two of my (terrible) poems

the most recent two:
(i can't get this one in the right format, i am well aware)
flick of the switch

The flick of the switch. A slowly crushed can in the hand of fate.

Oh for the love of god! Pitiful metaphors and sibilance

signifying nothing. If my flow of thought jumps from

Shakespeare to 'shagging' one more time...



Postmodernity of the...fraternity? No, that wasn't it, (but perhaps it was)

keep trying work harder work quicker, harder, quicker. Nothing can stop

and everything is spinning like a coin on a tabletop. Money.

The evil of all root. Politicians - stop rambling, start gambling.

"This effects us all" even though there will still be Costa del Sol,

there will still be elderly people dying, young people dying.Sun

beds and the sun, or The Sun. And then there was light



That's what god said and it was good, and if we’re very good

then maybe we won’t fizzle out like aspirin but glow and be like

it is on TV.


Hot and heavy human breath; I draw it out of the air and swallow. It smells like skin and tastes like heat. A perfect plum-purple circle is a bruise on an arm. Soft, long – fingers? Eyebrows? Even thumbs and earlobes have suddenly become endearing or sexy if they’re attached to those hands, that face. Desperate glances and not knowing what to do when I get that desperate feeling that isn’t like butterflies, but closer to the gentle squeezing of palms, or a hazy electric shock. The fuzzy eyed feeling that reminds you of jazz and soothing saliva. It reminds you of hands on your hips. Mediocre pop songs have become full of meaning. Everything has just become relevant to me or you or the both of us.