the armed guard is dressed
in 19th century floral
pink stilettos peeking in
a shadow of layered petticoat
folds separate the women
from the men and the young
paper coiled into tubes
a black helmet
upside down nests
a crossed smile
umbered and chained
to feet of an old plastic doll
an ivory cat reflecting
on painted boards
sky holes gaping
through serrated mesh
the flag wooden is tacked
to the white wall broken
in new foundations
bought tolled and taxed
in four limbs around an oval
man cerated
edges framed
and falling to cedar
expanding in triangular
their shadows white
footprints amidst
a maroon sea
the light of ceiling
soaked in a leaking flood
arial footed
lines pasted to the floor
a small diamond window hidden
in the belly of outside
After ‘A Beautiful Young Nymph Going to Bed’ by Jonothon Swift
Sugar granules sink in foam
on a table where Sappho is
stuck between pages
preening Ovid’s Amores.
A fall happens,
coffee spills on swift shoes,
a copy of ‘Men’s Health’
splays on concrete.
Behind him, a little black dress
in a window with accessories,
gifts, and a stack of books
titled ‘Freedom’.
With translation on his lips,
he mouths something
about Gulliver, wiping
liquid from the city street.
Saying nothing in return,
Corinna picks up her empty cup,
cures her hair with a pin
and eyes the messy magazine.
Apostrophe driven on bittersweet,
she turns to the sky,
O cloudy context fold in,
this battlefield is yesterday’s bleach.
contained by pantyhose
side by side
white nylon statued
on an oblong pedestal
attached to the ceiling
an absent crotch
blue lids for ankles
M 05103 L1 and M 05101 L1
used by the 19th January
the space behind the chalk
above her number plates
circular on the road
transparent on the window
the bottom of the trolley
on the buddha’s back
over the whole truck
behind an open sign
before the milk’s poured in
inside the lining of her boots
underneath the ‘specials’
the cover for an ashtray
a jacket sitting on the seat
between lips on a straw
the letter Z on a box
the lid of a bottle of booze
a tray glued to the wall
a pale plate stacked on blue
what a time we’ve had
the piano playing
as the bass strummed
the yelling neighbours
Louder Later Longer
the red wine sipping
pink teeth
stained lips
the fish that caught you
baking the oven
what a time we’ll have
when finally
the kiss allows to lips
and my bed
sweats into your pores
the fish eating us alive
writhing in its skin as
blue eyes are thrown back in
what a time I’m having
in a pond drenched
with music and rose
my body filling my head
with hands
senses torturing
a repetitive song
longing grasping itself
while trying to shake
salt into the flesh of dinner
what a time I’ve had
the wine pouring itself
from one cup
into one mouth
the bed warming itself
on one side
She take the poem, placing hair
Between an ear and two fingers, lies
It between her legs
Waits for alliteration
An altercation occurs in her chest, lost rhythm
In her thighs compressed, a stanza
incomplete
now beyond the hill we live
obscure the view
the fight in our head
the body stretched
a piece tomorrow waiting for goodbye
becopoetry 