Why
do you have to make yourself
Fill every available space in the room
You throw a look that sours the air
Dilute your poison with your double-edged words
You put a bowl down on the floor
For me to eat the scraps that fall from your plate
Is that a smile
Or is that a smirk
You can’t stand the freedom in my eyes
I took the beatings for a while
But saw the slaves were on my side, no I’m sparticus
You eat your young for your breakfast
So we laced you kids with arsenic, you’ve sure gone pale
While you were clearing out your desk
The interviews had taken place for you job
By the smell of your breath
It would seem
That you’re dying on the inside
Have you ever thought
To finish the job
I can give you some guidelines
Try it.
things asleep in the sun
He’s alright with a few drinks on him
He’s mister entertainment
But on returning from a social engagement
How does he stand himself
You shouldn’t let yourself get too close to him
He’s not right in the head
He says its not the loneliness that hurts
But the crowds of people who never touch you
I’ve seen his likes before
Inanimate objects sing softly to him
About their colours and their loves
And things witnessed over time spent
Resting lazy on the earth
I’ve seen his likes before
Dead languages are known to him
He’s eating off the floor and he’s playing in the dirt
With all the babies
Evolution saw him sleeping and decided it was best
Just not to wake him
a spell cast with fingers
We carried around
This love like a still born child
Just wanted for need
Pall bearing it all day long
The secret was kept
Suffocating between our hands
To keep up the game
Our hands tightened round its neck
But vapours arose
And friends started turning away
Couldn’t hide their disgust
Or pity at the needless display
Of an animal in pain
That you can do nothing to help
My hand slipped away
Yours searched like talons for food
I’d fear like a knot
Of meat stuck hard in my gut
Undigestible
Without passing blood
He’d cum raw as gravel
That tore its way in to your womb
The child clawed to stay in
Like the secret in your hand
Now it’s like a sentence
Your pains just beginning
was christ among us that night
And i know i’m taking notes
And detailing the sound of your voice
We’re at the start of a memory
That i’ll hold deep in my heart
There’s all these silences that are filling up the room
With songs of love and trust
We all knew we were not alone
Invisible hands held our hands
I found my finger back in his wounds
Hoping he’d try and lead me astray
Perhaps that’s all i’m waiting for
I left the blood stain on my skin
I felt i had just come across
Something too pure for lying eyes
The insects snuck into the house
The sound of music there caught their curious ears
Dogs curled at people’s feet
Hands touched secretly, winks rippled the air
We placed our hearts in a little pile
And heard our fingers swell, swell from beating heat
For each loss along the way
There is something else arrives to take its place
the bellringer's warning & other stories
The king is in his palace he knows something’s afoot
Just this morning out the window all the signs were there
One for sorrow, two for sorrow, three for sorrow etc.
Last night he had a dream he’d a suit made of live bees.
Last night he had a dream he’d a suit made of live bees
Earlier from a paper cut a single bee flew out
His valets at the door he’s got his ear against the lock
He can hear the beads of sweat break out all across the king’s brow
He’s made sure he’s been overheard on his day off in the tavern
He wants all the locals to understand that he’s just one of them
He knows when revolution comes that heads are going to roll
Lately all his collars seem tighter round his neck
There’s been meetings held by farmhands
Factory workers and the like
After hours and in darkness at the back of someone’s house
Whispered anger without schooling can only lead to one approach
they sat there sharpening the blunt end of their shovels into spears
Turning anything traditionally used for work to keep them down
Into arms against their master like a pack of angry dogs
Our liege is stuffing all his gold coins frantically into his shirt
Hoping somehow they’ll protect him as the villagers approach
(they can not save you now)
the jesters hanging in the basement with his coxcomb on the floor
he tried giving many warnings but the riddles were too obscure
the village elder stands before the king and his brethren fill the
room
a pink-eyed albino crow spews a black mass by his side
they use the wood from the smashed up carriage
and the throne to make the frame
of the gallows that will then be used to rid them of their king
passing by the city walls a stranger hears the roaring noise
he thinks that it’s a festival but he has no business in that town
the last thing the disgraced king sees as the noose goes round his
neck
is a stranger walking away paying no attention to his death
at the feet of st. peter
Eleven years old
Granted ourselves three wishes
The first wasn’t told
To add mystery to it
The second one was
An innocent stab at love
The obvious third
Endless goods
Saint peter has paved
The path to the gates of heaven
With the final breaths
Of eleven year old children
Who suffered and hurt
For no other cause than to
Smooth out the way
Without second thought
watching films with the sound down
In the early hours when all is sleeping
I’m sitting there trying to learn to smoke
And i’m wondering what she is dreaming
I will drink from her when she comes to see me
I thus spend the night with her own english
Playing with her words like plasticene
In the working place they think i’m drinking
But the bags beneath my eyes are full of love
Will my nipples weep blood for children
Who will never suckle from my breast
For each step you take away from people
You walk toward some more you’ve not yet seen
