From accounts of the massacre
and the thoughts behind
written by the killer beforehand
and which I read last night
I have come to the shore today
to find balance
in watching life on the beach
the sky never this blue
and in listening
to my children laughing
to block the echoes
of what I have read;

How he had sought out the island
with the most passionate of youths
how he had gleefully shot them dead
believing that their views were wrong
how he hated them
and the people they refused to hate
and how they had to die
like I would
like my children would
if he had had his way.

I look up
the sky is still blue
and all I hear
is the sound of my girls
laughing

there used to be
tunnels
private pathways
in the dark
there used to be
secretly links
for starved souls

there used to be

tunnels
suddenly flooded
caved in
on the souls
and disappeared

there used to be
secrets

your plans of escape
YOLO, I know, but please, NO!!!
please! do not go there

There's darkness
In the incandescence of the sun
Rising and setting
In two dimensions
Never reaching
But casting shadows from all

And there's death
In the leaves still hanging
On swaying branches
Happily dancing to tunes
Played by the Northern gale
But soon meant to fall

And there's silence
In the violent storm
Whipping and thrashing
The blooming gardens
And their window spectators
With the lights gone out
And nothing to say

And there's love
In the angry screams
And the frustrated pauses
Thickening the air
When we forget
That we are here
Together

Snow gradually covers their garden
Putting life on hold
Inhibiting growth
For play
In fantastic crystals
They fall like feathers
Light
And yet heavy
Soon they shall both sleep
In it

Slithering silently
entering
between blank spaces
of fragile fabric
of fiction
and real reacting
shivering
skin
it slips in
an idea
between dreams
daring
like an unseen hand
unanticipated
unstopped
And it floods
the mind
with irresistible
insisting
persistent
images
irrelevant to reality
but real
nonetheless

Refrigerator magnets
Will tell
kitchen table truths
About family
And blood
And how it will stick
Forever
No matter what
To kitchen table believers

Darkness feels different
something odd under the skin
sinister spreading

I killed another one this week
in front of everybody
her beauty gradually faded
as I starved her
and watched her wither
at one point I regretted it
and tried to revive her
I gave her plenty
but she drowned
and left a foul smell
of decay

Chiroptera

They are born with hand like
Wings of membrane clad digits
they spread to fly
Aviated, navigated
For nocturnal hunts
In perfect darkness
Where others feign

They cry a pulse
Echolocating
Mates or competition
Images of prey
And images of space
The night returns their sound

They are quick
Delicate wings
Stretch to out maneuver
Enemy or prey
But membrane tissue tears easily
Sensitive skin with receptors
Like fingertips
Small tears regrow... regenerate

It was raining

For months it had been raining
mercury
from tired clouds
onto frigid asphalt streets

she took her time
walking home in the rain
knowing
it would be raining there
too

In her pocket
a world
where the rain had stopped
and its sun
made her break a sweat

she was blushing

She had been blushing for days
sunburnt
from her magic trips
into Eden

**** you!
For the nights I tried to sleep
But the thought of you kept me awake
For the moments I'd like to keep
Even though there's a lot at stake.

**** you!
For the days I spent in fear
Of the day you'd go somewhere new
For the music I endlessly hear
'cause I got the files from you.

**** you!
For the electric current in the air
Every time we would happen to meet
For the desire to smell your hair
Even though it wouldn't be descreet.

**** you!
For the pictures you plant in my head
Every time I hear your name
For the words that were never said
Though we both seemed to feel the same.

On my way here
I met a worm
and I lifted it up

out here
the trees are buried
in time's salty dunes
and on their graves
overlooking the Western Sea
are flowering heather
as tall
as the once mighty
towering oak
now dwarved

and the worm now slithers
right below their leaves

I hope this is a ****** joke
That there's no fire only smoke
Coming from guns loaded with ire
But lacking the guts the triggers require

I hope,  Sicko, that you're okay
That this is just another display
Of frustration or anger or sadness
I don't know,  help me,  this is madness!

