Release Date

Every night I would walk to his house
he’d lead me up the stairs
introducing me to no-one
we’d chat superficially
undress awkwardly
then half awake or half asleep
listen to Dylan
In the darkness
he would reveal nothing
while exposing to me
life on the other side
of the tracks.

Before the city came to life
I would dress awkwardly
and slip away
in isolation
down those same stairs
as he rolled over
rolled another joint
and stroked his chest
The hours ahead of my return
filled only with hot knives
hot wires
and cool emotion

In the glare of daylight
I was content with the ambivalence
of my petty offender
his prison poetry
had more than enough sensitivity
to hold me


Real Ink

Is it a dying art?
it must be
it’s been so long since I got
a love letter
tactile in nature
of real ink
formed by your hand
intimate words
caressed into a fold
Now all I receive
are keystroke kisses
wrapped in
microsoft technology
wham, spam, thank you m’am!

Scrap blog (Embellishing the truth)

Welcome to my life
cute isn’t it…
I put all this info out there
so you can see
what a wonderful wife and mother I am
what beautiful children I have
how organised and ordered my life is
how creative and inspired I am
I bake
and make
all manner of stuff
I’m accomplished
God fearing
and intelligent
until I put my kids to bed each night
then I down that first bottle
pop a pill, or two
and decorate over the cracks
of my scrapbook existence
with pretty paper
blogging out
all the bullshit


I‘m tired
I haven’t yet showered
or dressed
my apartment is a disaster
I don’t know where to begin
to get a handle on things
but tomorrow is Monday
I’ll go to my job
put on a face of accomplishment
nobody will guess
I’m dis-functioning
for rest

Shelf Life

I hate the monotony of it
old faces
from the past
in the worst cases revealing
superficial lease
on life

I hate the mediocrity of it
digital screenings
of the daily grind
spun to show how successfully
they reproduced
attractive offspring
in otherwise
downtrodden lives

I hate the malignancy
with which it spreads
eating up and spitting out
the status quo
slowly boring us to death
in mundane minor detail
six degrees of separation
til it reaches it’s shelf life