I am a flower pot Tumbling down the table, I still shatter in your palms As you try to catch me; Now we’re both bleeding world’s sucking our tongues while the galaxies around us burst open into nothingness My mouth is a sex fluttering like the butterfly in your belly It crawls down your abdomenContinue reading “Demise (#15)”
The Gardner – that made me, you and the bellowing universe amidst a poetry of Creation, a scream of magnificence.
I want to be an openness bending at the tip of the sunlight falling on my back. But I’m also afraid of burning in my own fire. I carry my hostilities like a poet who adores perspiring on a hot sunny afternoon in the arms of an old monument that houses some grand secrets onlyContinue reading “Of Silly Ruminations”
It’s a touch I recognise and swallow – a strawberry taste/ a bathing tide/ a summer scream.
I remain a sinner seeking heaven – an irony dodging misery only to write poems on it.
Her mouth is a language you know all too well, but beneath it is a forest that gardens its own warmth, a hope that eats itself because it has never been fed.
But I’m deranged in places that don’t exist loud enough.
I think of all the pages dying every night in the grave of your spit.
People often talk about the ground slipping from under their feet, but have you ever felt it slipping right back?
A poster and a thought.