Untitled 1.

THE WORDS melted wetly together

Slickly sliding across the page.

I was dubious; unsure whether

I could, should, would control my rage.

Confined to this fibrous vehicle

The seeping slowed gracefully like

Honeyed thought. Soothed by the treacle

Glow of newly found delight.

Then it’s liquid limitations

Congeal, curdle; all thickened.

Each wet syllable, parched then, shines

With a light, cloyingly hardened.

11. Me without you.

A diver without an aqualung,

A paedophile without the young.

A camel with no hump,

A boxer with no thump.

A clown without any fun,

An American without a gun.

Strawberries without cream,

The BFG without a dream.

Communism without Marx,

An underwater adventure without sharks.

Christianity without the philosophy of Greeks,

The Welsh stereotype without leeks.

A monk without a cowl,

An archaeologist without a trowel.

A Catholic without the guilt,

A Scotsman without his kilt.

A gun without a bullet,

An 80’s pop star without a mullet.

Sex without any sweat,

Rolf Harris without a vet.

Santa without a reindeer,

A pervert without a leer.

A war without deaths,

A tramp without meths.

The Psyche without the Self

A ninja without stealth.

A widow without a shroud,

A mushroom without a cloud.

Four horsemen without an apocalypse,

The Queen Mother without broken hips.

Jack without Daniel,

An aristocrat without a spaniel.

Hercules without tasks,

Balls without masques.

The police without crime,

Coleridge without a Rime.

Muslims without jihad,

Addicts without rehab.

Gaffers without grips,

Fish without chips.

Roman Emperors without insanity,

Fair without the Vanity.

Haunting without a ghost,

Sunday without a roast.

Christmas with no suicide,

A playground without a slide.

Meals with no eating,

The Olympics with no cheating.

Pull without a Force,

Death without a horse.

A storm without the rain,

Fisting without any pain.

Silence without peace,

Pain without release.

An Italian without a scooter,

A six-gun without a shooter.

Depression minus the manic,

Start of the century without the Titanic.

A sniffer without glue,

Is like me without you.

A foot without a shoe,

Is like me without you.

Caged animals without a zoo,

Is like me without you.

Subterranean Thoughts

Prodding dreamily at the space under

My chin. The space where the shotgun would fit

Snugly in. Thoughts that vaguely meander

As I rest under this gnarled tree’s bough. It

Seems that it would be no trouble at all

If I was to fall from this place and rest-

Lessly crawl on through. I just need to call

On that one moment’s decision; a guest

In no time of neck-snapping Death who yet,

As my host, ushers me beyond.

What remains; a whip lashed marionette,

Shattered and twitching, that will not respond.  

Twitching Rigid

A moist fuck

In the temple of taboo.

Siamese duck

Made into stew.

Suck drenched wet cunt

As, after dinner, grandparents

Ruttingly grunt

In their political tents.