I read about you in the paper
your story, so sad
and bad
with all that you’ve been through

And thank God it wasn’t me
I thought,
sitting in my chair
feet in the air,
drinking coffee, and
having a biscuit

My new black shirt
is on the floor. I’d have
tried it in the wardrobe
but I would have lost it.

I like black shirts.

Rediscovered 21 January 2004. Relates to fashion, not politics, in case anyone wondered: I used only to wear black.

Aunt Sally
cooked poisen
in her kitchen
and
fitted her house with
themed family fun.

Aunt Sally
had no taste and
the food she cooked
all went to waste
as we stabbed her
in the eyes
with a vinegar bottle.

Rediscovered 21 January 2004

The tears of the angels
fall grey and cold
drowning the concrete in
their despair

gives the happy realisation
that i haven’t imagined my entire existence
or dreamt it
in a haze of whisky

I used to hold your pretty hand
and kiss it with my lips
until I found the maggots in
your mouldy finger tips

I used to gaze into your eyes
caress your lovely skin
but then I gathered all the parts
and threw them in the bin

I look at your eyes
caress your skin
and think of the parts
I threw in the bin

(There’s another version.)

The rain outside reminds me of the
grey holidays, building sand and cement castles in the
garage
huddling next to the gas heater, and
turning on all the lights to try and get a tan.

The rain outside is a comfort, bringing back memories
stuck in a tent
with only a bottle of whisky for defence
and a pack of cards
in a sleeping bag cocoon.

When it falls, do you feel the
imprint on your skin?
The water has
touched so many, and brings its rememberance of
past experiences.

Grey is the colour of sharing, and
when I
splash in a
puddle,
I’m touching lives from
across the world.