Parliament Street, Exeter


Narrowest Vein,

Hard to spike the needle in that groove,

Pixellated on google maps

Smallest in the urine-nation.

A shortcut on a Saturday night,

Between burger and fight

Like the house of its name – narrow as their minds

And equally as full of steaming, stinking piss.

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Concrete


I escaped from a sinking ship
Made of concrete.
Climbing out of council house windows,
I took my game to the universe.
Rebuilding language with cartoon fonts,
Redefining meaningful action
The Ludic ethic as my creed
No longer ruled by greed.

Time


Time is what you make of it.
A jumper,
A teacosy,
A fond memory.
A child
An empire
An evolutionary tree.
An ice age
Land rising from a primordial sea.
A cosmic background radiation,
A multiverse,
A singularity.

Through My Grandmother’s Eyes


Too many of them. Still trying for a girl. The house is damp and cold, with an outside toilet, and lino that doesn’t quite reach the walls.

I hope they know what they’re doing. This makes five. Five boys. Having another child at home, calling Dr Doherty first thing on a Monday, I worry what the neighbours will think.

There she is, pushing away, feet first this one, by the look of things, harder than the others, she smoked right through the pregnancy, I hope it’s not disabled. Tears on her face, a final push. A scream to clear his lungs, rain running down glass frames the grey sky outside.

Crying. Everything in the right place and the right number of toes. Everyone relieved. Dr Doherty looks happy.

I wonder how this one will turn out?

The Indecent Shoe


It’s time for the indecent shoe
Showing flesh
Through straps of less.
Peekaboo toe,
And twirling tassel
A heel that breaks the hamstrings bow.

Clacking on the cobbles
Making buttocks wobble,
Designed for beauty
Designed for pain.
Worn once then broken.
Fuck you,
Fuck me shoes.

The Solution


Nazi homeopaths, in the dark recess of a gas chamber, collecting the tears of dead jews. An experiment with the dark side of homeopathy.

Like kills like. Fear has memory. Tears have memory.

A serial dilution to the final solution. Added in minute amounts to the ghetto water, supplies first happiness then fear of imminent death. Potentiation before extermination, re-collection and further dilution. The process repeats. The solution is strengthened.

The war ends, the solution survives, captured by the Western Forces. Its potency proved in fluoridated water supplies, it is widely deployed to keep people afraid, afraid and easy to rule.

Washing and drinking fill you with fear. Later deployed into the atmosphere, strange lines of cloud in the sky, following silver darts as fast as a bullet.

“Look mummy, a plane!” says the little girl, already prey to the solution, to which she is the problem.

The darkest time in our history, and the most ridiculous theory of a conspiracy.

Boots 


Every day you kick me about,

My leathery skin tightened by a bowed tourniquet.

You rape me daily,

Forcing yourself in

Unlubricated.

Protected by your nylon mix condom,

Five wiggling little pigs pull you in.

Dominating me, you put your full weight on my sole,

I feel you warm inside me,

Sweating and stretching my sides.

Not content with this abuse you push me in mud,

Against hard concrete,

Into the dog shit you didn’t notice.

You water board me in puddles,

Rub me against coarse mats

Finally you release your stranglehold,

Slide out

And kick me aside

To wait for tomorrow

And another day.