Leafy Bones

Monday, 30 April 2012

Slowly they vanish

She's meaning to take
but never gains without grip,
slowly they vanish,
She is meaning to take it
but there is nothing to gain.

Watching men

Warriors don't need thoughts
just forgiveness
and stamina.

The dripping paint
comes to quill
historians spiel,
we listen to power.

Where can we find the warrior
that takes the words
and makes them drip
before our saliva drowns us?

Thursday, 26 April 2012

Doggy Night Terror

Do not whisper things
catch me, that catch me.
Not wary things
seize me, that seize me.
Be grown to
hiding, that hides her.
Thrown under
tyranny, killing times
killing times killing times
equilateral triang-u-lar
ordinance taking covers
keeping meat warm,
flesh worn in the winters clap.
Do the tongues
silent lips for palms kiss?
Cracking jaws of my hands
to break amends from
Winston's midnight puppy,
tucked up,
no whisperings to things
just sleep, let sleeping.

Down fall the creatures

Eye kept on spider,
elegantly cruel,
till eyed the hourglass
spitting kisses on ears.
Homeless web
stain, retain
that eye kept
on such a spider.

Keats Doors

Come, wait
I'll wait no more
the stars are cut glass
curving early eyes.
Come, wait,
my soul wants no needs
no tiptoe the dye on sheeted floor,
come, wait,
my dissolve is to hesitate
to lean for the beckon.
Believe in unreachable
and that's all it'll ever be.

Middle Beginnings

Emptiness is the future
which we can colour
as much as we wish.

My day,

My day is not young
my day is not old
my day is not buried beneath the soul.
One day you will find it
and it will speak out to you
"good morning, good noon, good night,"
then explode with flight
ecstatic you'll affix your sight,
whilst dusk brings tidings
and dear day will disapparate,
perhaps to a far corner of some parallel.

Messy fragments scattered
along your weeping smile,
lickable memories for a fond friend
upon distant isles
of the same galactic supermarket.
My day, some day.

Wednesday, 25 April 2012


Hands cope worst
bound with charge
of we nestled
amongst the diamonds.
My hope is my enemy
my hope is my all
one day I will fall six feet
and my hope shall be small.


All I find are windows.
Little person, little life, see's little of everything.
There is no gold
just spun faerie tales.

Sunday, 22 April 2012

Thursday, 19 April 2012

Said the Bambi

If we have to be young before we get old, lets be beautiful & cliched, then if our brains melt into a chaos of memories-it will be as spectacular as it is now

Tuesday, 17 April 2012

Ideas vs knowledge

I'm going to drop
wearing nothing but a paper helmet
I made just now,
when I crash the water
I'll sail my hat
like a slumbering bat.
I'll grow deaf
and dehydrate from loving leeches,
my sponged sight
will drench in world.

Monday, 16 April 2012

Nicely Norman

Que the mirage of the mirage gone extinct.

Arms that cradled my mind.

Fingertips that pressed blood like book flowers,
a smiling demon
and our entwined drowning.

Cursing she coursed my brain
if hell has mercy she will be further gone;
I kept her so close,
but we let go of our childish hand-locks;
and when I must ignore the tapping at the window
I know she is not the same.

Uprooted and talent drained
muscles weak, skin slim.
Normal, normal
the paint picked out

Starry Eyed Patchwork

My stars awake,
gas and bubble over tides
far distant
upon a time.
Beg my core
no more separation
and for eyes beyond the blind
aging glass.
We are Narnia without return;
live stock playing
the blackest stage perfection,
glimmering audience and ultimate canvas,
the world to meet the universe.
Burning, growing
long after
my stars and I have fallen

Saturday, 14 April 2012

The Underground

This vacuum
of empty face,
trickles condensation
of empty smiles,
foreign tongue points
and at last a happy mouth
on aluminium stairs,
as the light descends
my reflection.


Foot to leaf
toward the ivy
my hidden garden.

Goodnight howls and wind,
my pool awaits.

The moon alone knows.

My hair trailing my dance,
swimming amongst the oranges
that bob along the waves.

The book

Phantom days
are split colours of rain-
seeing vales;
but roses keep their beds,
smelling the same every summer.

So wilt
under my skin,
autumnal whispers
of the inextinguishable debris.
I will wake tomorrow
and thereafter till I wake no more.

Arsing around

My vanity is implied
in my very existence,
But yet I am not allowed
to love myself
the way you love
your own

Tuesday, 3 April 2012


lip-s fo-ld-
aba-ted ea-rs
lip-s twi-tch-
ela-ted i-ris
This Con-ver-sation
is over

Monday, 2 April 2012

The Fox

Here is one of my nightmares, I found it quite hard to describe but here it is.

Forest dew kisses my cheek,

I balance my eye,
but her ears alert themselves
to more than my painted skin.
Run, she's begging.
the fox!

"You've seen the Dow"
velvet purple suit to match each Iris,
smiling breathe of fire and ice,
she appears, human
He whispers feathers down her neck.

and he LAUGHS
and the birds sound like fire-
each ripple dribbles
to plasticine-
she is a pig!
shedding each layer of blood and vessels
and he LAUGHS
how can I help her?

Blood down my body,
I pull on the blue dress.


If all I see
are rolling amber clouds
licking the babes
whilst their breathe
coughs Alice tails.
Then I would be at home,
wearing death
like the rich wear their kills.
mortale forma