‘This is a song about Susan’ – NaPoWriMo Day 30

‘This is a song about Susan’

Their meeting was smoke-filled,
dry-ice eye contact
across a room of hair rippling

to a continuous bass beat.
Her scent was paradise city
and his moves were all that she wants.

His mind was nearer everlong than hers.
She flirted with Morten Harket
and his take on me charm.

I watched their clumsy hand in my pocket fumbles,
and took a sip of my I will always love you tonic.
Then I was Alone again (naturally).


The importance of a safety rail – NaPoWriMo Day 28

The importance of a safety rail

Throwing a body one way
then the other, the top bunk
was a tower for a 6 year old.
I needed to move less.

A big yellow teapot flashed a warning.

Focus switched to the golden moulded landing pad,
A clumsy twist later, a back-crack scream.

Plastic has a toughness
a child’s body does not.

Shit day – NaPoWriMo Day 25

Shit day               

When my sister asks if I’m ok,
I reach into my bowels
unfurl a banner
that reads…

I read all the books to convince you.

I turn, face the sun
let my innards
(and the banner)

I fold the banner
fifteen times
place it on the tip
of my tongue


I taste the dry bowel blood
continue to swallow
convulsing each letter
feeling the folds
scrape along the inside of my throat.

I fill a glass with my piss
hold it close to my chin.

I take a jerk backwards
help the banner down.

I look at her face.

I’m fine.

Seeing – NaPoWriMo Day 21


Air hostesses kidnap aliens
they stowaway their eyes,
the lids are removed.

They slice the tops off,
convert them into shot glasses
in which they serve
the most ginnest of tonics.

I watch their directions,
keep a steady stare
at their luggage sorting antics.

My observations keep me calm
while the plane banks left,
and the world starts spinning.

Imprint – NaPoWriMo Day 19


Black smear of light bulb envy
the scar on my finger forces a mark
a blade of glass
and the shallow bleed
makes my pulse race
with fingered excitement.

Place a hand palm down
on the unforgiving surface
run until blood becomes water
keep running until numb becomes blinking pain
grab the bulb and squeeze
until lacerations become retribution.

Flash a jolt with searing slicing
and resort to being 16 again.

Hourglass – NaPoWriMo Day 17


from a child’s hand
lifted by cranes
left bagged
in crystalline moulds
blown along footprints
sunken wet traps
in socks of families
and between thighs
shaken onto bed
clothes and carpets
sitting in a hoover
to settle fragments
of cliff

broken fragments
of what we did
and gaps between
of the things we did not
did not flick away
did not lay side-by-side
did not hold back
did not make lines that
children would see
but left spaces in a vacuum