Nissan Cherry

I left the engine running
On the river bank,
heaved a bag of bricks
Onto the accelerator.

The car was old and horrible,
A beast that had to go.
The engine cried and
Screamed too much.

I watched it run and dive
Into the brown drink,
and saw through the read window
A smiling little face.

The Plough

Your homes front door smashed in,
Like a stalk beneath the wheel
And your misses cries out,
“Oh, you’re home are you?”

haiku

Closed doors, scented pillows.
Your hips, lips rubbing mine
Between the willows.

Rustic fences block the
Way. Sodden galoshes,
Cold little digits.

Tea and hot chocolate.
The plague negating chances
Of goodbye kisses.

Doctor

I have my personal doctor
Who visits me at home.
I call him up, he come to see me
Whenever I'm alone.

He tries to keep my head in check;
Helps me with my troubles;
Helps me lift the bottle
And sometimes serves me doubles.

When the sink gets blocked
And filled with recycled left overs
Out comes the tool box and
The one, the only Mr. Muscle.

And when she performed
Her final half pirouette
He said chin up, a drinks the cure
And kept me out all night.

Mixed signals.

The euqivocation was misleading.
You thought you had won the golden ticket
But she never really let you in,
And you only had your wounds to heal.
So from this day forward
No tergiversation.
Only candid, frank, reliable conversation.

It was crystal clear now,
The tune pitch perfect.
In your hallway, behind a freshly
Slammed door, you stood erect,
Disappointed at being the
Losing candidate.

1310

http://www.flickr.com/photos/organswithoutbodies/sets/72157623409879659/

Proper old one.

Use-
Less
Washed
Up
Nobody ever
Knows
What
Is
Going on.

Worth-
Less
Beaten
People
Running around
Like
Chickens with
No heads.

Check it.

milkforthecat.blogspot.com

Everyone check out this blog. Some good shit by a friend of mine.

Untitled 2.

I can feel the disaffection
In men beaten to death
Outside their front door.
I feel it in all night
Parties where alcohol is
Harder to find than ket,
And lips have been gnawed
By swinging jaws.
The kid with the shaved head
To the student finally realising
That it's a perfect day for bananafish.
Bruised arms and bloodshot
Eyes, always trying to touch
The sky.

Untitled.

Closed doors, scented pillows,
Your hips, lips rubbing mine
Between the willows.

Rustic fences block the
Way. Sodden galoshes,
Cold little digits.

Tea and hot chocolate.
The plague negating chances
Of goodbye kisses.

Hermitage

In your hermitage
the floorboards creek
with journeys for tea.

In your hermitage
the dog sleeps sound
just behind your feet.

In your hermitage
the walls are lined
with other peoples feats.

In your hermitage
notes ring out on
hibernating, solitary ears.

In your hermitage
the curtains touch the floor
but seem to never meet.

In your hermitage
you try to fathom how
your world is not at peace.

Doctor.

I have my personal doctor
Who visits me at home
I call him up, he comes to see me
Whenever I'm alone.

He tries to keep my head in check,
Helps me with my troubles,
Helps me lift the bottle and
Sometimes serves me doubles.

When the sink gets blocked
And filled with recycled leftovers
Out comes the tool box and
The one, the only Mr. Muscle.

When she eventually performed
Her final half pirouette
He said chin up a drinks the cure
and kept me out all night.

Beat.

Remnants of what once was.
The floor gently curved in
From many shoe-stomps.
The views: well seen and
More recognisable than your mum.
The guide quit his job.
Reason: the repetitive, incessant
Questions. He was born ten
Years after the boom and
Only needed the money
For the weekend, now
Regretting an entire decade.

First roll of new camera.

Skyline.

Self-Explanatory.

Have Heart.

Daisies fill your dreams
Centred with brunette eye.
You try to cover your pleasure
In only a thin disguise.
To no avail.