Thursday, 31 December 2015


Your machines
are miniscule
Your time is elastic,
stretching on
Like the waste band
The wasteland
Of your yoga pants
Your car goes from
0 to 'fuck me' on
The never-ending oil rig
Of your dad's money
Your sex is rapid
Sorry, I mean
You like to 'make love'
Within the span of a
Men's magazine article
Read while taking
A shit
And you flush
Your diet
Down the drain
For protein shakes
And avocados and
Artisnal brown bread
And I would like to
Read you this
But you want
Bite sized dreams
Universe in a sentence
The world in a ball
And the sky
Within your veins

Monday, 7 December 2015

I don't want to write something sad
Anything that rhymes with hope
Will do, would you?
I'm tired of edging towards pieces
That I've called home 
Homes of people, pawns
These words are my summer gift for 
The winter in you
For your seasons that never change
And for my sun that never sets.
If I am a memory of what you used to be
Jagged edges of a knife carved with age
A no tattooed across your chest
I want to sleep like an owl in the day
To have you see me
Smiling where I stand
And no, I can't dance
But for you, I'll try