On you 'it' rests
My tactile beam of happy light -
The bottom end of everything.
A silent grave
Or shining corridor of dreamy gold.
One life dressed with dance and cake and friends.
Or nothing.
Without you,
My minds eye will never keep the ultraviolet shades of simple love;
Or memorise this future heart to whom i owe ten million deaths.
Sleep sweet my love,
These tears will never stain your shoes.

I remember.

I remember.
A cold, busy Queen Street station
Up past the big and small H&M
And bongo drums
Round to the BBQ sauce and chips
And tequila
To the bus stop where we clasped our hands together against the frost.
The bus turned and turned until the tenaments arrived
and we piggybacked over the truck tyre
and fell into bed where people could hear us.
I'm haunted by the angel of my nightmares.
I miss you.

Soul Chip

I felt my soul attempt to flee
Through frieghtened skin and fly alone
It shoved up hard
With wings of western steel
And cranked it's tiny micro joints
Inside, no charge or blazing torch
Just bent electric music plays
Beat quick you fake confusing fuck
I'm nothing more than flesh and fone

4.19 am

It shakes my bones.
Hammers the night into my guts and
Takes flight the strength of twisted, clamped tight teeth.
Enamel cracks, and a half truth seeps out
Where a white lie grows black.
Infected by time,
Like a blackboard to scratch,
I claw my hands down a greasy face and feel deep the screech.
The deliberate hatred.
The tremulous rage.
The mechanical order of mind burns war with a chemical swirl.
I'm scared of love,
So with you I killed lonliness.
And fought for nothing much until the sun outshone our grave.

A Wee Boat in the Bright Night

The cello swells
But the sea lies flat on a hairless chest.
Seemingly though, a ship swims back to shore
With no sextant or logical love for
Land or prose or personality type.
A trap i swear,
A single wave to cast away the sky
could never be.
This little ship, with it's single faultless sail
Now sinks,
Down.
Gone. But always there in my medium heart.

Locked In Syndrome

My tight eyes,
Are my hands and and my un-sex,
My fist clenched dribble language,
And my screeching banshee heart.
A stick thin snigger of benefit flesh,
Though never once choked on the gloop-food
Squeezed through the hole in my face,
Where a wired voice is strangled silent.

The second he opens his eyes,
He looks at the telly,
Turns to find last night's curry,
Which he starts eating,
Cursing last night's bad luck.
He didn't get a fuck,
And spent all his giro,
In a nightclub where no one could hear him.
The electronic sounds were too loud.

City Living

Whilst the ash red twilight groans,
And the pretty cars chase themselves
Through slate grey Glasgow streets:
I will stay here.

As my sleep dipped brain sweats fret,
Spun by a dirty, manic wind
That blows into a hole:
I will stay here.

Amongst the bustle and murder of hope,
Where language and defiance die
A digital half-death:
I will stay here.

Where i find her, beautiful and content, waiting for me, at the station: I will live there.