SOUL

          we  relinquished  responsibility 
       and left the gas on. inhaled deeply 
    and learnt to roll our eyes in ecstacy.
  we ask only for more. eating ferociously.
        bottomless pits, waiting to hit each others souls. 
        souls which, if they existed (which they don't)      
        would taste like chilli and coriander.


     

ROOM 1

  the gap between two front teeth increases
  tv shows pile up in your eyes
  slow sentences crawl from your mouth
  and end up in the folds of your belly
  your lovely belly
  body as a bulb
  you are so happy
  the clothes you wear evolve 
  upon your skin the cloth changes
  one day you are swaddled the next
  we are all hipsters

education

The hermaphroditic license to lie, 
when all truth of body is born 
into difference and you 
constitute the unintelligible. 
They make sense to me, 
the incessant lies, when 
truth flits away with education. But I 
am not bitter.
The antithesis in fact.
Sweeter than I’ve ever been. My blood stream 
is filtering pineapple chunk 
syrup into my cum 
to make it taste 
nice. 
Education for educations sake makes 
education for education sake
seem so futile.
How about education for the sake of survival?
For the sake of the will 
to live? For the sake of realisation that living 
isn't everything, 
that though survival might be called an instinct 
isn't it more interesting 
to question whether 
it is fear or hunger that keeps us alive? 
not what we must do in order to survive,
not what success is 
not what success is not 
what success is. 
for something other than success 
because success is a pain in the arse.
it makes the struggle so retrospective. 
retroactive in fact; 
actively affecting the struggle to become 
an upwards one 
instead of what you thought 
it was at the time; 
just a struggle.

congratualtions neighbour you are a homosapien now.

how softly we bash against nothing. 
the soft scythe. 
no use for a name 
we bathe in more steam than water.
we plan our captive nothingness and race to face our mothers 
DREAMING of the day 
our passports fit in our pockets, our wallets,
making space for me in knicker drawers, 
lavender bagged identification drooling over 32c's,
we grow out of beds made above us, 
treating our lovers like our daughters.
then shifting shifts our noses to the sky 
making sure we can see over 
our jewishness. 
raised voices and forgiveness on rye 
with salmonella traces on your gentle hands we kiss. 
don't do this. asparagas tips. 
sliced onion tears of acetic life 
hermaproditic spelling of homogenous copulation, 
sexual beings fucking kittens with tits and bottoms like tinkerberries. 
we will fuck so we will grow.
white wine muscles stay hot in our bowl,
rice grain eyes. 
morning breath motions of self love. hard cocks. strong hands.
uncontrollable urges we have never had want for. 
we have. we use. swap our skins contort our bodies let our wrists catch 
up with our minds 
wrench our tongues 
out of our mouths 
reach and know 
if not reach try 
and boil our food till its fried we die. 
tea spoons in our hands face in dinner plates. 
posture posses nothing of me. i am a rump.  
we hope we will amount to something in the eyes of nobody. 
nothing in the eyes of all. 
congratualtions neighbour you are a homosapien now.

love (revised)

These are the wings I borrowed.

Icarus I caress and he could not

care less, no self respect 

they make jerky of his flesh 

and erect

a statue on the spot where he landed.

The fall is over;

we are now fallen.

Slabs of silk 

chiselled into bricks

for god to carve our voices out of.

Yet we take up our own knives to crater our names

into the memory of man.

And on the 7th day we rest.

They teach us the dominant ideologies

in order for us to avoid them.

This modern migraine would not exist without the pills which counter to it.

What other contracts could we sign together honey?

We will fill the mortuary with mortgages 

never paid and claim 

the wedding rings as public property. 

It's such a shame 

that we will evolve without fingers to ring.

No need then

for opposable thumbs,

we will weld 

our engagement bands to our foreheads

-futile hands.

Then to claim them from us when we meet 

eternal sleep 

they'll ring pull open our skulls.

The empty hiss of our brains 

gone flat 

released. 

Peace. Our greatest achievement;

all bills square before we are boxed and packaged back into the earth.

We have made it.

This is it.

I think this feeling is happiness.

I am smiling when the rigamortis 

begins.

Empty signifier of empty rings.

Erect a statue from my skin.

Smiling as rigamortis begins.

