strange dance

i like to flirt with insanity
the undertow of
ancient china

beliefs
cast into the vortex
of make believe

an unmade bed
lovers entangled
embalmed in dreams

a bathtub and a silver spoon
neglectfully running the tap
till everything is cold

come here in secret
i am a doctor in truth
for which the cure can never be found

but moments can be stashed away
in these velvet pockets

what is the time?

an hour is stolen from the clock
and replaced
on a different face

two strangers
met at stage door
now they enter stage right

and find each
has betrayed the other

asbestos dream

held underwater by society's hands
after the initial kick i am happy
to go limp and float as if dead

i admire the reeds - my new friends
and odd fish with bulging eyes
opening and closing mouths silently

after a week i enter a new state
of weightlessness and i realise i have
achieved escape velocity

and am alone in space with no control
over my direction unimpeded tumbling
among the asteroids and satellite debris

only a distant radio signal growing weaker
from the last beacon of contact
increasingly fragile in a wilderness of absence

neon infidel (fragment)

needing to explain
i find myself in a strange bar
blacked out windows, neon over the
bottles of absinthe, a man with a scar
i ask if i can speak to the person
in charge - man points a door at
the back painted with the insignia
a green stripe a sign 'space agency'
hangs over it
i give him a tip he says thanks

door handle broken swings open anyway
a sort of suction from the dark room
within a smell of sweaty palms
noise of knucklebones cracking a
lightbulb burning over a blue table
pieces of chalk "is this where i
can find b__" i ask to some human figures
in a corner - no answer - perhaps they
are unconscious try to make out
what else is in the room
then the door slams behind from
sudden gust of wind and the light goes out

i am baptised
the air beaten out of my lungs
my face confused dissolves into blood
among fists jackboots knives
sound of cracking bone - my bone
my eye hangs on a string i try to catch it
a billiard ball in a sock
in my hand my fingers get smashed into my face
blinding bright light explodes in my head

and i remember what it was like
in orbit
at 100,000ft a thin blue line
divides the stars and the planet
an umbilicus connects me to a white balloon
my skin swelling to twice its size
the sound of static fills a radio in my ears
breathing shards of tokyo glass
the air burning like a power saw
bursting out of the top of my skull
it is bliss, all is bliss, and weightlessness

i need to explain, give me another shot
a submarine plunging down my throat,
we need to clarify things my friend
this balloon - it was never meant for you
we are all friends there has been a misunderstanding
the space program is safe in the hands of
the corporation i think there has been an accident
which got you involved in all of this
i am glad we have managed to rectify things
we are all friends here - opens his arms
and the strangers around the blue table all nod
and chalk their cues

i am let back out onto the street
with 500 dollars for a taxi but impossible to
find at this time of night so i amble downtown
the hurricane has left a trail of destruction
broken windows but there has been no looting
i look up at the clear sky
where a thousand dots whir among the stars
and i think of my white balloon
still floating free up there somewhere
then swoon down onto the pavement
as my lungs collapse into a pink foam

egg or sperm (who came first?)

since i fired that bullet
which has ricochet off bones
through the tired body of
all my relationships hitting
various vital organs on the way
to the heart - since then it has
exited via an armpit and continues
through my life passing through
complete strangers even today
when i was driving it smashed
a kangaroo as i thought about you
and forgot to break

what makes us hurt one another?
it is all just talking and soapy
water why does it get in our eyes?
i have food on the table a roof
over my head the sun is creating
spring for another year human affairs
continue for ten thousand years
and then bid for the next ten thousand
where does this affair fairy come from
and where has she now flown why is this
bullet so cruel, so sharp, so cold
when the gun is still warm

the bullet has passed through the bible
and all our precious leaders it haunts
the pages of tabloids and is buried
in the back garden with grandma and
the distant relatives, who maybe aren't
even relatives in the biological sense
it takes out whole careers, alters
destinies, fulfills, tantalises
teases trashes everyone it touches
even to speak of it is to risk ruination
or being 'found out'

it creates children but they are
all bastards ashamed of themselves
peevish and naughty little boys
who go on to have fabulous careers
in business or the government
ashamed of their origin they invent
a code for others to follow
this is published in a little book that
is handed out to the male citizenry
a little electronic book of
live blog feeds porn email
stocks and shares poker ties
first person shooting games etc

i wish that bullet would come back
and hit me in the head
between the eyes. i wish i could
know it again as it burrowed
back into the brain in which it was
formed where my last thought would be
"My flesh has been transformed
into the pure light of artistic expression
these feelings have attained the
fountain of knowledge to which they
aspire and my life as a human
being is finally over"

what was it?

