churri

sa-calobra-climb-mallorca-cycling

the thick pellet
lay dry on the stoney pavement
buckled and failed
overtaken by small cooperatives
how they dreamed

sugar beet grew
in price and quality
and shoe sizes decreased in size

no one left
Minded
that all left
was empty

dead timing

gigo

charlie lingered beneath the apple tree
pulled out a knife and cut a name in the bark
julie
the blade slipped several times
in so doing blood covered hands
the rain began to fall
heavy pitter patter on thick leaves

Past prologue

scan

Dedicated to the young in whose spirit the search for truth marches on
arse of a film. the end.
hiccup. burp. wander on. wondering, time for action. slumps back in seat. zero motivation. at most a yoga-like sloth manoeuvre lowering to the floor. a carpet over wood formica. reliably laid over concrete. direct on the sodden earth, all around. in every direction but one. there lay the bowel pit. the loathsome rank, somehow sweet pit of wallow. the gastric tank. the end of the line. the dirty water refuse.

Slump back. enough said. the rest belonged to might, upright spreading stomach, bold shedding forward. the rotund aches into existence like the pregnant woman. so right. so gradually pushed outwards. an aching seed out through hips and lips. painfully, slowly. I forget you not.

Tired finger dance. the pleasure of push. awakening slow, to give. sniffling and sighing. the crude is gone with a scratch of the ear.

(don’t) do me

_o0b0827s

eighteen months
slammed
rocked and rotting
without shoelaces or belt
stripped searched at lights out
right in the crack of the bum
for blades
a tool
a way out

plead guilty
this is deserved
beat the knotted body
crack its boney bends
stand on it’s face
push your thumb deep in
eye and ear
throat and belly button
spit into it’s openings
abuse it so it learns
humility
pleasureless time
eighteen months and counting