confessions are self-serving

Tag: verse


I get up to take a piss
glancing haphazardly at my suitcase
leaning forlornly against the wall
the colour of all walls
in characterless houses
The bathroom is very small
and my piss echoes
the stream of splashing toxins
can be heard from the hall
to which I return
I walk back to the other room
and again, gaze at my suitcase
now accusingly, and with some intent-
My suitcase doesn’t stare back at me
but merely leans against the cream wall
as easy as a greaser in a fifties flick
watching the honeys float on
and commenting on the hottest auto-mobiles that pass
I imagine this hot sticky street in nondescript America
born out of my ignorance and popular culture
as the light fades and the shadow of my case
lengthens like a yawn


Momentarily my boots
met the night sky so
I kicked the moon with everything I had
I waded through the stars as
chemicals crashed around my brain like buckshot
my eyes like two rips
in a dinner dress

Jesus has a monopoly on spread arms
it’s true that if you saw me now
my fingers limp as the cobwebs
of careless spiders
falling from the back of a boat at three
you would think of Him

An agonising rate

Everything is falling apart
at an agonising rate.

Just the other day I heard
a girl screaming
silently drowning in that dive
of early morning slate sky;
her eyes grey and bored,
valiantly still chewing gum
that the flavour had fled long ago.


Something grey something fast
crashes shivering past my eye
A seagull, babe young
fusses about the bins
like grandmothers fuss over
afternoon tea, biscuits, and grandsons

One leg is gone, completely and though
his wings are spread in a grand gesture
they prove useless in my tight alley
so close to earth, still,
instinctual, they flutter




he is thinking

he is thinking about his options as
his mother looks down from the roof
as only mothers can and ignores his cries

Nature, I think,
folding my newspaper carefully on my knee,
the headline reading:


Nature can be very cruel

Old Fields

A mess of moss and broken dead wood

underneath my boots

my jacket, military handmedown

had wire in the hood that made it hang

over my eyes

We tramped on, looking for nothing in particular

A stone’s throw from the road

Seven years ago I was in one of these fields

with an old girlfriend

it was grass stain spring

We stood on hay bales

wrapped in plastic like frozen meat

Marvelling at something so big;

I punched the black plastic

with a tiny boy fist

It was like punching a rhino’s flank

We laughed

God it was easy

Regular John

Known not to rhyme every line but

when handling mandarins he damages egos

of show-boating masters toting

silk-cut toking cloaked loathsome


Some say the fruit is too fragile for the show to go

outside where fists meet bones and phones find homes, still

sucking on a beer left for lent

(three pounds and ninety-eight pence spent)

you can’t lose with quick food

said the fella he met at the urinal

like finding a suit on good friday for your own funeral

im poss ib le

He has to prove the drive-thru is not a challenge for a man

of his stature, don’t despair, remain austere, order:

one cheeseburger please no pickles patron…

All fed up now a silhouetted clown frowns and dances forwards

searching for a snooze partner fe or male

his sleeping bag tent wards genst sleet snow hail

eyes puffed up fluffy as a bunny tail –

one tear


down one cheek

do it all again next week.

I Can See The Street From Here

Throw him a bone, he’s finally alone

Looking like Johansson Lost, In Translation

The scene where she stares out seeing

Japanese buildings and people, glass…

I see something subtle as a gargoyle’s snarl

Out my window, and it made me think

There’s water water everywhere

And only Coke to drink