False Idols

Would that it were
Belief in supremacy
Eased the hurt
Would that it were
Seekers of power
Left wanting
Would that it were
You could taste
My spoiled sinews
Would that it were
Illusions unveiled
To humdrum light
Would that it were
But it is not
Would that it were
But alas,
Facades prevail
Would that it were
But it is not

Untitled

Odds against her
She will cut and run
Squeezing her components
Into separate packages
One for ugly feet
One for unexplainable, unstoppable, uncontrollable tears
Which sneak up on her
One for a face which is best forgotten
And one for a body which belongs to pain, illness, and deformity
Which exhausts her
There's no room left for hope
Nor for silver hair threaded with auburn
Decapitated and dreamless she wanders
Retracing uncertain footsteps

Cold

Left in the shade
Once again misplaced
Having been mined
Once again valueless
Barren earth am I
Once again sinking
Bloodless, seeking
Once again silent
Hoodwinked, and sad

One Night Sham

You asked me
'Who is he, and what is he to you?'
I replied truthfully that he's nobody
Really
Just somebody who fancied a cheap root
He left before I woke up
Leaving behind the scent of coconut oil
And a full pack of Winnie Reds
He had dreads
I liked that
But I meant nothing to him
Just a hole for his inadequate tool
What a fool
He's alone now
Still prowling
Still single
Still hopeless
Still a poseur
And I am happy

Solo

And now that you're gone
I can stop at last
To rest
Inhale, exhale
At my own pace
You were always in cut common time
Competing with my triplets
And now that you're gone
I can hear at last
My own beat
Galloping, galloping
Pitched in G, augmented

Love

She waits for the last bus home
In the closest bar
All eyeliner and red lipstick
Skolling water to stay sober
She loves you, and she's scared
Scared you'll leave
Leave her bare
A blank canvas, waiting for forlorn loneliness
Scared, too, of this passion
Intense, all consuming
No room for her doubts
Now
Now she jumps
Into you
Into your victories and your defeats
Wholly into you
She dissolves
While remaining wholly her

In the Nineties

Someone asked me what I did for fun
In the Nineties
And I told them I couldn't remember much
Except smoking Holidays in a mate's rumpus room
And writing dubious grunge tunes
All while having a crush on the bass player

Someone asked me what clothes I wore
In the Nineties
And I told them I didn't want to think about it
Except for laughing at my ironic Life Be In It t-shirt
Always worn with army surplus pants
A velvet choker, and hair ruthlessly parted in the centre

Someone asked me what life I dreamed of
In the Nineties
And I told them it wasn't this one
Except that I have ended up a writer after all
Despite the rape, the domestic abuse, the abortions
And I wouldn't change a second of it all