A Near Kiss

A near kiss

sparkles like wide-awake.
Peels soft skin off star-glittered lips
swept up in keen, tipsy sunshine.

Funeral on the 23rd of December.

Funeral on the 23rd of December.

The hard ground
and the soft snow
cracked and caressed the shuffling feet
Whilst this winter chilled us all above and below.
A few heavy laden folk turn up too slowly
With the noise of xmas disrespectfully ringing in their ears.
What a day for dust.
And ash.
And snow.
A day negated by eve,
lived only through some hurried stuff and nae work.
The bells and the holly aren’t even for him,
But for a cross Pinnochio, who,
on occasion,
condescends to this place.
With this man,
I lie white cold,
Like a thoughtless gift in a decorative box.

Human Traffic

Human Traffic

From this grey, rubber plinth and a medicinal blow
Cracked a thought (less) division: an old love lying low.
Insidious past-life scares dreams from the south
And plots this red course where weak men stop to go.

Love! – or waxy, yellow shame tightens the guts
Whilst malevolent water creeps up past my nuts.
This guilt in my mind and your honeycomb brain
Reveal to me nothing save reason to cut.

Soft cuts in a mid-corpse not too ready to die
Though fake blood streams past a gelatinous eye.
I’m not dead though still ripe for the worms and green birds
Who mock my illusion. Who needs words? Not I.