The Short Becomings

Too sick to continue;
grey eyes in the hollow face.
Locked in his room
the sick man -
"I'll be gone soon - I know that"

Pain seems to get on with him.

The poor soul; lost to the darkness of the night.

[A sticker I put up in studio last year]

Untitled

Looking from the hill
Smashed.
Shreds of tattered litter sprawled in the water,
Tangled in chain
As the waves
Rushed their green acres
With slow sharks.
A climbing sea swept up
And buried
The dark eyes
Of her.
Blood traced the shape of
The sea,
The glass turned to smoke now
Search the darkness.
Smothered under the water
The sea ran.
The water and rain accentuated
Her isolation.

"The day it fell, and then once again..."

"How many years threaded on a needle of blood? Hands slack
on lap he sits looking out at the winter dawn with the cancelled
eyes of junk." Naked Lunch, W.S. Burroughs.

They all wore
the teeth of fish.
Twisted wrists.
their bodies blackened with ash.
With nothing
showing; for all the world
between their
shoulders.
Their skulls
reared upwards
in a mass of blackness.

A deadly weapon.
Respect.
Clutched in his right hand.

"If you don't think this is the greatest song in the world - I will fight you!"

"as an artist, I see everything in black and white. Colour is always relative." - from IAMITHINKTWENTY-ONE

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