A Rubix Cube Dancefloor Shark Attack

A Rubix Cube Dancefloor Shark Attack

I drop whiskey rocks and admire the neon lacquer walls.
You don’t focus on décor, only the dance flock and spot her.
She is an ex-primary school mate, with naked pictures online.
We approach, but lose her in a flaying limb-crowd of friends.
You say her legs would make a nice neck scarf.
They swallow her up with shapes and colour shifts.

I drink from jukeboxes to grow kaleidoscope vision.
You tell me to stop singing and pull me to break beats.
She bumps into us, doesn’t recognise, but says sorry with hips.
We forget how to speak. Bass lines do wingman talk for me.
You tell me to get a drink for all her friends, wink and grind.
They notice I don’t have enough hands, laugh and let you in.

I am addicted to liquid coping mechanisms and barmaid company.
You are too good at arranging sleepovers.

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Recorded Poems

Hello! I have a few of my poems recorded here if you fancy hearing how I talk, perform, throw them! I aim to record more soon, so stay tuned and hoping to film more performances too, once I can find cameras to follow me around….

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My Invisible Friend Is An Insomniac – Translated!

An amazing gentleman and friend from over-the-sea very kindly translated ‘My Invisible Friend Is An Insomniac’ into Spanish. You can read it at the link below. You should also check the rest of his blog, there is some beautiful wordsmithing there! Thank you Mauricio González Álvarez!

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Therapy Jargon

I walked around the zoo in you
and found no ice cream
or depressed animals, raring to rip my throat.
I could only find parent hands
and a diorama of Sesame Street puppets burning.

I’m only here to
learn what St Elmo’s fire means
and observe your ‘self.’

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Skydive

My parachute bones fall faster than sound,
I jumped without light at nightfall.

I stand up here to
make Rio de Janeiro
jealous of my fall.

I love with everything at the end of my wrists,
arms outstretched, wind in my palms, saying hello
to the ground that I will angel-hug, a dent
of my body in an open embrace, a tableau of fall.

Cloud break scores my skin as I tell
a skydiver to look up more. He shouts
to not bother him, he has always plummeted.
It’s safer this way, easier to ignore the sun
weighing him down, while he wishes for a waterfall.

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Thursday Is The New Friday Is The New Saturday Night Out

His watch says 3:19am in liquid crystal.

The ambulance driver is bleeding out
in sweeping emergency light.

He had made good time.

Frank sticks his knuckles in an overhead freezer,
laying a knife on top.

Bar bottles are loaded
with girl laughs and barmaid chatter.

Red fingernails drum on the bar table top.

He lays in bed, conducting therapy
with the ceiling.

A woman cries, resting her forehead
on the curb by a limp hand.

A policeman in fluorescent signals,
reaches to knock on the door.

Frank flicks his collar up and adjusts
strut shoulders in a mirror.

A thumping crowd of silhouettes are swept
by prison searchlights in the club.

Rugby player’s head propelled through
cheesy chip shop window, wasted in neon white,
Frank’s hand holding back of head.

He smiles at his polo shirt pals
at the club entrance.

He closes the freezer, pulls nightcap
out of the fridge and walks upstairs to wait.

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Our After Dark Pavement Kissing

I throw your friends at the floor,
throat burnt in a howl of Aftershock,
like I had drunk power cuts.
You short circuit, shout me down the street,
Where you slip in snow, fracture skull on concrete.

Where you slip in snow, fracture skull on concrete.
You short circuit, shout me down the street,
like I had drunk power cuts,
throat burnt in a howl of Aftershock.
I throw your friends at the floor.

Syllable Syndrome

Trying to make sense of nonsense, by Antosh Wojcik

Month: February 2014