I have nothing to write about,
and haven't for a while,
so let's sit and smile,
being together,
happy bodies nestling deep in the fake leather sofa.

True peace is white noise.
Even the right noise,
the perfect music,
drips from my ears and chips my shoulders.

Nothing to say,
something to hear.
Let's be here
until the next day,
and have a snack.

I've been here before.
I've breathed this air.
Let it take
as long
as it is going to take
and breathe.

I've tasted it before,
this air,
cinnamon and grass
ale pulled from the cask
old plasters pulled off at last
and broken scabs,
and there is salt and there is sugar
in my tears.

A giant circle,
each head laid on the next shoulder.
We are together.

Scarf thieves beware.
Cold necks belong to snakes and lizards.
Snakes make snug scarves.
I always wanted a really long scarf
I had one
and it's gone now.

My eyes never close
and I never stop tasting
or shedding my skin
I have many many scales,
none of them in equal temperament,
all of them intricately camouflaged
speckled and striped
coiled and waiting to strike at anything that comes within reach.

Lucky you've got a scarf to protect your neck.

There's something between my mirror and me.
Something on my lip (maybe)
A signal in my eyes that I can't see.
What could it be?

It could be you,
or that which is becoming more true,
every morning when my mirror looks at me.
I wish it would say what I want it to.

There is no point me being here
or anywhere
I'm a ticking time blank.
No explosives,
only whining, only moaning.
Ticking,
tocking,
mocking myself.
I am no good poet,
and no musician whatsoever.
I draw for fun
and sometimes read.
Hear the music in the street -
car engines and pelican crossings can't hear me,
They have no need for me.
Nothing does.
There's more where I came from.

What are you meant to do today
Sit quietly and enjoy the view, to pay
your dues and wait patiently for improvement
while so many ants scuttle on by,
Talking and biting and lighting cigarettes
and I lie in my bed and I fret
about all the things that don't matter
like why are we here?

Who are you meant to be, and
what's the purpose behind your story?
Weak poetry makes the world go round.
That and people not getting enough sleep.
I can't remember who I was or who I am going to be.
I'm the one that won't make it
because I'm the one without a dream,
like my father before me,
no passion, no cool,
no fashion, just school and work and pension funds
stepping up each rung of the ladder
but you fall off and dunno what to do
because now the whole ******* ladder's fallen on top of you.
Weak poetry makes the world go round
and lonely singers in lonely bars
with their hands on their hearts and their eyes on the stars
because it's a star that makes the earth go round.
Magnets and the sun or something like that
Dinosaurs and satellites and bureaucrats
and peace and war and what's for dinner tonight and all of that
and none of that matters.

I don't know where I'm going with this
I'm waiting and writing until I can get ******,
when I run out of antibiotics
and have successfully quit the deathsticks
85 per cent of throat cancer is caused by smoking
but so was 85 per cent of my good moods
so now I have to choose if I'd rather be happy and die
or live long and sigh and cry after every meal.
Eat and breathe and believe
that weak poetry makes the world go round
because I'm full of it.
I'm full of **** but at least I'm full of something.

Sinking sand,
cool my toes
my ankles, my calves.
tickle my knees, soft and gentle
and caress my inside thighs
Excite me with your wandering touch
****** me much,
acquaint yourself with every angle and crook of my limp body
devour me from leg to waist to fill my belly button and massage my stomach
I have gorged myself enough and now it is your turn
digest me as I digest my last meal,
feel every vertebrae of my lonely spine
know each mole on my torso,
each nasty spot and scar
and rid me of them as you rid them of me
lick my chest and tease my neck
leaving no mark
let each grain of your being make me more supple
learn me and let me lean into you,
my clammy body relaxes upon you, fresh and ready to go
I lower myself down,
I lounge in your eternal sheets and enjoy your breath moulding my neck,
the base of my skull,
my unshaven chin falls down,
mouth open
your kiss becomes my kiss becomes one final lingering kiss,
tongue tastes sand for the last time,
remembers all the food
all the sand it has enjoyed
I will become sand, my energy ready to become something else's
worms and snails and plants are hungry for me
though I have no hunger for myself
and as this thought dwindles so do I
my nose is gone, my eyes close, my ears fill with silence and overflow with silence and darkness and silence become blissful everything
only my beautiful blonde hair remains and suddenly that too is taken by the earth,
cool and wet and hungry
sinking sand
cool me
down