Luckily For Me

Luckily for me
angrodgeny
is in fashion.
People slip from gene pool to gene
pool, splashing skin with
the froth of female
formed male formed female formed...
And the bubbles burst.
And the air becomes a being.
It has no sex but beauty
beyond all bounds previously known.
Luckily for me
androgeny
is in fashion.

We Went Outside To Dance In It

We went outside to dance in it
but in the morning it was gone.
We let our bodies go soggy
With the first sign of the apocalypse
and expect to die,
but the morning comes:
we are alive.
We soak up what god sent to smite us.
"BUILD AN ARC BOYS"
We cry,
our hysteria, our hearts resigned.
But in the morning
our feet have dried,
though our socks are wet,
and the world is the same as it always was.
And we went outside to dance in it.

life spills

life spills from me, only some times,
we cross our legs to hide the blood stain,
shame ingrained, so we drink our wine.


life spills like wine on white cloth,
we cover our tables to hide the wood stain,
memories ingrained, whilst our heads go soft.


shivers through us, the last bitter drops,
it helps our hearts but not our livers
shivers, through us, whilst our heads go soft.


life hurts to carry but we carry on
we ask: "would you rather drown or burn?"
i say: "life hurts"


the fluids i've no more use for
the ruin that ruined me
i am a vessel for poison 
and for that reason
life spills. 

photography.

whos hand is this

poking out from the human rubble?

we mumble

into the night

about our bodies and losing our senses.

people scamper to the graveyard at the top of the hill

to escape death.

boats for twenty come to collect one hundred.

dogs bark before they die.

bed becomes a haven.

it smells like our bodies and our lost senses.

the covers over our heads condense down our skin to sweat.

lomburg thinks one hundred grand a year will

save the planet

by the end of the century.

eco warriers for twenty come to collect one hundred.

the human heart is assessed in economic terms.

current loss and future gain.

they called him hitler.

they throw words around like bombs.

easy as pie.

sweet smells of americana rising from window sills.

we confuse them as we discuss our husbands and what we will call our kids.

kissing each others necks on the phones to our mothers.

muscles in knots we relax into slumber and wake in the morning reluctant

to untie. 

silently we cry separately in the kitchen and wipe tears away before

they are seen.

it comes in waves.

when the sun is out we swim.

the sun is out and the only way to live is to swim.

our animals are drowned and our fortune is lost.

future gain.

current cost.

our senses pile up with the recycling.

i hope that mine will become something useful.

but they were no use to me.

slowly but surely

out of the darkness my eyes adjust and i dont feel so blind.

welcome into my home.

tonight the lightening is white.

and the addicts are getting paid in liver damage and death

to unload the crates in the rain.

your lips rest on mine but we are not kissing.

you hold me as i cry.

but mostly we slot into place and smile.

we pray that noah will come once more and he will be sent to Sind.

concrete.

Rabbi.

I keep hearing the rhythm of the rabbis voice;

'And now say: Amen.'

Say it if it helps but don't say it for my sake,

my sake is lying motionless with me.

I keep thinking in the rhythm of the rabbis voice;

the ups and the downs

eyes and chins to the ground

so tears can roll easily

and he

can speak

calmly so we

can understand

and he can recite poetry

and he can recite prayers

and I can hear

and I can think

in the rhytm of the rabbis of the voice.

Say it if it helps,

if you need to,

if you think it is the right thing to do,

for you,

but do not say it for my sake;

My sake has been forsaken by my mortality.

For you

say it

but do

not

say it for me.

Say it by me

as I lay.

And I'll know, just before I stop knowing,

that I'll lay by you and you will think it was the right thing to do,

by you.

But do

not do

it for me.

Listen carefully to the ups and down chins to the ground

of the rabbis voice.

I am certain that he will recite poetry.

For you.

For me.

For my sake lying cold with me.

LUCKILY

FOR ME

ANDROGYNY

IS IN FASHION

are tears good for your skin? should i bottle this up and try and sell it? should we sell aging women heartbreak in the hope that they'll believe the tears it will cause will rid them of wrinkles? i cant breathe without it hurting now. after these past few hours of aging. my nose is sore now, after these past few hours of aging. i've felt sick for a good few hours now, a good few hours of aging. my wrists and ankles feel weak, they didn't before, before, a few hours ago, a few minutes ago, worsening as every second goes. aging. aging. aging.