Crying fire like that on the phone
Yelling help in that convincing tone
Quite an actor,  you are,  what a stunt
You must take me for a stupid ****

Tell me,  why did you send that text
When you know what will happen next
I'll be out of my my wits with fear
That you might this time actually disappear

It's been days now,  and I'm losing hope
I thought jokes were your means to cope
Now I'm not so sure this is fun
If it is, then please stop,  you have won!


Please respond,  please,  I beg you, call
I shall not hold a grudge at all
I just hope that you're safe, okay
Help me chase that paranoia away.

I remember hiking
Finding that cabin
Finding lust
Behind steamy windows
Pressing skin
Against glass
Against floors
Heels over head
Connecting
Delivering
Receiving
Catching breath and
Leaving

I saw them get on the lorry
packed with people
drunk with sunshine, sand
and salt water
smelly people
stacked like sardines
to save a little on the fare

I saw them head away
away from the beach
away from the people
let people off
suddenly
and then drive off
something was off

I saw only five people left
driving into the bush
two of them slightly confused
confused by the terrain
and that only they would remain
heading back
strangely
via the outback

I saw them stop in nowhere
putting cuffs on the man
shouting things he didn't understand
dealing blows
and kicks
that he did
one at a time

I saw the others like he did
how they treated his wife
had her beg for her life
and had him beg and cry
and beg
to let them spare her
but they all wanted to try

I saw them get in the lorry
all five of them again
heading for a small town
where they found an atm
for that one last blow
of using their credit cards
before they would let the couple go

I saw them leave
only three in the lorry
the couple were left in town
shocked and scared
in an unknown town
they had no idea
why
I saw it all

On an open field
they would land
magnificent godlike machines
like fortresses they would stand
as if built there by ancient kings
reaping profit off villagers’ toils

Shaped like cones
They were layered like ships
Having decks for each purpose
And openings
only where openings were needed

The top decks were ventilation
Huge propellers circulated the air
Also
They were used for steering
Like top mounted rutters and blades
Cutting the air
Allowing the crew to breathe
On the middle decks
Even when they went into space

The lowest deck held the great magnets
Powered by inductive force
A manually produced electricity
Enabling the ship to repel
Any surface on Earth or moon
And hover like a carion bird
Waiting for its prey to die

One day
There were hundreds in the sky
Magnificent temple like structures
A mystery how they would fly
But they ruled the air
Like gods
Wielding invisible fire
And reversing
The forceful pull from the Earth

In the streets
men would fall to their knees
in thousands
food and water would spoil
in minutes
infected
they did not have time to pray
before buildings would crumble
yet there was no fire
only a blast
and oblivion to follow

I remember you
teaching me

Turning things around

I remember detention
For being cheeky
In your class

I fell in love
when I was only 20
a comfortable
and affordable
pursuasive love
with a lawn
and green jaquard curtains
and gold ornamented
dinner plates
that blocked out all.

He fell in love too
and he was also 20
hed not known better
mowed the lawn
watched tv
and ate
not from the ornamented plates
for they were reserved
for special occasions
like the crystal glasses
we got for Christmas

Our love was dear
we spent fortunes
but did not go anywhere
did not dream
until one day
he left
and took half
of our collection
of gold ornamented plates
before we got to use them
I cried for that love

...seems like a different life

A black hole
In timespace
A supermassive
Imploding thought
Paradox
Pulling
Realities in
And bending all rules
Of existence
Along a splendid
Event horizon.

A single atom
With mass
And gravitational pull
Equalling a large mountain
Devouring all light
Unless friction
of objects heated
From falling
And interaction
Sparks light
Perplexingly fantastic
Brighter than a thousand suns.

She waits for him
Behind closed doors
And lace covered windows

She waits in heels
Perfect hair and makeup
And nothing else

She waits for him
To open the door
And enter her fantasy

She waits for him
To acknowledge his mistress
And give into this

She is patient
Her whip will tell him the rules
And make him beg

She is treacherous
In her beauty
And her skills

She waits for him
And here he comes
I can hear footsteps in the hall...

