Untitled 20/03/14

The night,



— the lines

inside the

  black dark jar —

I write —

I have not written

in a while.


A too-small dress,

an old address.

Between the sheets

a flower pressed.

All idiots blessed.


That’s the problem with all these human vices;

everyone’s convinced that they only lead to darkness.


The afternoon -

the best time of day

in this room - 

black and white 


on their side -

naked girls

for the first time

- shy.


the bed

I see what I can find;

This pen. Spiders’ webs.

A condom 

- unused.

Cards from my twenty-first.


of you. 

The Virgin Mary’s small remains,

some spilled earth -

little else,

not even

a fugitive

five pound note.

There’s little time left

for the light -

to devote. 

Untitled (Lines) 15/08/13

Waiting in line for a line of cocaine and the urge for the end of the line on this train to repeat and repeat until all lines are learned with the fear of two lines on the pregnancy test Dolores on the dotted line again the life line between a friend and I is the phone line but I always refrain to the timeline on Facebook the white lines on surfaces to make a connection when the lines in my poems fail to grab your attention underlined by the ketamine skyline the undersigned falls hook and line for the lines in your face with The Rolling Stones on the line-up but I am last in line with the lines that you draw drawing my sighs out longer when the stars don’t align and I lie here supine convinced that my waistline is the line that divides a continuous whine on lined paper for which I can only apologise maybe it’s time to draw the line.

Three Minutes 14/08/13

I wait

until I have to -

a routine

which gives me

less fear

  every time.

I listen to a voice

which I hope is your voice.

What you sound like -

this - your beat?

your poesy?

  inside of me?

The things that 

we deserve 

awaiting thin lines

your glottal and the hum 

against my weak

my nervous 


I expect the truth -

  I go —

Convulsing hand

surprising - 

Did I shake like that


Lately everything

comes down to lines —-

I have the time -

I play you —

 twice —-

 I can’t play well.

The same songs

my fingers know -

that’s how I

know you. 

I have waited all I have to.

I don’t remember the sound 

  of your voice. 


Sin is sin.

If this it it,

I’ll drink my fill.