Take 2

Why are the streets so fucking empty?
Old favourites lie dead in the mud
Who are were those cunts?

Much to its own chargrin
The vision of sight
Grants us the ability to perceive threat
Move out of the way

A jealous man
Pretending to be a bachelor
Drops his fucking drink
He lost his nerve

He doesn’t leave though

He sits in the corner


Regathers his thoughts

He’s pretty sure he’s in the right place
Is it for the wrong reasons?

A small mutation of hedonism
Doesn’t stop progress for long

Towards the dark
At two times the speed
Towards what is important

We will never guess
What we need to know

To stay safe

Biscuit shit

Little biscuit man
Tasty little super munch
How I envy you

You are delicious
This is preferable coz
You will get ate man

Yes indeed, you bitches
You all wish you could get ate
Like that little freak

Little biscuit man
You are not long for this world
coz you’re so tasty

Is this some dumb shit?
Yes it’s a poem about…
fucking biscuit men


He’s dressed like a butler

And he’s wandering through divinely elegant halls

A white glove encapsulates the hand

A loaded pistol clatters on a silver platter

Ready to serve

The man is too servile

It is his mansion

He is wandering round in circles

This is nonsense

Tension mounts in a scene to nothing

No one will infringe on his private property

Ridiculous nonsense


A tiger she said

As it pounced over the hedge

A claw breezed my cheek


“Back, foul beast, backward”

A small swing from a large book

Lucky clumsy clunk


That young tiger confused

But undeterred, swipes again

A swift second clunk


The old lady shrieks loudly

After checking his surrounds

The tiger turns round


He goes for her leg

And she tumbles on downwards

My breath left no sound


Shredded icicles

Alight in a field of goo

How will you slay me?


I don’t see a boat

Opals and opulence reign

The lava comes back


I wonder of scree

7 hawks of puzzled duty

A slope of ashes


When can a disease

Crescendo and fall again

Back to soil sack sap

A Milksummer Night’s Milk

A stretch of road beckons
The milkman readjusts his trousers
Especially his underwear
That is so uncomfortable

A plot to usurp
An unofficial book club
A milkmans dream
As it should be every milk man’s

At least HE thought so.
A dream of milk infested these dreamers.
The milky dream boys they were called
The milk world was never the same

When he was done the weeks book would be:
the milk ingredients.
Contents :
Milk (100%)

How many minutes?
How long until he could find out what they thought?
A couple of hours plus a whole week.
Such excitement!

A book fell from his grasp
Another tale which described a moment
Nothing happened in that book
Just a snapshot of a world

Not today.

Bear skin boots

I feel water pull from behind my feet and seep into my shoe. A small stream runs over the smooth concrete ground. About 20 feet away an old fashioned bath tub is centre stage.

The water moves all around as though moving to the bath tub’s plug hole itself. Small pieces of plaster are pulled into the torrent.

After a slight jolt the bath tub begins to levitate and a small bowl of plaster begins to support it.

As if summoned by aliens the stream forms a waterfall,  back through the ceiling and the bathtub and bowl follow it. The bowl merges with the ceiling. It looks pretty ugly but it starts to even itself out.

I turn my body and lean towards the bar as my legs catch the weight of my body over and over until I am slouched at a polished stone counter.

The bar man puts an empty tumbler on the surface. He briefly covers it with a silk sheet revealing a clear liquid afterwards.

I lift it to my lips.

Was I dressed like a vodka and tonic kind of man? It didn’t matter.

I go upstairs and outside since I am beckoned by the sort of fresh air that is better than water.

I lean against the wall and admire the reflections of the traffic lights then ruin the scenery with some cathartic littering.