The rush of blood as deepest tidal waves

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Roll in just to pull away sun drenched
Beaches sucking up stones and sand glass
The regret of the beach washed is the regret
Of an emptied vessel the way the tide turns
Lingering a moment just to say
Drags and pitiful and limp the dropping
Heart the sunken pride perhaps with this
Dribbling of sea water it is sometimes the
Hardest thing softened by the waves
Need and knowing the way it will die
In your throat and on the tip of your
Where the sea meets the sand
The heat of its moment will be cooled
And slip away.

It’s not always like this

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Lying on that sofa basking in
Appreciation and when will it
Stop what do you need to keep
This warm what if you can’t your
Brain goes in to shock when you
Realise you’re going to die

But there are other things too
That don’t last and then come again
And then don’t last and then you
Remember Ryan Gosling in this film
Perving on his student but also
Saying that history is a spiral and

People make mistakes and don’t
Forget to feed the cat and liking
Marx doesn’t make you an Orwellian
State and he stops perving on his
Student because human connection
Isn’t the same as sex even though
We say what we say and do

You think about life, you think about
Death but it’s not always like this
When you’re good, when you’re bad
It’s not always like this, when you
Lust after a dog dick in your mouth
It’s not always like this and they have
Barbs anyway so shut up you freak

What are you like but it’s not always
Good to play with people either
You have to be honest and lie you have
To be quiet when you shout you have to
Believe cynically in hope ah because
It’s not always like this

I look death in the eye sometimes
I panic sometimes I calm down
Sometimes it’s nice even this is
Being human you live which is
Change you die is change it is
Like this.

The blue and green bulbs have gone out

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On the Christmas lights around the mantle
Now all the room is red but that comes out
As comfortable low harmless the red lights
Are mostly rose like my flower is rolls of
Skin and pressing the look into writing the
Scent of pollen from stamen the dark walls
Become this canvas again become a wandering
Finger the cotton is hugging tight I close
My eyes and embrace on the cushions

It seems there will never be too many times
Lying listing to Feng Suave rubbing against
Fake velvet red light it seems there will
Always be lengths to occupy the empty places
In the tired morning where only the shining
Screen keeps me from dreaming sweetness
The need to bloodshot eyes the surrender
The numbing blue light I thought had gone

I put on my headphones like ear muffs and wait

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For the quiet buzz leg moving shifting chair creaking
Like a metronome that fails every thirteenth beat
Gin trickling down my gullet feels like its behind the
Heart and my throat is rocks limestone warm knees
Under the robe warm knee under knee aching finger
Spiderweb headaches snot dribbling at the back of
The throat itchy cut unabrow cheekbone sniffling
Scalp crawling ear pulse and tickle and burning eyes
Waiting for the line that I lost watching a film and
Drinking gin and tonic gin and tonic.

Portraits of 19th Century politicians conceal half-remembered

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Whispers from your lovesick lips and in the gallery standing
I put my hands down to feel the blue carpet in your room
And pulling at it rough the crunching sound of bunched fabric
Under nails and your eyes wandering to me
We both seem far too sober for this
And I think about going to wash for you
We end up brushing our teeth together after in a marriage
We’ll never see and making a great show of timidity
I slide my trousers down carefully obscuring
Until I’m beneath your sheets and you ask
This honest face this suddenly looking in my eyes
I stole a tiny piece of your heart there
But that’s not what a 19th century face would do
That’s not quite suitable will ruin the portrait
And you go cold as I cuddle you
And now in the morning awake I put away my brushes.

