I am running in the dark, trees, black wreathed silhouettes  that rise into the shadows

line my path.

There is pounding behind me, feet, hunters,

with spears that swoop and shush through the air like death.

They pierce my legs, my torso, rip through me and protrude like needles,

black blood slips from my mouth and I silently scream, hands like claws.

Then, near my face, a rose blooms in mid-air, golden and silver and pink

thorns of silk and a scent like heat and petals soft as skin

I reach out, it envelops me, lifts me up and we leave the spears behind.


Sweet Mouth

My God! Is that blood? All over thine sweet lips?
And is that darkness in thine sweet eyes where light doth once dwell?

Oh sweet child of the earth, sweet woman of my heart,

What hath thine done mine woman?

As the Zephyr shakes mine house to the ground and rain lashes with a scornful hate,

I  see thee and find the woman of my heart

Crouched in hellish ecstasy.

Oh angels and stars and the space between the clouds!

Crouched o’er a body with no heart,

and blood on her sweet mouth.


There are spires of aspiration,

I climb them but I cannot reach.

A mighty crest looks down on me,

I do not deserve to bear it.

Lines of books and silent arches,

The hum of the cathedral and the Great Gate,

Devoid of deviance and expression, -STAY OFF THE GRASS!

Where is the colour, the multitude, the joy?

Could I live this scholarly existence?

Of black robes and 600 year old stone?

Could I hear a church bell every morning,

A textbook in my hand every day?

Whilst my skin looses its stains and callouses,

In the city rumble of the night.