I Don’t Read Anymore.
Every Book I Open, Within The First Fifty Pages,
I Become The Protagonist,
A Wonderful Hero, Or A Terrible Villain.
It’s A Rare Unrecognised Schizophrenia,
And It Scares Me.

I Don’t Eat Anymore.
I Read All The Labels, Like I Am Supposed To,
Everything Has Words That Are Bigger Than My Appetite.
I Miss The Days When Food Was Less Literate Than I Am.
I Am Hungry All The Time, But Even Custard Is Too Terrifyingly Erudite,
And It Scares Me.

Oration
Imitation
Disorientation In The Nation
Left Blind And Weeping
By The Confrontation
In The Imagination
As It Goes Into War Conflagrations
Shown In Desecration Animation
Waiting For The Restoration Of…

The Gentle Invitation In The Gold Piping
Lettered Card Stock Printed Crisp And White
With The Simple Notion, Be There, Arlington, Eight O’clock.

Idling In The Queue At The Car Wash,
Waiting For Baptism And A Clean Car,
Mulling Over The Sins Of The Past Few
Weeks Since The Last Call, Watching

The Not-Too-Dirty Drivers In Front
Of Me Paying For A Clean Slate, I Wait,
Re-Think, Can’t Pull Out Of The Line,
Trapped Between The Casual Owners Whose

As A Young Kid
I Promised Myself
Never Regret,
Never,
Ever, Never

As An Older Kid
I Met Him Once Or Twice
Doing Silly, Dumb Things
And In The Morning
He Waited For Me
Saw Me In My Sickness And Shame
But By Noon
He Was Gone Again

Taxi
She’s Not Sad,
Doesn’t Appear To Be From The Outside,
But I Can Tell By The Car She Drives,
She Is, It’s Hard To Hide,
The Ageing Renault With The Wiper Missing,
Lost To Some Romance,
He Took A Blade To Remember Her By,
I’m Giving Her A Lift For The Annual Mot,
She Says, Don’t Wait For Me, This Could Take A While,
But I’m Happy To Spend The Time
To Get To Know What Makes Her Tick Inside.

A Sole Spring Pokes Through
Worn Car Seat Skin, Sticks Deep In
A Thigh Long Untouched