Yesterday I was optimistic as the sun, broad as the sky, impish as the morning mist. Now I bleed, slowly, like a finger through my letterbox. Today,the sky-hooks are embedded in my fllesh again, and I am dead inside.

The rainwhich beatsupon the glasspoints thewayto poisongas. The sunwhichwarms the stagnant poolgoes down atduskand leaves itcool. The cloudsmushroomingoverheadtell us there’smuch more todread. The lightning strokewhich tears theskycarries deathto low and high. Good and evil,love and hate,they’re all waiting at the gate.Betrayal, fear,pain, and deathcan be feltin every breath.

once my belly was as full as the moon, till God scowled upon my boy and made him die; now we are afraid to speak to one another, you and I, lest we bring him back to us.

somewhere a drownedmanwalks alongthe shore, bemoaning the dryland on which hewalks. he doesn’tnotice the rank seaweed caught in his hairlike a beggar’scrown. the abortion roomgives up itsdeadwhile the colour of bloodis still redis red. a woman sitsalonewandering inwitthen walks in a circle over and overitlike a boredpair of compasses. herbrain decomposes,as a sunkentreasurerusts slowly away in stagnantwaters. in the care...

In the black ball of the sky the weary moon tries to outdo the stars, but it is too much for the ancient fool! The haystacks, like sliced hot dogs sauced in black, blend into the deep grey night, and are recklessly in denial. The wind, though icy, coddles the darkling landscape, yet nothing roosts. She pulls out the short thick rope from her college bag, fixes it gloriously to a tree branch, slips her young head through t...

she died this morning, her bony little hands clutching her pigeon chest, a look almost of relief on her tiny face. sitting upright on the hard chair he feels a cold black thrill, like the Nazi he is. what will he do now? he's not used to being alone. he goes upstairs where the Body lies, his mouth twisting into a maelstrom of rage as he mutters a curse on those merciful spirits who have taken her from him.he'd kill her ag...

in a field he stands, hisfeet in darkness, his dirty raggedface dull with themoon’s silverlight.the festoonery ofrags is about him,each borrowed garmentwith its story.those eyeshe wearsare not blindwithal;the empty sockets are filled with seeing.last night there weretwo in thelane,and he watched a dreadfulviolation;heard the terrorin hervoice,saw the sharpblade thrust in andout; the moon’spale phosphorescenceflashing to a...

once I watchedjust afterduska hugeflock of birdsfly massively froman old mildewed pier.deserted it was;the pier I mean.it had sat therein itsstinking mould for manyyears,friendless and alone.then the birds,crows I’m sure,(though they say crowsonly roost in trees)detached themselvesfrom the dark silhouetteand skimmed the sky.as one smallflockpassed overheada singlecrywas uttered.it pierced mybrainlikean ice-colddart,bringi...

I remember mydressclose-fitting andblackimprisoning my body like shrink wrapI remember myhairlong and darkbrownwith a narrowband of velvettight over myfrownI remember that daywe made ourplansand with promises likea welding torchyou said you would never desertmeyour eyes two blotches ofsealing waxrevealingnothing.now I amyoursforever;andfrom where youcutyour name from my neck to mysleeveI bleed red dropswhenever youleave

I wonder then ifthat is whyI chain youupand steal youreyes?I really need allthat youare,become for mea rich bazaar.Give me yourlungsto help mebreathe,I’ll prise them outwith gentleease.Relinquish that:a Romannoseand howabout a pair ofthose:kidneys are they?Nicely done!Your legs as well,now you won’trun.I’ll have yourearsto help mehear,I’ll take yourtongue also, nofear!I’m sure it will assist me whenI need to share thetast...

Why is the sky so silent.Clouds hang around likejunkies. The sun, floatingmountebank,hidesslyly, and isas clever as helooks. On a black branchsits a crow, its ragged feathers aninsult todecorum. He pretends topreen, but gets on with his real business, the old amoral spy.We won’t find meaninghere, in this devil’s back-yard. One of the higherbranches lifts its bonyfingers in benediction or a curse,mockery of this alreadybur...

It is a windswept house; yetstill. The windowless walls areimpenetrable;the lone tenantdoesn’t botherto try thedoor, any more than she wouldaim a cameraat the skyto make sure it’s there. She has grown soused to this placeshe can remember no other; nordoes she want to. She does not hate the darkness, but turning off thelight would be like murdering thesun. When she stands nakedin front of hermirrorshe trembles withdesire,y...

She sits on darkgrass, like a migratingbird with a broken wing, calling his name.The moon,like a ball of brightwool,lazes softly in a tree’sfork,its feet hanging over intospace.She has chosen night for hertask because she is empty;there are no angels here.A light rainbeats its gentlerhythm on theleaves,a benighted squirrel jerks its hairy head, suspiciousof thesilence; andsheslipsslowlyaway.

fat andfeathery-soft,deceptively weightless;he floats, a skilful sackful ofether,on invisiblewaves.he silhouettes againstthe moon’s palecircle, growing with his deadlydescent.and in each of his watchfuleyes the image of a blackrat,fearless yetunwaryprey,fills all his vision.as he swoops tomurder, a raucous cryrips open the black star-pockedsky-dome; the cold beak tears alsothe warm living flesh,and gives the lieto angels...

as the soft birdsits gently on her smoothpatient eggseven so my handrests on your tiny lifeless head