Poems
Anguish is an Algorithm.
There are days when my head can’t compute it. When the algorithm of grief goes awry. Nothing changed. Everything the same. And my heart
We were never meant to last
(You) look at me
fuck at me
then left your hook in me.
A Viscous Circle
then…red hot poker lust
burned, and we turned, like an oven
slowly roasting us together. Heat
The Boy of Not Enough Days
As I stand at the edge of my sanity,
a precipice with hope,
helplessness rises like impassable terrain,
Pond life
Hear me. Let me speak to you of rounds. It’s winter now and drops of frozen rain fall faintly on my surface. Fleeting. Sleeting. Slush. Somnolent. Grey and gloom entwined. Like a steel forgewith its fire long gone cold. Dormant. Bellows becalmed leavingthe sludge and slime of my depths to slumber inthe doom dark days …
The Mathematics of Us
The geometry of lust creates a non-equilateral triangle where fractals of loveform and reform. The ebb and flow of being with and (being) without long term desire. When the calculus of jealousyplays out in full, dx over dy differentiating her with you and you with me, then the old slide rule(s) (or rules slide) and …
Every School Bully
I’m here again. It’s that time of day again. Time for school. Time for fears. And that feeling, that sickening tide washes over me – drowns any courage I had. I’m down again, on the ground again. Blood dumping dearly – nowhere to hide. Time for pain. Time for slain. He’s here again. It’s …
The Thing Beneath Grandma’s Bed
Grandma has an old fashioned bed, with a big wooden frame and springs. The sort of bed that has space underneath it, the sort that can hide lots of things. When we stay there, my sister Sally and me, we use it to play hide and seek. It’s a great place to hide in …