Category: creative writing

  • A Doom That is Doom, Not Dhoom

    Impending Doom, like Dhoom, After twenty abandons from that, Havoc, a world-wind, a gust, Only doom, like dhoom but doom. . A dhoom that is doom, not dhoom, A creation of havoc with pace, A Wipping and curling and billowing, As It’s doom, like dhoom but doom. . Doomedy dhoom doom dhoom, Moonery moon moon moon, Dhoomedy, moonery,…

  • The Flame Haired Siren

    There she was on stage, way above my head, The lower ground strooned with bodies studded with lights; I sneak amongst them. . The flame haired siren approaches on her belly, And with a marker she takes to my arms. Drawings of a high kick in stockings, Over the Hindi Swastika. . She spits mints into my open mouth, As i wake up in…

  • “Don’t Molt”

    Is it eight am yet? What do i need, lies? Tiles cleaned for girls night, Candy-floss extensions of hate. . Sitting remembering the gemologist, Am i back on the breast? A stubborn cliche A combination of words. . A Maggie A black cat A text A feeling that’s down. A low Another day Another hangover Another inhalation. . Track between England, fog between…

  • Ellen the Alien Nun

    My head leans to a secret thought A meditation visa in Burma And Ellen . Alien-esque with those ears, Pink and the little wooden structure called home. How i laugh. . If this is the end and that is the beginning, Just how i imagined back then when i wanted to stay, Through circumstance, And premonition, And reason.…

  • Twenty Years Without Death

    Eating hidden flesh, Hurling until the blood rises to the skin. Your mistake has cost you two days and two hundred pounds, Its cost me twenty years without death. Hidden amoncst beans and roots, The screen commits a thousand sins. Your mistake draws tears past the surface, and out, My twenty years without death. .

  • Early Morning Purges

    Finally a beautiful sunrise, A sunrise more than grey. Rising above outer-city suburbia, High above a sorting office and Jews. . Coasting until a crisis, and then one presents. Running imps, The masters of the universe. . Fingertips caressing skin under months of spinney whiskers. Skull under the years of skin. Before the black hole brain, Thoughtful after the news.

  • Days Like Light Sandwiches

    November already, Autumn on my back, Now where is there to look? Eyes closed or stare through black. Darkness gives life a break. Trees, thickets and slugs pause, Humans expected to continue, power on through this icy bitter world. The sleep of trees and the boom of lights, fizzing, illuminating a path to artificial heat, And the drying…

  • Meanwhile in an Internet Cafe in Goa………

    “Oh Thom, we met a huge group of girls from Trinity College yesterday and it was such a shock….and i had my first pice of meat in days…..it was sooooooo yummy!!!!!!!!!! Hows Barney and Flip??? Oh classic! We just had a red snapper ya,  and we were surrounded by candles on the beach, it was…