God story

It had been over a year since I had seen it at the BFI on the Southbank and I had mostly forgotten about it, but it came back to me in a dream, that line from that film I saw; Diary of a Country Priest, All Is Grace.

escapade

The breeze from outside cools my feet
Which wear five day worn socks
In a thick shoe

She sheds a tear
But do not say a word,
It stings their broken rib

You're very brave,
A mother might say, or a grandmother
Or subsequently a lover

I am taking her to the museum
by the sea
Where it stands in all its glory
Proud, being the world's largest

and then,

Just like a snowflake
says the alien
As the diamond melts
In her small infant hand.

Children come, Children go

I walk to school
The path coldly glitters
Jack Frost has been out
Leaving his white shadow
In the cold
Which makes my ears burn,
(Dizzy)
And drunk on childhood
I stumble into a flower
Covered in fine frost
With ever so delicate a trace;
A fingerprint in ice on petal

The flower, not a rose,
Fore it should not be a rose,
I suppose was the same colour as her varnish,
When she pressed it,
A light green

But now, here, drunk on beer
It reminds me of you
It was your fingertip
And, with the songs I now know,
The colour of your colour,
... and
However many ___s later
It turns pale blue in the snow.

The old art critic

The old art critic
to me
There's no beauty
it's horseshit
There's no ugly
it's pixiedust

Swindles

we snort twenty pound notes up
through rolled up fifties
and laugh at those who get caught
and subsequently punished
for swindling the system
punished like jerks
whilst the chancellor makes me cum
with his hand

I get so bored sometimes.

death story

BOY. An' then death hit 'er like a sledgehamma.

GIRL. How'd she die?

Boy. Got hit wi' a sledgehamma.

love story

Good night, says Gienevere turning her back, good night good knight. My knight after night, after knight after night, after knight after knight after knight after night.