May 2008

Your feet in the air like a gymnast prepared

For some intricate trick to be seen,

The audience gasps and their pastel blue masks

Make their way through the room to your knees,

The ringmaster moves to make better his view,

In his hand; something silver and smooth;

Something magpies would fly towards,

Would swoop down and fight for;

Something clinical, kindly and cruel.

The instrument slides through your thighs to the home

Of a lump of ingrown skin and bone,

The ringmaster’s team start to creep into life,

Moving silently, smoothly and slow,

A trickle of blood and the ringmaster’s glove

Shines with rosy red rubies and studs,

Your eyes, terrified, verify with my own

What’s begun, what’s been done, and we know

With your feet in the air like a gymnast prepared,

We’ve been thrown, and to where? We don’t know,

With your feet in the air and my hand in your hair,

We've been thrown where we don't want to go.

I. E. P

No more will I call you My Lady, My Love,
No more will I call you My Dear,
And no more will I call you My Hunny, My Blood,
For no more are you anywhere near.

Tumbledown Tumbleweed

The universe moves,
And the moon is removed,
And the sun hits the grease on the glass,
The curtains burn up,
And its curtains for us,
It’s been swell, well we‘ve both had a blast.

Almost sadly I‘m sure
That we cannot endure
Morning’s savage attack any more,
The linoleum sticks
To the skin of our backs,
We’ve been melted and moored to the floor.

Tumbleweed stars
Start to tumble down hard,
And we’re hit by a bloodhoney light,
The salt at the sides
Of your eyes starts to shine,
In a moment we’ll spark and ignite.

You’re lit up like a witch on trial,
I’m lit up like Guy Fawkes,
I’m lit like a new years eve,
In London or New York,
We’re lit up like an H bomb,
We are hydrogen, we’re heat,
We are the fundamental elements
Of something obsolete.