The Earth Dies Laughing

I am made from that which I despise
blood
shit
dirt
flies
my mother’s mouth
my father’s eyes

The earth renders me useless
but the skies
know the truth of my dying

The hatred I direct towards you
was spawned from religious lies
a joke
never realised

Our separate bodies an illusion
our lives wholly intertwined
connected for all time
my own sweet self
disguised as
blood
shit
dirt
flies . . .

You . . .

And the earth dies laughing

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Follow the Flies

follow the flies to where the dead things lie
for that is where you will find new life

stand guard over the flies as they feast upon your wasted years
decimating them
obliterating your history
leaving no trace of your sordid past

this one is earthbound now
permanently marooned by its own greed
its belly too huge ever to rise again from its putrid dinner

it found a rich seam of your perverted résumé
and sacrificed itself in your service
enabling you to continue your eternal occupation
of relentless deviation

you see:

without the flies you would cease to exist –
for who else would swallow your shit for no reward?

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Malice

My name is Malice
not Alice, you see
my puritan parents
gave it to me

They saw on my birth
a mark on my forehead
and knew straight away
that I would be horrid

They tried to correct me
by way of the belt
and never once asked me
how awful I felt

So I crept in one night
while they counted sheep
and bludgeoned their brains in
then went back to sleep

My name is Malice
not Alice, you see
my foolish parents
gave it to me

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Legend

yawning cavern pours forth
its streaming storm
trickle turns torrent
as night falls

fertility in motion
a legend born
woman scorns man no more
when the bats swarm

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Blackbird

she sits in haydust on stone ground
counting
tasting
biting
spitting splintered remains

tiny bones arranged in neat rows
hollowed
sunlight’s shaft watching

overhead a blackbird sings sorrow’s song

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Bleed

I shall not rest
until your limbs quiver and still
until your bladder is relieved
your eyes bleed
and your gaping mouth
no longer
pleads for mercy.

As life’s last embers
stutter and die
then shall my torment
find its ending
in imagining yours.

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Ice

The first one went mouldy; stinking, sticky liquid oozing from its smooth, white shell; feasting maggots caught in their holy act. After that I encased them in ice and kept them in my special room.

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It Was a Box . . .

It was a box,
for memories they said
I kept that box under my bed

but one night the box heard noises above
and even though he called it love,
pretended it was just a game
the box filled up with hate & pain

It was a box,
for memories they said
but now it’s dead

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Phantom

It came again last night – my uninvited guest
welcome, yet despised
a chilling reminder of a truncated past
making its presence felt in the hand that the present dealt me

Laughing
it breathed its life into my lifeless form
wreathing
a tantalising sigh around my anguished heart
tormenting my yearning

It came again last night, I swear it
Saw it . . .
Felt it . . .
Imagined it . . .

My phantom limb

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The Knowing

In the beginning was The Knowing.

There was nothing else, in case you were wondering.

Just The Knowing.

Now The Knowing didn’t know Itself as The Knowing so It made Itself into vehicles so that It could go out from Itself in order to get to know Itself better.

But before long the vehicles that It had made forgot about The Knowing and began to think that they were the knowings. . .

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