Temple

So build me up and leave in me an arch.

Through this arch may all who wish

come as they please;

a pilgrimage to me.

For I have been told:

my body is a temple.

Believe the rainfall to be my tears

and cup your hands to catch my sorrow.

Those who told me my body was sacred will now tell you:

"Tears are good for your skin."

Those who held out their hands and bottled my sorrow to sell will say:

"These tears are good for your skin, health will come as this body will weep."

They will broadcast my tearjerkers on television

and replace the cumshot with a promise:

"The tears you cry from this story will leave you ageless."

Desperate to hear and flood your face

with the salt you believe I aim to drain from you,

you will call out to me through them.

And I will hear your cries

through the numbers you dial

and the minutes you pay for.

The temple stands in the sun and the stone cracks.

The people realise the truth standing naked before the mirror.

The salty tears I gave down their aging faces.

"You have forsaken me."

They stuff screwed up crimples of paper into my cracked walls.

They come faster

and greater

and more numerous.

Now I am nothing more than a target.

My body is a temple and through the arch you left in me people flood.

My body is a temple and within me stands the frustration the betrayal the defeat the denial the anger the uglyness and the hate;

bursting at the seams.

The television watching Macabees have come to crumble me and leave.

So push me down and leave only the space through which you walked,

so you may exit me again with ease.

But one day forgive me,

for I was told,

just as you are,

that my body was a temple.

Sunday (part one of two)

A SALMON SKY

LAYS BED TO A

TOPIARY SUNDAY.

"NOW THAT IS SOMETHING

I'VE NEVER DONE"

MY FATHER TAKES

HIS EYES

OFF THE ROAD

"BUT IF I DID

I'D HAVE TO USE

SOMEKINDOFSTRING

TO KEEP IT LEVEL."

A SALMON SKY

WILL LAY BED TO

A TOPIARY SUNDAY.

blue.

Through you

I see no edges;

A gentle

Fade

From thing to thing.

Stars fell into reflections and now the sky is empty and the sea is full.

Temptation to

Dip toes into ink

And walk

To bed

With nibs for feet,

Writing 'blue' upon these streets.

Tonight the gulls

Cry

'Blue'.

The sea is full.

The edges are gone.

And so I:

As much bench as I am floor,

As much sky as I am pen.

The pier now

Appears now

-Through you as I see-

To be as much blue as the

Spilled Ink.

The carnival has come.

Each corner lit

By the yellow shade of blue.

Fades to middle

Into shades,

More shapes,

Cause the stars fell and hit the ships.

Did the stars hit me,

Or am I blue too?

Edgeless through your eyes.

Damp breath.

Overhead fly the gulls;

BLUE BLUE

Cry the gulls.

The carnival has come

To paint the town.

On this night we painted blue.

Three Fathers

...click to make it big and readable....

There Are Only Some Things Onto Which You Can Shovel Dirt.

Here is my body.

My faulty faculties and my frail frame.

Here is the box you will place me in.

Will it hurt?

Could I test the weight the of the earth

Before I'm under it?

Ground

Path

Earth

Dirt

Upon you I have trod

Since I learnt to walk.

So tell me now,

Did I hurt you?

You beneath me.

Did it hurt

Having the human race shovelled upon you?

An earth buried beneath the people who,

When they can walk no more,

Bury themselves beneath the earth.

So tell me, did it hurt?

Here is my body.

My faculties at their faultiest and my frame at its most frail.

So tell me why,

When we die,

Do we place upon us the weight of the world?

Sorry.

When I moved away

I moved you

With me.

I took your order each day and your routine.

I moved and - it's not like I made sure - but I assumed you

that you

I assumed that you moved with me.

I assumed when I moved you changed;

Let my life alter yours.

I was sure I was

The cog that kept this part of town going.

The man with Tourettes still comes to read the papers. She still wants buttered baked potatoes significantly earlier than everyone else.

Moving away will not stop

All the lonely people coming to the library.

My Dentist Is Called Dr Luck.

i like the way my name sounds on your teeth

when you sleep

it slips

from the corner of your mouth

collects in a puddle on your pillow

stains

your

lips.

crusty on them in the morning

rinsed away to give you

morning dew skin

fresh nameless breath

full moistened lips

when back to sleep you slip

from the corner of your mind

sleep brings my name back to dry out your tongue

stale christened breath

breathe.

i like the way my name sounds on your teeth.

