Blood-taste

An empty office, and a pound coin
pressed between her lips,
still warm from shaking hands.

Soft skin of her lips caught
between the teeth bearing down,
the coin held tightly in place.

Saliva puddles, she blinks.
A metal clatter on the wooden desk.
An empty office and a swinging chair,
the door drifts closed.

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What George Saw in Phnom Penh

An arm explodes,
the tattoo splits,
and out pour ants –

they scuttle from veins,
and spaces between muscles.
They spread –
hunting new arms
to hide inside.

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Edible Remains

Bins of pigs’ legs,
whole, hooves attached.
Legs stretched straight
like a dog jumping to greet you
or a person reaching high.

Legs suspended from hooks by ropes
– blue and red, like veins knotted together –
above the bar where the man takes your order.
Waiting for you to take a sip,
plastic cones hang from dislocated hips,
they’re there to catch the drips.

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Baize

Smouldering baize between
ribs that wince
with the swelling of lungs
when you draw breath.
A heavy floating ball,
dislodged and heavy
like curved blades
in your chest.

Hooks claw at the
burning feeling in your chest.
The smoking felt which burns
and sticks when the fluoxetine bursts
from its case and
grips on to your throat.

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Creations

I am God.
I pluck ashes from the sky
and mould them into branches –
midnight affair and smoky feather.

I stitch together wings and scales.
My laugh tinkles through the air
as birds and reptiles fly together –
the creations of imagination,
and liberty
to do as I please.

I am not God,
but I tell his lies.
I am a sculptor;
I exhibit life –
but only
temporarily.

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Observations

I’m watching the sea,
with nothing to say that hasn’t been said,
except I think it is made of jelly;
disgusting and gluttonous,
delicious and smooth.

I am looking at the sky,
and I have nothing new to add,
although that cotton wool
is old and grey,
and I’m getting sick
of this dirty rain.

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XY

Cocky –
because that’s what they’ve got
between their legs,
to remind them that
they’ve got the power.

They let it get to their ego
because it make them feel superior;
you can see it in the way they march
and take up all the leg room on the bus.

And there’s always the few
who enjoy the dominance:
the few
who use it like a
weapon.

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