Friday, 21 July 2017


A vision quest cyclops
Imagination limited
Even three eyes functioning wouldn't change a thing
I want to writhe like a snake in the ocean
Under cover of shaded storm clouds
Want to score with truthful emotions
Not run the clock out
A toast to broken friendships
A naked pain
A throwback to wayward shrapnel
Bathed between acidic drops
Cinematic dis-association
Carnage detachment
Live on screen for our amusement
Nothing will be regained
Nothing will be revered
Nothing will be the sum total of your podium pronouncements
Nothing will be the aggregate of therapy hours logged
The rock hard bottom shall provide the basis for your perpetual fibrosis

A Sadist Manifesto

Paint the strip with blood
Paint the stage with feat
Paint the block in death and let them choke
When the image blurs
When the cameras make you seasick
When the scenes deleted air and you can't help but view
Acid wind blows
Dangerous mammals meet it
Breed the infected air
Purchase and eat the abuse
Moments tattered searing conscience gaps
Concrete tumours parse the litany
Raining razors lick the surface grooves
Data entry in the exit wound
Pageant servants bleat their tolerance
Infant barells  help to integrate
We like our deities neatly shaven
We love our violence clean and remote
The fear of fragility threads the shrapnel noose
Assuage the entity
Perform and Reproduce

Doing The Work

Switch the roles/Switch the power/Beyond the binary/always on/but in a million different constellations/Each full of care and love/The sensual in primacy/soaring/dipping/exploring the edges/seeking expansion of our possibility of what this means/speak from my experience/Not beyond it/Set the safety/to find the danger/That shows us to ourselves/The security to be/spontaneous/present/essential/nothing else/tender vitality transient and forever/We can aspire to be more than a memory of our brightest selves.

Saturday, 21 March 2015


The grass is growing and the happy bellies
The seasons of harvest and plenty are close at hand
The next notables are in gestation
Legacy after legacy incubating
And my friends have no use for me now
As their occupations multiply, nourished at the mortar root
The piled sheaves are depleting and these distortions are longer a happy wasteful product
Seasons have come and passed and the scripts persist
Some things fall apart, some stick and in the schism I exist
And my friends have no need of me; they never did, reclining on their porches, watching the sun set
Whilst I have so much need of them

single file sentinel

Assume the rhetoric of the Single file Sentinel
Crowd control make over Discipline punish
Paper envelopes below standard operation
Missing privacy prevents progress
Hearts bleed for the poverty of the man on the radio
Choosing to forget the wealth of those sired
Parallel Talks where the Faces Repeat
One more for the Per Diem Carousel
Single Spark through undergrowth
Release projectile Lesson Manifest
Standby Assets Stand reduced
Day by Day Plastic Pallet Hellos
Networked Isolation
Circuits Blown Switches thrown
and no escape
Tarpaulin Currency
Shipped in pale chariots
Ghostly topping up their bronze
Gold Compress Black soon Blue
And the graves stay unmarked
And the innards exhale
Orange gurney expiration
 Another round for the Laminate Crusaders
Thinking too much
Or too little
Not moved to sever the stifling cord
Symbols on thighs might signpost
The synthesis that fuses and negates
These prickly contradictions

Thursday, 4 December 2014

See Demons

I’d do it again
Because I can
And a million more like me
Would do exactly the same
Put me in a uniform
Give me a hood
Show me the history of honor and blood
Give me a scapegoat
Feed me the fear
Make me the weapon
We all desire
For my arrogance is no longer enough
There is no security in the privilege of hate
I need to see demons to eliminate
Keep me righteous
Keep me pure
That I can stand tall on backs once more
When the wind changes
Apples go bad and wolves are alone
But a million more remain
And a million thereafter each generation until further notice
This skin has to mean something after all
Liberty and Justice for all (of US)
Surely not an accident a gift
Of centuries passed in domination
Construction of a virility untouched
Enlightened bathed in the wisdom of a continent
Which matured in the blood and faeces of the poor, the tortured
Surely not that
Because if they remembered and passed that pain on
The descendants of those poor could not become a scared, hooded, uniformed weapon after all
Could not see every Black Woman as a succubus
Every Black Man as a demon
But would see everywhere mirrors into the ravaged wastelands of our souls
And in our millions, though one by one, could grasp the irony and the cruelty in there
And wrench the evil life from them
Because we couldn’t do it again
Not after this
Never again
Could we?

Tibalt Was an Honest Man

Is he a bridge builder?
Not with these hands
Picking at scabs
Bare feet on shaded sand
Thinking Tibalt was an honest man
Tibalt was an honest man

Is he a priest?
Not with that past
Gazing mid distance
Eyes playing on dead cars
Thinking Tibalt was an honest man
Tibalt was an honest man

Is she a healer?
Not with those tools
Delving into hornet’s nests
Grasping for lost jewels
Tibalt was an honest man, an honest man

A man who let his hate define his speech; his commitment, his pride steer his course
Self destructive mission
A lesson, a mission walking, smoldering
A bastard who never said “I Love Peace.”