Autumn Cares

Autumn cares

to give warning.

They send signs

you can’t ignore

like fleets of leaves

that are amber traffic lights

marking the change

from go to stop.

And stop you must

when the low sun

turns your vision white

and the bursts of rain

darken your clothes

enough to make you

use an umbrella.

This umbrella

will protect you,

although not from

the wind and the ice

and the cold that

comes with the

imminent winter.

But at least

you had warning.

Autumn cares.


I was walking home this afternoon and just thought: wow, how lovely is autumn?

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Snap, Crackle, Pop

my skull crackles with

popping candy in

the aftermath of

a sweet spectacular,

a shower of sherbet

fizzing before my eyes

so that I can

taste it,

bursting into

red and gold and orange

stars – sour –

making me blink

in satisfaction,

my ears,

my eyes

exploding


It’s firework season.

Radiator Baby

You shake your rattle,

swiping our heat for your own

shivering body;

you crave attention – warmth –

from your absent mother

but we are unworthy substitutes.

The rattle’s red lights flash on

and off – not simultaneously –

as you scrabble at the

undersides of the switches

hopelessly,

jingling.


I’m convinced that the radiator in our flat is haunted – or just has a really poor cooling mechanism.

Relaxed

Heels,

calves,

hamstrings,

glutes,

upper back,

shoulders,

triceps,

forearms,

fingers

and traps

clench

the ground,

pulling away

like a shell;

forehead,

nose,

cheeks

and chin

join in,

pooling out

amongst the solids

as a skin-coloured syrup;

eyeballs are

disused goods, blanketed

by eyelids that

reduce perception to

orange and yellow and red which

swirl together like watercolours

to create a rose-coloured universe.

Nothing returns home

but the skeleton.


When I truly relax, I feel renewed, unconcerned and optimistic. Sort of like my flesh has melted away and left only a skeleton, ready to be rebuilt back into a body in time for the next relaxation session.

Natural Selection

Smashed glass bottles;

thick, translucent

eggs hatching alcohol that

trickles

across the dance floor

like the blood that

seeps

from the cut skin

of the injured,

sharp shell birthing

a new race of poison-veined

monsters with a hundred

amalgamated feet

that stomp; reproduce; sacrifice

another for the survival of the species.

There will be no boom or bust:

these creatures are out

for evolutionary success

and do not care

who gets trodden on

in the process.


On the dark side of clubbing.

Daynight

It is on nights like this that time

truly does seem

to stand still –

or, at least,

to slip more slowly.

Is it day

or is it night?

Perhaps it is a kind of…

day-night,

for daylight persists

even into the dark.

Tonight is light time.

They are all you can see:

lampposts; overheads; traffic signals.

And the white, white sky

and the white, white ground

and the white, white horizon.

All the people have vanished,

been blanketed,

asleep in their vehicles that attempt

to carry them safely to bed;

huddled in their buildings,

drawing their curtains

and their blinds

so that they can forget what

lies in wait

outside.


The UK is currently in the middle of a snow storm and it’s not coping…