i wish i knew
i wish i could describe
it to you

talk talk talk

the noise in this room bombards my poor ears
"the government does not agree with this statement"
music in nearby headphones like static electricity
these noisy keys tap tap tapping

how i would like some quiet
a cup of tea and turkish delight
and some very good company
these things would bring back my happiness to me

i'm contemplating the future
like someone with a starting gun in his hand
but the horses have already bolted
suddently i realise i'm contemplating the past

inarticulate biome

i liken it to a misguided missile
landing unfortunately
in a party of french picnickers
right down between the rhubarb dip
and the cheese slice
it stuck upright in the ground like a vorpal baguette
against its huge cylindrical steel form
clung a slice of pastrami
and the women all stood up screaming
and the men all left their game of boules
and ran over to take a look

it was slowly tilting over
towards the sleeping dog
like it would suddenly topple and squash him amid dreams
but then halted in an obtuse position
and wobbled a bit, as a breeze took a tree limb
and shook it at the edge of the field
deep inside the bomb a slight ticking noise
was heard, but it might have been the expanding steel
and anyway no-one wanted to break up lunch
so the men resumed their game
and the ladies all resumed composure and
sat again to slice the veal terrine

my cat

my dream cat
would live in the window box
and stare out at all the other cats
and the humans
as we all swam around in the fish bowl of life
he would dream he could drop his paw in
and flick us out onto the carpet
where he would watch us flitter and spasm
for amusement
but nothing would ruffle his perfect fur
except for an imperfect pat
for my dream cat

my actual cat
has an unusual aroma
from the dung he rolls in
but he likes being washed which is a bit weird for a cat
he often runs away when i enter the room
like he's been up to mischief
and purrs like a lancaster bomber
at irritating hours of the morning
his long fur quickly forms dreadlocks
and collects slugs and grass seeds
like christmas baubels and tat
that's my actual cat

open letter to the editor

today i shall be:
a half poet in a tin hat
a father to three
a prescient embalmer of wounds
a neurosurgeon trained in pottery
brother to the bride

i am left behind by my own impulses
see that train
it carries those who could not run
from the battle

i can run
but i cannot walk
with these stick legs
and open bone

answer the telephone
the prophet is calling
take his call
let him lick the deafness from you ear
swallow down the gum make the eyes glow from within
the glow of knowing

archaen protozoa know it
tree fearing ground sloths know it
welltris knows it
don't you know it?

closm

prescient impressions
of you
closed, jammed, into my skull
locked there for weeks
like knotted weeds nesting
growing a compact root ball
increasing daily the tension
till a crack, a little sound
a clock ticking
or a ships rigging snap
marks a tidal shift
then - PLOSION!!

you are all over the place
all over my life, my face
the mess in my notebooks is
full of you, i am breathing
in time with your breathing
there is nothing left
of my brain my skull
just bits and pieces
of broken flowerpots
and messy roots and soil
and tangled blue flowers

i wonder at the hours
till dawn
the grate crackling
my head full of fire
bombed with visions unending modulating
parachuting down
to be lanced on a pulsating
tremulous quill end
and i rock with my head in my hands
through the hours
till the cool grey light of dawn

Muse Thing: The Calliope Nerve Weblog

in my mind this morning.. burning there as i showered in a dream Muse Thing: The Calliope Nerve Weblog i don't know why

when i met you

i fell completely to pieces
my arm came off on the chair
an eye fell out and rolled under the sofa
my brain bled out of my ears like pizza
my tongue unraveled down the hallway
my voice became disembodied
and echoed off trees when i walked

i left my heart
on the doorstep
for you to rub your shoes on

my blood gushed down the river valleys like paint
the heat from my body evaporated into space
my teeth clattered about like pebbles
in the hands of the ocean
but my nose - ah! i still had my nose
and the tendrils of your scent
hooked and dragged me in

edit

open a bomb
inside, flowers, sparkly
bits of stuff
white powder
a nerve ending
power cable
eighteen
pieces of silver
bird feathers
a plastic Martian
a saxaphone
covered in blood

defuse it somewhere
safe
outside
far away from home