Tremble.

I can make you tremble

Body below body I can

I can make you tremble I can make you shudder

Lover empty over empty I can

Make you shudder.

Lay still and silent and realm between boundaries only these,

I will reach below your knees

Roam in breathlessness and gasping grasping out between

I made myself know

And you known so

New are we.

I can make you tremble body

Below body I can.

A cascade of foaming silence washes over you in waves

And leaves marks about your hips as the tide it breaks I can make

I can

I can make

I can make you shudder lover

Empty over empty

Deep over deep

Until silence meets and lies

Again with us between.

Someone has taken thread to sew down your silk spine.

From the base of your neck

In a line to a hand who holds

The needle still and breaking stillness

Shapes an arch in your back and grinds your shoulders in the silence.

Realm between the boundaries

Between boundaries only these

I can make you tremble and shudder body below body lover I can

Can I make I can make I can make you can I make you I can

Make

I can

Make make you I can

I can make you tremble.

have you been kfc yet?

CANIBALCENTRIC; If A Tree Falls In A Forest...

is it lust or lost?

a kiss on the spaces where skin is softer where viens pump faster

where falling

down

upon

my

knees

i call out to God and grab my gun and run to shoot my pastor MASTER

MASTER MASTER OF THE UNIVERSE CREATOR OF SUCH A

shabby globe

these are the promises you did not uphold

this is the doubt you placed in me

hypocrisy heresy he said synergy and i agree softer

softer is the way of the woman than the man the socially

constructed human can

the time has come to construct our bunkers and

eat tinned food

and hold our loved ones

human tin openers opening human tin

to eat the salty preserves of skin and is it lust

or is it lost

oh lost lust is leaving slowly for the door

no one saw or

heard the creak in the floor

alone the footsteps make a sound no one hears and so

everyone says there was never sound here is

nobody listening and world falling silent

but everyone's talking just the same

it was us the fuel of sinners and thieves

and if our lord in heaven is holding the reigns

well let it rain let it rain let it rain let it rain let it drain

out of me

for fathers our poor father our fore father and four fathers

left childless we are the mindless

and we are the strong

brute strength

no morals

we destroy all we touch

just to feel

the adrenaline pump

feel it rush and it gushes like the waves He threw

down and he hoped and prayed and wished we'd all drown

what have i created

what have you become

i had

lust for a world that is lost

that is

gone.

AT DIE NING TAY BALL OP

O

SIT

IN 2 MIND EYE BIT.

AND CHEWED UP ON THE FLESH ALL SWEET.

BITS STUCK ON GUMS

IT WAS A PLEASURE 2 EAT.

OP

O

SIT

AS EYE BIT

AS EYE SIT.

AS EYE SAT.

AS EYE LEAVE SAT IS FIED FULL AND FAT.

THOROUGHLY FULL UP THOROUGHLY FILLED.

EYE WONDERED HOW MEN E CELLS EYE'D KILLED WHEN EYE BIT

DOWN

IN 2 MIND.

MAY KING IT MINE.

FINE.

ALL THE WORDS THAT EYE 8.

ALL THE SINEWS EYE CHEWED.

BRAY KING THE LINKS BETWEEN BOD E AND MOOD THIS IS NEW.

THINK.

WITH MIND NOW IN MOUTH, STUCK IN

TEETH.

I BIT DOWN INTO FLESH AND PRO SEE DID TO

EAT.

Its Just Another Social Fuckstruct.

SOCIAL FUCKSTRUCT HAIKU

i am constructed.

made so i will not fall down.

social scaffolding.

SOCIAL FUCKSTRUCT HAIKU 2

i'm bound to social fuckstructs

so my bones will hold me up.

fuckstructless i fall.

SOCIAL FUCKSTRUCT HAIKU 3

fuckstructs make you want.

fuckstructs make you big and strong.

fuckstructs rape your head.

Lie Berry.

I assumed a sort of new

Assumption.

I kept my eyes

Fixed and pluck up the gumption.

Something else was starting to function,

A sort of new

Found to be true

Assumption.

I felt fine for a while prior and post then,

Post-it notes around my throat with all the thoughts I thought before when;

Spilling out my jingle jangle junk box

Head onto your bed,

Might have made it seem

That particles had collided to make us think the same.

