July 31, 2014

She still stands
on the corner
of Memory Lane and Salted Fields;
a Snow Queen in the making,
balancing our futures on narrow heels,
waiting for the blonde boy
in brown stockings made in Soviet
to bring her the magic mallet,
so that she can smash
the terracotta army of yesterday
just to get some shards
for her flower garden



April 3, 2014

If I was asleep
I would open my eyes and find her,
Lost between the birch branches in B Cemetery,
Hidden in the budding leaves covered in city dust on K street
Twirling with the eddies of rain as it escapes down gutters on S square

If I was not asleep
I would open my hand (the one that’s always closed)
present my palms to her (like a gift), and say

I still have the picture
where you smiled
that last time”


November 6, 2011

I want to carry you like guilt
into a room
smelling of dust and books.

Like all the yesterdays we drowned in,
the mattress on the floor is a truth
waiting to be obscured
by the veils
that protect our songs from the streetlight

then you’ll remind me
that at night
the words that you say
become the oaths that i live by
until I die again

and I will reach for your lips
watching your eyes for danger

After dinner

December 12, 2010

Around ten thirty we emerge from the restaurant
full of crab meat and oysters and shrimp.
A queue is blocking our way and it’s cold in London,
colder than I remember
blue claws reaching inside every layer of clothing –
a merciless reminder of suffering oblivious to appeals

We push through the line, politely.
It’s full of these young girls – identical fabulous dolls – straight hair, straight backs, high heels, short skirts, makeup, gloriously mechanical in a
Henry Ford take on lust on a conveyor belt towards loud music and alcohol
once the black maw of the club swallows them

Why they are standing here and
who knows what they’re looking for
not me I don’t.

Their long legs defy cold and night
and their impatience makes air tremble.
Their anticipation steams and my breath steams
and Heat
escapes escapes escapes
all around us and we can find no answers
here, or elsewhere

We walk away full of wonder,
He gets prepared to travel.
I get prepared for solitude.

We continue with our goodbyes

Steps taken

October 16, 2010

There is
a different kind of catharsis
to be found:
the perfect storm
in the smallest teacup and
the delusion
that something has happened, maybe,
at least one step taken?
no step taken
the next day.
when you return
to the Chair and
a smile that does not touch your eyes

the Wellingtons of your dreams
leak with the need of your rent
and the Amex bill and the champagne
you ordered in
a small trendy booth in a bar
with some girl
who ended the night
with a handshake

Dreams of the weekend

October 7, 2010

other people enjoy the weather
or go shopping for shoes
or handbags
Grandfathers take their son’s sons
to museums
Grandmothers their daughter’s daughters
to parks
and feed them donuts and carrot juice, maybe
slip them a five pound note
at the end

On a day like today
when I’m in panic and you are too and we will never finish
all of us assholes suits, insane, bitter, and I love all of you;
we are all locked into walls
of our own making because
the bravery of cattle is also bravery

And then –
the weekend,
is never as good
as the dreams of the weekend