Wild dogs of the veldt
stocking shelves in aisle three
     stalking gazelles
with me in supermarkets
     in Savannah
Predatory packs of discount snacks
Toto on the radio
but Georgia always on my mind
Yes, ma'am, I will gladly help you find
     the best watering hole
     this side of my primitive soul
But, pray, don't leave me in the morningtime
before I've got the chance to find
a ride home

Wineglass

An hour to midnight
     low lit lights
     gentle undertones

    stained clouds of moisture
in a glass of wine
as thick
         as ripe layers of fog.

hums of symphonies,
          swells of low pitched voices,
              crescendos of conversation.

     murmurs, whispers of fine China
      and the newest editions of
       oil paintings from Italy

                                      Midnight at the gallery

Once
clear glass, stained with
lipstick and breath --
     Laughter, light and
     undertones of ripe berry
lingered on the tip of glass.  

eyes wandering
over canvases of
lavish art
While stained clouds
of  moisture

are as thick as
ripe layers of fog.

a rose by the hour
floral shower
florid stain

the waxy lip
(incarnadine)
blooms for the sweet
and fragant touch

of
that young lily

iced and white
with blushed insides
and forbidden
fruit.

there is a timeless tale
within those pearls
within that smile

of youth

pulchritude

purity.

there is a quintessential
romance
beneath that lust
(that noisome desire)

heart beating and breaking
and pulsating and

suffocating

the light from the room
and the gold from the sun
and the bud
from her mother.

dulcet petal
browned
and grotesque
posioned by
romantic unrest
yet


a rose by the hour

floral shower

florid

stain.

We spend our days watching, by the hour,
The Kardashians in their ivory tower

Fifty-one million one can make,
And yet from the poor we continue to take.

With another tape, they could make more
Here men are, paying, preaching; “she’s a *****!”

Punter, performer; why is only one disallowed?
Sexes sin equally; Mz Davidson would be so proud

But a role model she is! Some also bark.
What about Wu Zetian, Zenobia, Joan of Arc?

They are lost, not as important as ingot
Instead we’ll recall Weinstein, bigot.

Stories of their tweets dominate the BBC
But where is the plight of the LEDC?

Bleed my mind out
Onto paper again
It’s in a cage
I’m full of rage
Things can’t be the same.
**** a phase, this is a chapter
Turn the page, streets in flames
Things can’t be the same.
I feel the pain when I see their eyes
And I can **** near taste it
They wanna rewrite history
But the noise too loud
So they can’t erase it
Things can’t be the same
Light it
Gone

I sit in the same ******* chair
everyday, it’s a weird shape,
it looks like a square trying to be a circle.
And, so gratefully it matches the floor.
Colour coordination? check.

I drink at the coffee shop indefinitely,
daily. I hate the way the seats began
to mould to my body’s bitter behaviour,
like the chair is my theatrical therapist.

The sticky seat ***** on my snub-nosed
sedation to get up and move
as I sit perfectly still,
watching a brilliantly busy world go by.
And the nice girl is asking me
“do you want the latte to take away?”
No. I’m alright,
I’ll drink it in here thanks.

Sally doesn’t get the puzzle,
maybe she’d be better
at the pub quiz. Or perhaps,
she should just stay at home,
watch T.V.

Sally places a cereal bowl
on the teatime table,
cooking dinner is a chore,
and her finger sting from a burn.

Sally doesn’t iron the towels,
or the kitchen table –
that would be strange.
Instead, she pours beer
onto the floor
and leaves it to stick.

Sally’s not sure
if she’s sad
or if she’s happy.
Either way
both are just existing.