no title (cliched title)

eclipsed time
shotgun weddings
metal brakes
– the morning stars
will be gone in the
direction they are going
– serpent like
the monsters are no longer there
tucked into bed

-the smell of a mothers breast
a shimmering gloss–
burst bubblegum popped
sticks to top lip.
your philtrum,

stuck on pavements, to the
bottom of trainers, in the cracks
-somewhere

you can hear cowboy priests,
their itchy fingers scratch scabs through
a monkeys mouth
an the alarm screams –

crushed by headlines
bold type under your bed
– they’re everywhere –
behind towns in
plastics bags
with swimming fish –
a fairground prize –
big wheel lullabies –

warm milk trains run on parallel
tracks, stopping –
paper cobbled stones
cardboard concrete
shanty town,
in the sleepy eyed dusk
– a florescent strobe

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s