Wednesday, 30 March 2016

Unsolicited And Probably Rather Obvious

West of the wilting hills,
The city sleeps,
And dreams
Of where the wild things are.



Rule number one of staying alive:
Never mess with a stray dog.

Stray dogs are like your 4 year old cousin after Halloween night. A slight exaggeration on my part, I'll admit, but they're both likely to wound you if you get too close. Your cousin most likely over you touching their hard earned candy (If they give you anything more than a bruised eye though, they probably run a candy cartel at break.) and the dog over its territory. Here's the thing about stray dogs though: they're probably not too fussed about whether you want your legs or not. Heck, they couldn't care less about your arms either if they know they can jump that high or get you down long enough to get at them. The chances are that they're extremely rabid, haven't eaten in a week and are completely willing to maul you to death if you so much as step a millimeter into their territory. You probably shouldn't run either. Running is the equivalent of waving a red flag at a bull or throwing rocks at a bee. And don't doubt that that dog will chase you. It will. Most importantly however, do not assume that your friend won't push you in front of her and use you as a human shield when that dog approaches. She will. Believe me she will.





Saturday, 19 March 2016

In Which I Poet The Heck Out Of Things


I am broken by association;
A friend of a friend of a friend-
Of stormy currents,
And shattered windowpanes,
And nights on the mantelpiece soaked in vases to the rim with still rivers,
Till I shiver and shrivel with rose petals black,
Detached from saturated stems.




Sunday, 6 March 2016

There's A Salt Marsh Under My Eyes


There's a salt marsh under my eyes
Formed from hopeless, woeful nights
Thawed raw in summer like weathered roads
And numbed come winter time.

And my bones gave way last Sunday
Each puddle come intertwined-
Through the crack in my zygomatic-
In the dip of my cupid's bow

Shook mad with juddering might-
Past the arc of my bee stung lips-
To lie in my collar bone
And rock and row
And rock and row
Before it all ran dry.