How I Digest my Fury

Yesterday I ate a brick
Floury, and hard to swallow
A battle raged, my will was thick
My mouth the colour of a man left fallow

She rinses cups
On a slow moving train
Like some creaking catheter
Her effluence marks a murky plane

I am not clean
Nor no poly-rhythmic stunt
She flips my brain, a trip, I crane
A piece of fruit falls high onto the blunt

Bruises heal on living skin
They rot, then reel. They go from brown to yellow
I’ll cough this brick, spew what’s got in
And through my puke I’ll spy a stalk of yarrow


Today I threw six lines
My family first: Renunciate and run.
This day is a wall, I lack the gall
Required to climb the sun

She comes in waves
Vapid to regal. Insipid to rhyme.
Postured for dog-like containers, en masse
Licking and gnawing and grabbing at wine

So I run. So I retreat.
So I contain all the screams, all the meat
Shaking off blisters like rapids on rocks
One strip of words might – just might – have stopped the clocks

But water will wherever
It heals us in a bliss
Swimming must be living then
And life must bounce on lists


Tomorrow (today!) I’ll deliver
The seventh line’s a return to air
No fallow man could plot my plans
No pocket pulling quarters forge despair

She’ll under-dress
Lap circles as the barber slides
We are metal tied to rubber
Footsteps that fade beneath the tide

Corrugated schemes like these
Are many, mean, malignant and mad
This I am, some tides are planned
Our effigies had honour at the designated hour

Then sighing somehow ceases
In time, or luck, with sunshine
The upper balconies get loaded
Crowds bay blindly while an engine cuts the line



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