.............................................................................................The Mirror


Seranading cricketers is the duty of dandelions

boiling the asteroid in asparagus whispers

the kinetic star-children in their fast cars and luminous lingerie of bracken and nostalgic button-holes.

Limp lice get rabies on bowling greens,

dazed helmets shudder in the sun,

where jesters pluck ears from abandoned warehouses of magnetic sorrow


If This Be Heaven...

The easter eggs on the shuffle-board are getting kinda corrupt, and their yellow eyes grin like a salesman's parked car of icicle-yells and treacle. So I picked up my hamster, and folded away my tent, and moved to a bowl of dandruff in egyptian fairground mimicry of snails and moist pears. The spine of the book stepped out of the storm like a new piece of flooring, and magritte painted his pipe with a fingertip on the steamy window above her bed. In the mirror I see cornflakes dropping ceaselessly from both my ears, and the bath-taps of my nostrils warm a pinky butt. My ten fingernails are ten elephants, and I watch them wander away slowly, like a soccer team bemusedly looking for the ball.


Mountains are more interesting when viewed upside down.


No Hairs On This Teddy, Ma.

When I slid into your lock in my bright red soldier's tunic, I was three inches of hedgerow and boiling self-concious as I write this

but the wrestling match and two black girls with a skipping rope allayed my fears, of melting into the apartment below, when I pushed you into the store-front window, I know you were scared it would crack, we are not Buddhist because we are young and serious

as long as everyone does exactly as I say, we will all get through this

I took your breasts home and put them on the wall above my tidy collection of plastic trucks

bath-time for baby, pulling peaches down from the clouds

one put her foot on my neck. She grinned

another held me underwater til I drowned. She laughed like a tigress

Now I cross the town in two strides, on my wooden stilts

and everyone adores me

and I have lots of money

so, what are you doing on Man Friday?


.............................................................................When You're Young and In Love



Cunt sunrisef

Grass People. Big bejewelled belly, of fur and dog-turds
in the sun-denched wilderness of potato pie
rests my soul which is yours when I say goodbye
all the frogs weeping lost buttons into the well

Cunt Sunrise. You try to stick your fingers in it but it is just too far away
all colors of pink and red and light
geting brighter, getting stronger
until it finally crests in a stunning toe-curling moment that passes before it is even noticed
then it is just a memory
you are sure it was there a moment ago but you already forget what it was really like

Irish bog. Irish blood, ancestral home of teardrops in eggshells
giddyup, little horse, we must


she is sitting on the sofa

She is sitting on the sofa, sewing. She says,

This is the quilt I'm making. She's really small, and it's going to end up too big, but I want her to be able to look down and see that there are jungles full of snakes and monkeys, and behind them, down these white roads, there are doggies, and strawberry patches, and beyond them there are rainbows. I want it to be the kind of thing she can fold and put away, and pass on to her children.

A little later, she said,

I make the patches on the bus, on the way to work. Before I met you, I'd got out of the habit.



Peaches on Mars, drifting feather-light

Oxygen eyes, the strings of midnight

the strings of midnight, blanket the sugared staircase

Soldiery misfortune grins

2 pillows of time

In the park, the wind pushed the branches of two trees together

I watched them

And when I close my eyes, I still see them

Bonded together, all night long, in the same kiss.

In the middle of the bull-fight, magnetic water



Blood-red sofa and pale blue sky, clear blue sky, textureless ocean collage

A finger against an elbow causing an electric shock, magazine fame in silent language

Roped to a dreamy tree, dust on the widow's framed photographs

The room kept locked, the level-headed teeenager, and the retiree who calls you Daddy

Slipping through another's brain like a worm

Crumpling rooms of mantelpiece-people, scrunching all furniture into a ball and tossing it aside

All light becomes bright red.

There is a tangerine in the heart of Africa, but your head bobs like a lemon in the lake

You like to drive fast, and dream of hitting walls, of feeling hot compression

And the funky band sends creamy invisibility sky-high, into a hairnet of oysters

We all go back to school, we call someone God and suck their thumb

And you search for the bottom of Americana

Your ankles as crushable as humble white children

Your head poking foward like a Greyhound Bus

Nothing can be touched, felt or ignored

A million grainy documentaries, none of them true

Circle your tender, pulpy heart like flies


In bed with....no-one........Under no-one's command

historically, my puppet, my puppet.

the parents of trainee clowns are less than supportive

why do boats have women's names?

1.... sailors must get lonely

2.... so that women can be steered through stormy weather, into calmer waters


3. ...so women can be blamed if it sinks.

it's funny to think that people are inside other people (she said)

this struck me as poetic.

i'd like to thank you all for coming, even if you weren't thinking of me at the time.

(i wasn't thinking of me either.)

pipe-bombs on the apple tree. (she said)


what's the best thing about fucking a 12 year old girl?

it makes your dick look big.

what's the other best thing about fucking a 12 year old girl?

you can turn her over and pretend it's a 12 year old boy.


He said, I'm from a different generation!

I said, Me too! I'm from a different generation!

He shouted, No! Me! I'm from a different generation!

He passed me a note. It said, Why should hamsters be wrapped in duct tape?

So they don't explode when you fuck them.

She said, that's just mean.

I said, I feel very centered.

She said, you are.

(You felt so clever, didn't you? Until you found out being clever just means you're lost.)

She knows lots of things. She tells me that French Kissing comes from France. Well, woopy-doop. But that is how they use to greet each other, including inside families, father-daughter, son-mother, the whole lot. Anne Boleyn went to the English Court and got in a whole lot of trouble for doing it with her brother. French kissing, I mean. In public. It helped Henry VIII get rid of her. It still continued in France, right up until the plague. That's when they started just kissing each other on the cheeks.

But I like feeling lost. (she said)

and there will be no servants

naught but the service of love


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