Like a ghost
you're always here
the mark you left
won't disappear

I see your face
behind the screen
and sometimes later
I may dream

Your name I whisper
in the night
that you may join me
in my flight

Thus we may fly
time and again
high on the thoughts
that still remain

There was no purpose
I could fill
but that of memories in a frame
sitting there on your window sill

I remember
a bud between my lips
lighting it
inhaling the danger
the rush
invading my veins

I remember
everything

My world does not exist
it is white
two dimensional in three dimensions
and white
colourless, reduced
only perspective in white
ropes
on and across walls
no pain
no emotions
only ROOM
the room exists
without being anything but
space
a concept
an idea
some nails
and a stack of ropes
to play God with

they met
in lovely summer
but
her autumn had begun

Those dark spots
had always been there
always intrigued him

He imagined them
to be islands
where he could go
in his dreams
and her white skin
would be endless beaches
in the sunlight

But they disappeared
with her
and were gone for years
he had nearly forgotten
until today

Those dark spots
appeared again
under a different light
away from the sun
and his dreams
the islands were cold
like the fluorescent light
and her lips

The sea had gone dry
like  her eyes had no tears
and they begged of him
to give them his
for old times' sake

From up here
I can watch the whole stage
How they act
As if they were actually
Actors
In a play
I can see them living
Their lives
Without really living
Only playing it
In their living room
On their sofa
With their kids
Beneath the telly
And the family portraits
I can listen
To their dialogues
And their pauses
Sighs  
Feel their silences
Like liquids filling lungs
Threatening to suffocate
Them
Until love enters
And turns the whole play
Into comedy
Relief
Release
And curtain fall

I cannot recall
time
before Him
before pain

I was naked
and blindfold
I think I tried
to escape
but He caught me
suddenly all was dark
I cannot recall
anything
but pain

And I cannot escape
He has taken my legs
and replaced them
my arms too
with metal bars
ending in o-rings
He tied me up

I think I tried
to bite Him
when He tried
to **** my mouth
the pain
Then it was dark
and I woke up
with rubber teeth

I saw a glimpse
of the room
the pain
the chains
the hooks
and His face

I can no longer see
He took out my eyes
with frightful images
and acid
more pain
but I still remember
watching the others
me
on video
in pain

I cannot hear
only His breath
bearing
the screams in my mind
echo
but nobody hears

But I can smell
I smell
Him
I smell iron chains
and clasps
And I smell His breath
His sweat
His *****
I smell blood
and burnt skin
and pain
maybe my own
maybe theirs
I don't know

I understand now
He is God
I am His
creation
His toy

One coffee
and a name
was carved into
my soul

He is now art
The murderer
In Death Row
A live object
To an artist
A sinner
Sentenced to die
This is
The artwork itself

But
In exchange
He requested the artist
Help with an appeal
Which
If successful
could change
The outcome
Altogether

It did
For they won
The artwork will die
In prison
Naturally

The object will die
not
By the system
And by the artist
But by God
and then
Become food
For Helena
To complete
The work of art

beautifully smooth
nature looks quite like nature
silicon babies

Still listening
For that beat
Still trying
To find
That beat
Within
So I may sleep
So I may dream
That I am awake

There once was this place called the Corner
Attracting each poet and mourner
It would seem like the place
Where lyrics of grace
And beauty would make them feel warmer


But sadly the Corner would swarm
With predators seeking to warm
Their oversize egos
And feed their libidos
With chatting up girls as their form


As their poetic skills would deflate
They would rather on *** concentrate
So their primitive verse
Became far more perverse
When their  critics would start to debate

I danced with him
Then
A passionate tango
Upon literary waves
And he dipped me
Baptised me in crimson
Cascades of digital blood

We danced
For weeks
Barefoot
On perilous paths
Tearing feet and hearts
With our cheap glass broken
Promises

