(today, 1n the bar)

i live in stillness
with screams that burn
forever torture
and
the bar is swarming with cleavage
tits o'clock and the city is hot
with (c)hristmas glow

everything is set for reproduction
John's teeth, behaviour and smile
say
everything is negotiable
yes dreams can become

unframed, humans dance within
my walls
I am raw and everyone else
runs through
smooth 
unharmed
and so

'yo John'
MY land is not
yet butchered

The Porn Generation

the undertow chokes me alone with magnificent beaches and the slashed-toothed gorges arouse my urges for the darkening burning peaches
that the porn generation has gifted
Oh how I want to slam my dick in the best ass I've seen and you babe have been bouncing and firming up wanting teardrop tits and shit this is maddening sex, I'd do hours in bed you know, especially with the hills dripping wet and I'm not a betting man
but I bet angels have died in your bikini panties so come wake me
like this wind that sings as I cross the Whitby sand

babE

i'm going no where
but blissing-out
when this girl 15
dressed in tight blue leggings
steps out in front of my cruise
I stop watch her radical lines wave
but she looks directly through me
emerald eyes and
bubble gum pops
as she enters the grocery shop
blissing-out
and back at home
I listen to Beethoven
who says Ludwig still lives
so forget about the other kind

she says, 'it records more than words.'

took car to where
bows glided down and the coast
blackened with birds
mad birds getting a look
at the hook
of my hair
as I spit mist
once again into the air                                                                                  
and it was 4.30am
when you rang
so I left the incoming tone to hang
as I sank
into the damp clay
waiting for the
.... day
to play out

And my dictaphone repeats the word
bold

25 bottles (of perfume)

Its not hard to sour mother's womb
a room full of bubbles
bubble in the room
and I adore the smell of females
in my 20's but don't taste
yet
wet concrete smells like ocean
this bed absorbs
the hammer of rain
but I can not abstain
your dark wood of hair
your smelting
lying there
not yet charred
but vacant
like a lonely dogs bark
And in the morning
when moments love has gone
we make breakfast
with the back door hung

8righton

there's nothing to do here
and the sound is warped
so I sit by the umbrellas
drink vodka tonic
and watch the passers-by
Two girls sixteen
maybe seventeen
sit by my side
both with black hair
their bushes
bushie
probably
and our eyes meet
ever so often
she peels an orange
while the other squeezes
on a cigg
thinly
and as my head begins to heat
I torch a strike and breathe
write a note that says
'your numbers'
but fold it up and leave

dirty snow

three
stories up
the sea smells strong
the window slightly ajar

I’m flicking pages
‘I guess,’
I don’t
understand
and that late train
makes hazy
like my own tracks
jaded
soaked in wine

But you lay still
unknowing
and tit just showing
I return
with my cock
in hand