To be a fly on the wall yet in the middle of it all
On the pie vomiting in front of strangers
As my wings buzz, I sense your worries—anxieties of the rotting flesh
Tears of loss and gain mingle as I remember you will all out live me
But my species will long outlive yours
And yet we all die as natural things
They who stand
in the courtyard
are to blame
yet point the finger
the rain is already drying, or it is yet to fall?
the fist is clenched
who is to blame?
the one who swings
the one that ducks
or the one who catches the light in the wrong way
if the trivial is unspeakable then the crops won’t grow
there, I said it
medieval manners are in fashion
over your shoulder I see a witch slowly waving
there, and I will say it
I replied
a mirror won’t just reflect but can catch the sun on the right day
and no matter how brightly it screams
it will never let it go
A pixie cut like a shot in the dark
Who killed Rapunzel?
Your favourite flavour of ice cream
And soda pop
You’re a vanilla one
no matter how
hard
you fight it
regret it
get uptight about it
cut the locks
and bury them
Whilst hiding in the garden
After dancing naked in the rain
Killing slugs, spading cats and pissing in the drain
My father took a tumble down the well of old age
Bronzed in nectar, trapped by alchemy
Held down by rusty anchors, a man captured
Bald and belligerent and naïve and worn and wearing
He stayed down there to become a tradition
A tradition in and of himself
Left us surrounded by the madding crowd
We never saw the likes of his era again
an album full of singles isn’t enough
a movie that cures disease— too much too late
rereading the classics, doesn’t feed the need for food
my laptop can’t unplug from spiralling debt
and I can’t unsee the etiquette of the dead
but we’ve had words that rhyme, words that don’t, jokes in quotes, dry wit, sunk boats, poems like a fine wine, drafts dead on the vine, good deaths, bad lives, compromised situations, bungled suicides
and even if all turns to shit tomorrow
at least we took the piss today
The stomach swells with my mother’s heart
Through the kitchen window I look like a fur coat
The police are called, but not before
I swipe more honey from the jar
we wait for prosperity; or at least for the entrance to be unlocked
the city speaks many languages; exits curl like tongues trying to capture the vagueness of the moment; we all have our own word for ‘escape’
the line for the bathroom is where we live
the unbleached destination is Abaddon’s Pit
if the moon is so habitable, why are you here
searching for hope in the strangest of faces?
we bring our own clean bedsheets
not to sleep on but to wave when the walls fall
the siren screams
condescending to tell us what night is
instructing us into invisibility
dear reader,
throw caution to the wind
and hope the blowback is
a gust and not a tsunami
dear reader, I hope you heed
the above weather warning and
dress appropriately, choosing your
shelter with the guile of a drowned rat
Don’t eat out
Cook at home
if I had a month to live, I would reread the works of Borges
lucky for me he was a kindly writer
and wrote all his novels as short stories
I act like a punchline because I always feel like I’ve been set up
The doctor who knocks
Drunk as a skunk
In a set-to
Lacking in patients
Yet many casualties
–
A sheep in wolf’s
Clothing
Bathing
Cavorting
In a bath of blood
Eating the grandma
Of a
Local lass
“What does a depressive do when faced with indecision?—
I don’t know, I really don’t know, and I really really don’t care”
my jokes are always in quotes
in case I hit a nerve or two
my quotes are always jokes
to soften the blow when I fail
I take directions very literally
I dress as told; my life is staged
I follow my lines and rarely improvise
I am waiting not for the curtain call
but when it’s time to exit the stage
and before that boat bolts and the bull sails
I have jokes in quotes loads of jokes in quotes
boatloads of jokes in quotes so many no one can
tell what’s the joke and where are the
quotes and where one ends and the other begins
in the wings with a whip quick quip in parentheses—
and
just so you know
I never mean what I say unless
“I mean what I say”
Stop for nothing—
we are on our way out
Don’t let the door hit you on the way out
We are on the skids, on the outs, I am out
Are you happy for strangers?—
then death will be a warm majestic solitude
Like a cathedral forever burning but never falling
My death is numinous—
it has always been here
Therefore it can never be considered failure
Forgetful much?
Listen to these last words—
Living is a pressure we can all do without
A good death only comes once in lifetime
So don’t waste it
malleable art 