Semtex Is The Perfect Perfume For A Lover

You were jealous of the butterfly flock stuck in her eyes.
You determined that she’s a doll.
I told you that makes her easy to break.
Some people want that.

When I mistook love for a butterfly flock,
she was standing in a library spotlight,
batting the kaleidoscope wings
curled on her eyelids. I asked if she liked jazz
and stumbled in all the right places.
She found a drawing of mine that wasn’t finished
and when I coloured it in for her,
she said she would put it on her wall.

I killed hours and laid them at her feet.
She never wanted to spend more time.
Some people catch a lot of dust in their eyes,
or they just like blinking too much.

When my girlfriend called, I ignored it and texted
‘busy, call later, love you,’ most days.
She drew me a blueprint of a family,
a house, with a dog, that could run and we had kids
with names and I would golf at weekends
with her friends, who had names,
who spoke like reunions and I never made jokes,
because my tongue is a baseball bat, most days.
We didn’t have common interests in sport.

I gave her a stick of dynamite for our anniversary.
When I left, the decorators had finished
putting up blue wallpaper,
after two years of promising to turn up to do it.

The Body Clock Hotel

Rooms For Hire!
£500 to stay in my stomach, per night.
We wake you up when you need!
Shout instructions into the room on entry.
Breakfast is complimentary.
We’ll do our best not to eat you.

Review 15:
We held a piss party.
Clean place, up until the games began.
HA          HA          HA
Accommodating staff, didn’t ask questions.

Review 2:
I murdered my wife in Room 208 last night.
Pillows were plump and cosy.
Police response was too quick.
I wish I could have tried the breakfast.

Review 375:
Played Hide ’n’ Seek.
The room almost gave me away
when my giggles tickled it.
Game lasted 45 minutes.
Recommend.

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We need it to breathe.

Review 41:
My grandson’s graduation was the next day.
Our stay was perfect. I’m glad the heart-shaped
bed can split in two. He didn’t need the alarm system.
I kept him up all night with the motorbike
stuck in my nostrils. I need to get it fixed.
Wish I had the chance to bring my wife here.

Review 580:
The room tricked us out of a séance.
Gladys is convinced Derrick was talking to her,
but I saw the walls throw the mirrors off
and inflate under the table.
I didn’t pay for bullshit magic.
Please advise your rooms to behave.
Also, the décor was too Nuevo-post-glitch-core-abstractism for me.
I like sinks where the water pours downwards
and doesn’t avoid your hands.

Review 1627:
Thank you for positioning paparazzi outside
our room. I should be alive in newsprint again
for at least a week now. One ruined marriage,
one revived career. Big Brother, embrace me!

Review 1628:
Sorry for throwing a wrecking ball
through your walls yesterday.
The government told us to play catch
with the wrong building.
If you survived and need somewhere to stay,
the Comfort Inn down the road
does continental breakfast too.

Momentum: Translations

Momentum: Translations

Hello all! Here is a blog link to the work generated in response to Barbican Young Poets’ facilitation this weekend The Barbican: We Create festival. All the material is written by audience members in response to United Visual Artists’ exhibition, Momentum, which is a truly evoking art installation, you should check it out at the Barbican!
I also got the chance to perform in the Curve Gallery with the other poets, a truly amazing experience to go echo hunting with our words!

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.

My Invisible Friend Is An Insomniac – Translated!

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!

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.

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.