
bathed us gently as
complete strangers and
old friends blurred into
one.

The thick layer of snow crunches
beneath our feet, as we walk with
silent trepidation on the long high street.

Steam clouds fill the air - dancing ghosts
of our burning desire clashing against the
frigid atmosphere. Yet we're still trapped
within our own Trinity-Saint Sergius, the
damned living by His rule;
Swiftian tropes-r-us.

Found

I find it in encoded sounds,
etched data resembling stratocasters;
I find it in the voices of dead men,
and subtle visions of forgotten masters.

I find it lurking in the shadows,
a dark tunnel that splits the sun;
I find it blossoming in all these things,
and yet I find it in no one.

We're all alone.

Unsent

All those words,
lost and floating in the air.
All those words,
tell me that you don't care.