Becoming Gravity

I am heavy

an enormous beast

a megalith

made of mud

a wide basket of stony faces



a shape


a fluctuating


salty water bag

barely contained





for perforation




and so it was

becoming gravity

she flooded

blushed and waved


without shame

a merciless welcoming puddle


to the sea

breakfast friend

she ate pastry from my fingertips

watching me


like a small man

pacing pecking tasting the air

my lips tilted

upward and light

like a feather-feeling

sunshine shifted across her glossy back

warming my chest

deep into the hollow there

I could have caught her shadow with my sugared hands

but I thought it nicer to lock with her

to share a sharp black gaze

and be thankful for the company



pressing in-formation

causing her throat to swell and tighten

building desire

like cities

digging tunnels

too deeply


into her earth

creating openings

and avalanches

minute tragedies in her stomach

leaving little flags where maybe something lies buried

tragedy that has nowhere else to go…

eat it or fuck it

the catch cry as armies march in

spiralling down

screwing through

her well….meant vows

taking them down


as though somehow in opposition

to her own will


set up

take it down

like dominoes


black and white photos lending sentiment to the horror of endings

it hurts

she curls

sucking her fingers

confused … pleasure or pain


with it’s love and death shit

a tragedy

swinging gaily in her stomach


not special

just because it has nowhere else to go

Thankyou Trent Lewin for your poetic and inspiring words from ‘Promise: The Ending’

time perfume

my hands are pungent

cupping my face

I inhale

golden ochre fills me

my heart

a newly forming bowl on the wheel

moistened now by the rich echo of a smell I can taste

forming still…

I lick my hand and drive my time machine

back to 1978

a hot summer with brittle trees against a friendly blue sky

a far lighter blue than that of the bike I couldn’t ride

the water is almost gone and toads langor there

toxic and lumpy and lazy with peace

but OH they make us squeal

why do my hands feed to me that day now?

all clean and grown

I do langor like a toad though

breathing through nostrils that flare over thick lips of clay

memories move under my nails

like watercolour

reminding me of my birthday watch


and the way Harriet snapped at the black mongrel

who DARED poke his nose beneath her tail….

maybe that’s when I dropped my watch

in the mud

by the dam

under grass

taller than me

salty feet

do apples move?

they roll from palm to palm

be an apple

with skin to lick and pierce

with crisp flesh that parts


like an apple in the bath

or on the sea

bobbing between

my salty feet

to contain

so soft are the edges

that boil and slide

inside the copper

a sweet fragrance

like sugar or moist tobacco

begging your tongue

to heat it

to bravely risk stringent addiction

tasting and….


like a wild snake

coiling intelligence

looping and falling


to swell in gravy waves

grasping the rim like a mouth

or fingers

to wander like an octopus

free my heart

to wild and gilded


perhaps so hot it will fall through

unwelcome molten love

thickly sweating holes

into things

you thought were real


I open







wiser and wiser

The experiencer

I am the experiencer

necromancer too

wizard of the sky

my feet are curved like moons

I taste the surface of this earth

or my imagination

portaling through

dissolution death

seated in soft blooms


flying inside

spread eagled in my sphere

following the crows

on course

to blue star

heart music

a snaky illumination

a shimmering song

a magnetic tune

falling through my body

filling and rolling my throat

I give birth

an orange large and juicy

shining over billowing thighs

and now

I balance

upon my golden navigation tool

reflect upon me

bouncing through this sweaty life

soft skin of face against your rough sprouting chest

following the blue note

underneath my breast


The Perfect Game

hours I spent with my cheek against your spirit

smoothing the walls

of a private utopia

a summer of thought

sweet like balloons of sugar

mouthful of music

sometimes a note that matched my heart

claiming me

with words like sacred and heat


back from the platform in his throat

where I sat waiting

blowing down the vagus tunnel

oh I had a nerve

I felt his irrational glare like a flaying of crumpled skin

so ancient

adhered thoroughly

scraping away

with kerosine and lime

it animated him

you know

his fear

it wriggled and bubbled and tried to smile

heartless in truth

delivered on a sharp edge

an excluded mind acting alone


defending himself against consumption

I saw my pain on his face

I sat thoughtfully and recognised myself

I was braced

I was brave

back to back with his mother

and her

the she in he who stood tall with her gun

and yet there I was like a photograph torn at the edges

spread like honey

projected and hot

then curled like a ball of inflamed infant

on the platform in his throat

tightly clasped with grand miserly fingers

painted red

but I am a man he says sticking his dick out.


but do you love your penis darling, really love it

the way it should be loved

with all of you

be there when you touch it and soon you will come

to know yourself…

I swept me over with a fine tooth comb

willing fresh change

releasing our agreement

the agreement to love



this purpose is warming

the perfect game

a ritual quest

for true ecstasy

flowing with it

the love




le sucre le plus doux

to feel it sweeeeeep

like a flying wasp

beautiful and bold

hovering above my bed

eyeing me thoughtfully

a virtue of vibration

sprinkling by

gold upon my pinkened cheek

promise of liberation



exquisite pain


a downward swoop

wild laughing

out of almost nowhere

brushing me dangerously

causing a swell of squeal

to bubble up with other singing

and crystal

in a sound bath of intensity

and ooooooo…..O




but only

just beginning to

fill my eager pillow



le sucre le plus doux

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