And it's sweet that you refuse

To believe it's more than watching,

Possible touching,

More than,

More like

Twitching.

And it's sugary that you need your pillow to be

Clean and warm and empty,

Before you pretend to listen when you crawl in bed

Beside me.

Not a noise in the night more mumbled and crackling;

The salty skin of the memories of the men we bought back when

Fingers need bending and minds need a rest.

Stop and wait and go again. Best.

Lazy memory mornings,

Yawning.

My mind has been up all night pacing,

Watching me sleep next to the company I'm facing.

It tells me my acting skills of

CoolCalm

AndCollected

Are coming off dull if not slightly affected.

So it is not hard to sleep

Alone.

It is however most uninteresting.

BloodBlister.

TypeRighter.

LittleSister. Biggger. Brighter.

Loster.

Found her

Cowering over books, giving wobbly glances and shaken up looks.

There is an eye I would try to hold steady.

Ready?

A medley of memories;

Short term and long

Lingers.

Wiping it all off my fingers.

Middle digit rigid.

And I wonder

If you realise:

I'm offering you a new form of cigarette for you to stylize.

This is not anger this is unbent proclamation.

Candy cigarette fingers for a cancerless nation.

foryourbite.

There's a sound now;

Muffled and stunted and filtered through ear after ear after ear and after all

You can hear

Is this sound now.

Eyes are closed.

Bottom lip curls to be bitten and reassured it is still part of your mouth,

But your jaw it is listening and lolling as it does

And it loses grip on your lip as the sound rolls past.

Also your neck listens with tilt and with sway,

Leaning close to your shoulders which lock your arms in place.

At the end of your arms past the bone and the bend you are

Spelling out words in your palm.

Your fingers are tickling the sentences,

And you're sensitive

Skin clams up and you know:

When I finish writing,

When my body can't hear,

They'll be no more words left to recite.

Muffled and stunted and filtered through ears,

Bottom lip

Crying out

For your bite.

Eyjafjallajokull

It said on the news today that nobody died.

That there's a big black cloud hanging over us

that will never rain, but someday clear.

That it will provide us with beautiful sunsets and settle softly on our noses.

It said on the news today that blacks the new white and

the dictionary has placed

FIRESNOW

between

FIREBRAND

and

FIREWORKS.

In other news television has taken control of the NHS and will hand out glasses for free,

with a tagline written upon each pair; 'Its the best way to BBC'.

To collect your complimentary pair of anti-Israel specs

shout answers to this equasion at your television set.

If you do not receive your glasses:

you are not shouting loud enough.

A survey

showed an increase in preference towards the sea over the sky.

A ten year old said that the sea was a more aspirational symbol than the stars

and that the more time her father spent at home the more he smelt like

white spirit.

In other news, ferry prices have rocketed and jumbo jet parts are being sold off.

There was a loud bang heard today

and the roads are clear

and the only pollution presently is the tar stuffed down in God's lungs.

It said on the news today that the Lord has cancer

and that cigarettes are free.

That there was world wide looting of fag factories resulting in

escalated

tension and riots followed by a relaxed

exhalation

and a new feeling of global affinity with Hashem,

Well, that's what it said.

And the weather man explained

that there's a big black cloud hanging over us that will someday clear,

but never rain.

A TABLE UNLAID

I will not try animate you

as you need

no boots, coat or hat.

There'll be no limbs attached,

no blood

to drain

or air to catch.

Sitting as you are;

no rim around your Fedora or

carnation in your shirt,

no proud straight back against

an empty arm chair,

with no fingers to crack and

no rings to place there.

No strong jaw or romantic

temperament.

No reputation for being a

gentleman.

No easy way to settle

when

you've no legs to rest or

knees to bend.

And with no soft lip with split not on,

and no warm eyes unbruised,

there's no blood that clots to heal for them

and no need to stitch or sooth.

With no shoulders broad to hang

no suit.

No buttons to buttons

and no laces to boot,

and between these two

no cloth there to cover,

neither your right leg left

just as un as the other.

And so

sits empty

your invisible

chair,

inside your invisible

walls, by your fire of air.

Upon your transparent rug,

in a house no one made;

there you sit

with no body

at a table unlaid.