I have rivers of you running in me
Carrying with them our yesterday and tomorrow
These bubbling brooks of love
Are our promises liquidated for their texture
Soon they will change shape
To become neither you or me
But something monstrously unpredictable
That will eat our hearts with our eyes.


The Toy

She looked beautiful
Like she had cried all day
Her face flushed of all hope
Had the vulnerability of a child
Whose toy was snatched
Crushed, dismantled, broken and handed back
With a flick of will, shattered at her feet.

Suddenly, she had nothing to lose
Set free to drown in sorrow
She takes sharp, deep, accurate breaths of depression
Carefully counting out her woes
Allotting a tear-count for each number
She murmurs prayers of gratitude
At being saved from the eye-locked land of wonder.

Her red cheeks and clear eyes
Washed of all happiness
Glitter with the maniacal light
Of headlights shinning in a small trapped animal
Light that would run over its inert spine
Leaving it to thrash the ground it stood on
With a pain that would welcome death.

She looked beautiful that night
Like she had died all day.

I like to be heartbroken

I like to be heartbroken
I like to chase my grey gilded shadow
Across vast plains of bleakness
Emptying me out in a perfect hollow.

I like to listen to my sadness
Tearing my insides into carefully calculated strips
Each square, a shuddering, quivering mass
Tattooed with a single name, over and over again.

When it’s all over and nothing can begin
I will begin to love again
My wails will wait backstage, star struck sorrow
Like pallbearers, who will come only when called.

Sitting In A Dot

If I sit still
The things will come
The trouble is
I play musical chairs
With myself.
When the things I want
I have already left
Looking for them
In other places.
They like to joke
These things I want
Pretend like they’ll never turn-up
Then when I go
They break-in
Surprised I’m not there.
The only times I meet them
Are in my dreams
But these days
They come late
Even there.
If only they did not come
I would not move.


You can’t look back
When everything is gone
What’s the point misty-eyes
Move-on the boatman’s here.

I packed my suitcases happily-sad
It seemed so nice, very nice
The cement came to say a big hello
Ate my knees, watched the boatman go.

Stuck is a four-lettered word
That begins with F
I know how it sounds
These trains are never late.

If only I could pack-me
Ship-me, Courier-me, Kick-me
The idiot who moves without thinking
Who’s that? Me, me , me.


I’m leaving
On fish coloured leaves
Growing old
On coloured hair.

I’m following
Scorpions on my trail
Swimming far
On a borrowed free lunch.

I’m crumbling
Fireflies who pluck their wings
Debris of the dead.

I’m playing
With things I broke
The audacity of breath.