sea tales

from the sea we flopped onto the shore,
simple hearts caught
between jade waters and
coastal shrubbery.

we laughed then, at our own
inadequacies; idly propped,
tails rested amongst the rough shells
and tangled webs of sea-weed.

slow awakening. the wind
blowing across the sky-- see,
feel,
touch,

so intimate. the dawn.
clouds streaking out in colour,
blooming vibrant, spilling
light into our eyes...
the sea, the sea. waves,
dying with each return,
lapping at our hands out-
stretched to cup the salty
waters,

feel the slip, the glide--
lips over skin,

it recedes; soaks
back into the sea,
fingers wriggle.
press in wet sands
and we,

with light and sound,
join our hearts
to one--

the ocean calls
and we swim
with the sea.

Batjen

She is a bat. A bat
which steals the yolk
from the egg and shits
into your porridge
and slips off with
your tea-spoon so
your coffee is left
milky and makes you
you want to kill
your pets.

that, my friends,
is Batjen.
she covets your heartbreak
and leaves dookie in your
socks,
and she laughs at all your inanities
while sipping on gin and paint,
flicks her eyelashes at you like
curses and washes her underwear
underneath the table so as to not
to feel
exposed. but how now

brown cow. i have found your golden egg.
it is warm and reeks off ass and grass.
and other assesments.

i have found you sniffing at my skiddies
like a wine-loving french postal worker.
and i have you seen flutter about my window
hoping for a peek, you sly little p-p.

i know your game batwoman. and it isn't
baseball.

ode to little miss summers

buffy poem no. 1


the camera caught you
as you, in turn,
caught my heart.

i love you.

of men and women and the ins and outs of relationships and the metaphorical physics of fucks.

placenta complacent in
your fridge, frosty
freezing foreskin off
the door

knob.

kisses, kisses, lots
of kisses on the doorstep.
dreams a vice, a
spice to life, a leaf
flutters on the
space between
the spaces
leaning in
the wings.

the stage sagging. she
loves. and her love is
infinity and her passion
calls out and he responds
like water to a sponge.
his cock outsprung.

ready for the rape

ANGELS FALLABLE

ANGELS FALL
ANGELS FALL
ANGELS FALL
on penis.with fishies in his
pockets that makes for strange
conversations.
yes. Ther'es con'fusion in da' hous.
and the hose is spurting out infinities
and fucking little Georgia May
with its black hole thunder lips.
And THEY RISE
THEY RISE
like a rinsed out cowboy,
homocloaked in funny boots and
big hat,
he has a cheesy grin and melting hands.

tea-time
for the
witch.

cackles....

vermin poets eel their way through the stars
shitting out dumb verbs and
poking dare tail-feathers in our ears.
our ears are soft and penniless,
grown fond of sticky offerings
where baby seed is given freely
such dealings make us bless'd.
for how else are babies made?
but through jizzy-wizzing on one ladies
pink-lit lobe?

and, sir, i ask of thee...is love not
made from white and gold?
tell me, sir, what has your heart
been told?

the doll

motorbike engine revs her thighs
into heaven, pink and peach
on the complexion of a smooth child.
criminal is the doll which
says so little, eyes preternatural
blink and blink again
for the forest is the owl
and the skin which is the sky
is home to a million different lights
all coloured for you. and
lonely as the in-between.

her thighs ride the invisible,
the doll giggles, and stays
smooth; gets smoother.

fire + water

water molecules squeeze amongst the detritus,
and small is the world tonight
where leaves fold like napkins,
eyes shut, open grey; and skin

is like an eternity being shrugged off
with feathered indifference.

and she,
the fire underneath the earth
lifting it higher
beyond the reach of clouds.

friendly fire

gun weeps bullets
like frost and
sympathy...

tea-leaves choke
the space between
the soldiers--
water molecules
pressed beneath
transcendence.

while outside,
in the cold of
night:

falling
are the bodies
caught
in the friendly
fires of dawn.

nihilistic ruminations on the subject of a window

wind
dow
op

end. no.

there is no
thing
out
there. not there.
nothing:

a fence with
a savage tinge
of something,

metallic thought,
it thinks,

stares at me
in my room

nothingness.
blank.
here.
everywhere.