Under closed eyes


“The self is not enough but that’s all we’ve got”
Said a voice in my dream.
I felt a small glow within.
Perhaps some light had already opened
the tick of a tiny flower
split from its negative
in darkness
under closed eyes.




(More)   Micropoems




Midnight Bowling-green.
The Ghost
was frightened.

Dodged a flying phonebook
she boxed my ears.
Am on parole.

Chapter ten
I leapt up
cold and horrified.

Who wants to go on waking
into boneyards of the soul?

Self space
Empty as everything.

In this mirror
my eyes
Like the end of a tunnel.






Kiss your chains



A commotion in my heart
as I moved into the room
taking a straight line
though sideways seemed preferable.
Sometimes you have to make do.

She was ready.

And afterwards she said
“Kiss your chains
before you go back home.
Kiss them, baby!
OK. Stand up now.”

I really wanted a cuddle
But sometimes you have to make do.








A glow of pictures


A distinction examined
grows flat.

So perhaps strive for the familiar
yet misunderstood

to grasp some beginning
beyond thoughtless chatter.

Then later
as that bloated moon hangs silent

A glow of pictures
might blossom in the sleeping head.






Living things move



A word for movement
by living things
when we walk along the street
called “locomotion.”
For parts released into action
or confined within their orbits
in blurs of gesture
like a “do this”
trapping us when we move
as living things.

There is another distinction:
muscles themselves
going into contraction
which causes motion
so we move in reaction
that shows as our distinctive action
shaping the locomotion.
This word for movement
by living things.




Lidia bathing



Humming in a private tone-language
Lidia felt her own enormity
she was decently soaping a big toe
having few feelings on the subject
It wasn’t entirely her fault after all
in any case she was a sensible girl
who always looked forward to tomorrow.
That it never came made no difference
and would only have spoiled things.

She made some token splashes
absorbed in the reaction of water
if she chose to overlook her failings
it was mainly due to their unimportance.
Normality had begun its suffocation long ago
so she lay back in the soft foam
as sleep ran over her in tiny electric snakes
gliding from another realm.
There was just time for a snooze
before Tea at five.








“Are you ready honey?” mumbles the Monster
“What’s that you’re doing?” she says
“Well, you know, I’m kinda out of practice. Come here little Pigeon.”
“Hey! You big creep.”
“You shall be a Queen in the Underworld.”
“Let me go!”
Hands around her throat.

“Love is so much purer beyond the grave.” He mutters.

Now here I am with a can of talc
expensive scent
a couple of bottles
and my carrier bag
waiting in the crypt.
Outside are fog, darkness,
a murmur of groans
that Monster coming nearer all the time.

Get ready.
It’s nearly Midnight.





Vampire Poem



The Mistress I serve



Awake in velvet
its black dust brooding on her fingers
she bid me remove both garlic and crucifix.
I hoped my face would hide fear
or desire
but caught in the pull behind those eyes
hooking under my skull
hardly able to breathe
pressured in my throat
I knew there was no cure
once her mouth touched my skin
craving undressed each resistance
until I melted into the fever of her body.

May God have mercy upon my Soul.

Soon I could no longer heed words
our talk was like eternal snow
quietly falling
on a dead world.
If only I might drop
through unarmed sleep
away from the burning gaze
and flapping wings
which move across my mind.

Life where is thy warmth?

I recall strange melodies
tiny hands
glinting in goldfish stabs at her keyboard
while my delirious brain still revolved
among thorns of hallucination
I felt coldness stretching wide as night
over giant trees.

Lord take my Spirit safely into thy grasp.

Beneath me she purred in her shroud
then groping roughly
from an inferno of need
in every hungry cell.

“I feel the wounds of dead souls in my head
and hear their words.”

I trembled at the sound of that voice
rising from a void without end.



Vampire Poem



The Summons



Hear our call.
Come journey
into Darkness
where the dead are about
and live ones are near.

Sense the fury of Spirits
in caverns of extinction.
Feel watched
by unspeakable eyes.

Let us stalk
ruthless and empty
through echoing passions
stronger than ourselves.










Out from the heated
spoken word beyond
this mind
a world by some
sound of distance strained
opening its furrow
across the blood
pulling toward unknown
generations thrown among
ages lost or
a pulse of
struggle forgotten
through winds of extinction
now inert as winter on
the earth
that untidy bloom of lives
dreamed in an endless web
before we knew
a smell of roots which
push their echoing nerves
to search and blunder
beneath such ground
in a strangeness of fields
I have not seen.

Potent with Fate
the spell of Chaos.