It was like one of these Netflix shows

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My camera face panning up thru the crowd
At your shoulder you looking back into the lens
The dusk light the pause that flows into
This off license where we buy pizza and sweet
Chilli sauce talking about postcards and flows
Through the phantom crowds to the grey door
That’s yours the faded stickers and peeling and
We’re walking up I think of your landing
I only remember your landing from leaving
Tomorrow in the bright and licking my lips
Like the stairway to the toilets in a new bar
Concrete and stark lying happiness the story
Of progress this is relevant to the show
And when we get into the flat it is muted
Colourful and old and small comfortable hallways
The housemate reassuring and exciting either
Brown hair or blonde the colours of extras
It’s an artistic flat a Shoreditch flat like
A Manhattan Flat or Greenwich flat or
Whatever it’s a film set flat that looks wonderful
To me and your room the orange wall and
Rough carpet I take off my shoes and shirt and
Fancy the bathroom is greenish and aqua
I settle in there for cleaning for pause this is
The time in the show for a monologue but
I look into the mirror and say nothing and pull
Up my foreskin and use the scented soap
And I wash my hole with the shower on full
But it will still leave shit on you and maybe
The camera goes to this, but it is less embarrassing
When it happens for final and you disappear with the
Latex like a spent vegetable, like an onion skin
And on the side of your bed this model seal
With the lube in it before I know what lube is
How vaginas make it how anuses are dry
I am sitting on your penis and the camera is on
Your bored face and you push up into the camera
Stand and the viewers can feel you and behind
Your beard you’re a beard and a chest and a bird
But we also eat pizza and watch cartoons you
Show me your poem you speak to your housemate
As I read and I am too busy being your bitch to
Read and you are too busy treating me like a person
To waste time on this bitch and we watch cartoons
Talk about your singing fish and the window is open
The cold morning cleansing me from here so
I hold you close and see things from your poem
The headlights the cars passing the crowds outside
As the camera pans out and the next
Scene comes too soon.

U have to read to write good

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So sometimes I like to read
And go into their dreams
I feel the grass like the wind
In Dylan Thomas and everything
Smells of semen he’s always
Talking about salt and ears
Of corn and things I hear his
Deep voice imagine Welsh
Baritone or just booming or
Hungry and dripping with words

And then I go on hobartpulp.com
To see tens of unique but similar
Tales of realisation, family, love
The new poetry and I look over old
Couture Noir feature lists and
Maybe I write something in LA or
Miami and then it’s vagabondcitylit
If they’ve decided to do an issue
Lately and I’m looking for poems
About transgressional romances

On my table are two Hunter Thompson
Collections I read over and over
And three collections by local
Poets Andrew Graves and Penny
Pepper and Society of the Spectacle
And a horn and a clay jug and my
Almost broken headphones taped
Together with hairbands and a pot
Of coffee and as I get to the peak
Of the coffee high my mouth vents
Petrol and I roll my head back.

I’D KILL THESE HEELS

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Maybe you’re gone
But my heart is still stuck to your stiletto
Like gum
With you every night out
Looking up your dress
Watching if you weep with pleasure
Knowing what it is for you to undress
On a foreign floor
Listening to the bed springs those nights
Concealed under the table
At convivial dinners
Pushed from the talk
A nothing that abides
Arrogantly
Sucking on to your
Pink and damp
Pulsing occasionally as stabbed
If I had any want left
I’d want the arrogant gum cut
out
As much as you
It stole everything
Took the saliva of my soul
Just to drink the dirt
Pull it off with your tender fingers
Please
Or throw the stiletto
Into the night
A necessary castration.

Today I was writing

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And on the wall I wrote with the smudging ink
on the smooth white paint ‘every day I write’
Signed and dated and the summer crawling
Through the window I burned this is the first
Time I’ve worked in two weeks, let me fucking
Work and she sassed me out and I said okay
Let’s go for a walk, I need to go out anyway
So a walk became a drink became a bottle of rose
On the beach became two hours perhaps
Became shopping became queues and insults
Became more shopping and only one family
Member allowed in at a time I sat on a cooling
Street corner wandering if the block behind me
Would throw something at my head, the people
There seem so and anyway I reflect on my
Failed day pre-ordained by the act of promising
Now I write at 5:27am and after writing Palm
Springs Rest
The night is today
The day is missing

Don’t Equate Me

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The same Grammarly ad five times 25 minutes
The same grammarly ad ten times an hour
25 miles of grammarly source code can’t
tell me that inconsistent capitals, no full stops
random line breaks, can’t tell me
How to improve lazy and bleeding noise –
Is a cover up: 6 times twenty five, 150 empty
grammarly ads for air heads who are acting in ads
School never let them write
Like this
And 25 maths questions about fruit doesn’t
Tell you how an apple tastes in 10mph wind
On the seashore, salt-sodden trousers and dying
Devices in the pebbles and health among the
Broken glass paraphernalia of cutting and honest
Forced out phrases with hyphens in the wrong places.