Tagged: England

Abstractions of December

Beat Up Pinky

“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 pints.

Hindered by disgrace,

Looming black.

Nineteen, cold or Islam, having an attire off.



I salute you your honor,

Vape, fiddle, listen, sit,

Back on the seat before dawn.

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 Winter Light

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 of external cells crispy, heading where?


Small brains and scales, retracting into shells,

Bright little tortoise children. Only to recharge like  i phones.

Helpless in the mist of seasonal change, amongst a wake of light.

Days like light sandwiches.

Black and cold and night.

Particles That Remain – October/November and Autumn in England

Newcastle Fog

Sunday in Beeston

Belgian Bink

Church Snorbettz

Paprika, Gateshead


Diwali Thali

Diamonds Bus Sketch

ICA London


Glitter in the Tate Tanks

Gold Dust and Birds

The keys form cords that induce an eyeball elevation.

Flickering frames, birds flying in and out of vision.

A pigeon or a crow replacing the mighty ginger eagle of the sea,

From way back then.

The beach became paving slabs and moss,

The sun disguised by brick not coconut.

The Arabian Sea profound and distant.

Warm Indian faces replaced by impatient Caucasians at the bus stop K.

Lentils to tinsel

Beetroot from jars

Water to Wicked.

Brown as a berry coated in snow.