Friday, 11 May 2012


Body and voice seem hunted
throughout a haunting performance.
Sometimes a song,
a joke and song,
an instrument, song.

Sweet and strange
to tip-up as dancers
(not minotaurs)
but as people from streets
with hands and prints

and, here and hopeful, an older man,
teenager spinning, a green
moment, lifting red
to blue; lifting them selves,
us, up, up and up. You’re on – you’re up.

Tuesday, 8 May 2012


Tap into a cell again
- far too hard for me, old chap, this sum
arithmetic is way, like, too much pain
 - I need to hit the wine bar, stagger home.

Subtract and multiply and add
 - I do believe it’s time - another round:
ask my PC, Apple, iphone, ipad;
move the cursor up - along - and down.

She is a rather super looking mare
 - Paypal up an order to the bar
and we can be what, we, forever were;
self important, humbled, pissed and poor.