Category: sketches

parts of old poems now presented as one

Advertisements

dizzy sick 

I drove away from city number 2 got diverted through a town where they molest children and some fly flags bigger than football pitches
false feelings of patriotism for a country that never really existed

photos on the floor of ex-couples cut in two and eaten by rabid dogs

I had to get out of that town

but all roads were blocked

all these hours travelling centrifugally

I vomited a dizzy kinda sick

alligator 

cuddling with deaththe story of a boy from Florida who was eaten by an alligator 

and grew up in his belly

prison bar ribs 

– he feasted on undigested carrion 

and used a kidney for a pillow 

– his parents cried every night and held vigils next to swamplands

– they sat in garden chairs with a candles in their hands buzzed by fireflies 
when the boy grew he would lay in side the alligator and look through his triangular teeth at the world outside 
one day he crawled from within
walked home 
kissed his parents 
sold his story to the local news 
his father found the alligator and shot him right between the eyes 

people don’t like poetry

when it comes to poetry people run a mile ITS JUST SENTENCES CUT INTO SHORTER SENTENCES

someone shouted at the recital

— ITS ALL METAPHORS —

— ITS ALL METAPHORS —

“I’d rather crash my car into a

wall then read poetry”, your brother said before he was taken away

and outside the library the cars pile up their fenders hanging like frowns

broken lights and hot air whooshing from tyres

I am a shit renascence man

some children lean like saplings

bent, blank and thin like sheets of A4 paper

holes in their teeth

empty black spaces

eroded

and then some children just look like scratches on a painted horizon
still and motionless

she stepped close to me

I heard her lungs rattle

a deathly black rattle from

damp lungs deep with under her skin

the petals fell off the flower

one at a time

one by one

and that cloud that floated overhead resembled Elvis

I awoke in the lost room

I had doubts about everything

emy poems were found lacking

my photographs were out of focus

the subject matter weak and trite

– someone said BLAND

– my drawings were childish scrawls

what I gained pleasure from was rejected by others
dismantled like a child’s toy

boxed up and stored away for the winter

I am a shit renascence man