We drank words
In long daughts
Poisonous honeydew poetry
From my voluntarily
Ripped out heart
Until it broke
And the words spilt
Onto the ground
Where they mixed
With the tears of my love
And were thus diluted
And lost

**** seed
Outshining the sun
Glowing sodapop yellow
Against a holiday blue sky
And contrasting green
In new leaves
And freshly cut grass
For play
Blood dripping red
From knees
Unto the green
And sometimes
Unto the concrete kerb
**** seed in the background
Summer stains

He never knew
That I was there
Looking and wishing
To be everso near

He never knew
What I had planned
While observing so long
He would not understand

He never saw me
When I covered his face
In a sedating cloth
And dragged him to this place

He never resisted
I had given him a lot
So I might have the time
To prepare all I had got

He never knew
Until he came to his senses
Just how much I had wanted
To end my pretenses

Then he knew
How I had longed
How I had secretly yearned
How I felt that I had been wronged

Then he knew
That I would make him burn
For all that time
He had unknowingly
Made me yearn

Her place
was among the stacks of books
And paper
In the living room
But she saw
The bedroom door ajar
And she snuck in
To dream
Under the covers

She slept
And left unnoticed
But she left trace
Her fiery hair fell
Everywhere
On the sheets
And on his pillow
Revealing
Her trespass
Their secret

Like a modern piece
Of curious art
Like a commentary
A contrast
Or a twist
To the bronze statue
Behind her
She sits alone
On a sunny afternoon
Observing how
Orange makes people
Talk
Like her solitude
And porcelain legs
Attract stray glances
Mid conversation

All that orange
But the dress
A strapless black!
And she is writing
This moment
Capturing life
An orderly contrast
To sitting alone
Like a curious
modern piece of art
Beneath an old statue
On a sunny afternoon

I am awed
Inspired
By samples
Examples of life
Emotion and truth
Condensed
Into universal moments
Or observations
Epiphanies
In a simple form
Using language
And metaphor
To carry abundances
Of images
Or rhymes
Without spilling
Meaning
Or drowning
The audience
In elaborative
Details

A die rolls
And someone dies
It happens quickly
Before our eyes
We do not move
We do not feel
We only spin the giant wheel
And then we hope
To stay atop
Another round
With a bit of dope
Before we too
Will roll the die
Before we too
Shall roll up and die

I never liked silence
In my family we talk
A lot
About nothing
We talk non stop
Unless
Something serious
Comes up
Then
There's silence
Like a useless spell
Against truth

he came
from shadows
with ideals deep
and dark
his elegance
wrapped in mystical
musical
eloquence
beyond his mask
of classic poetic rage
and with him
came a new vocabulary
of beauty
and rebellion
a revolution in
words
burning pain
and reconstructing
from ashes and smoke
images
to set my mind free

Would the poet in his elevated state
of illuminated enhancement of
conscience,
would he picture the beauty in this
figure
this face
not to act upon it
but to ponder and capture
in its truest essence of being
this figure
and this face
their transcience of colour
for eternity to marvel at?

Would he,
the poet, perceive
and capture this?

I noticed him
as I entered the room
I noticed how his eyes
like those of a botanist
investigated my flower
how the purple and black had spread
and raised the skin
as if my blood were tactonic plates
threatening with eruption
I noticed his smile
and I knew
how this man truly knew
these flowers
where they grew
how to obtain them
and make them bloom
I wanted my flower to bloom

I could have killed her
easily
for a long time I just watched her
as she sat there
she had crawled in there
not realising the danger
the trap

This way I was able
to observe
with equal amounts of disgust
and scientific fascination
she was my enemy
my conscience, my shame
and I knew that

at some point
she would have to die

Experienced bakers bake bread.

It has been rising
In the cold
For days
Leavened
By an ancient sour dough
Now it has come out
They have formed it
A tough process
Tedious work and foul smells
But they know
That the outcome will be
Worth it.

there is a pain
in the abdomen
as if
a sneaking suspicion
is trying to raise itself
to the conscious self
something was hidden
a long time ago
or maybe only last week
it hurts now
it wants out