Flows To The River, Flows To The Sea -

Dark/Grunge influenced poem

Stern

I bend to read the note. Between heads and arms and fingers I catch the gist and imagine. Small, concentrated brush strokes swish across stretched canvas. A furrowed brow easing

Sonnet Between

Shall I compare you to a winter's night? You are more cold and again more bitter: Rough winds do not cause you worry or fright, and summer puts sour your icy glitter:

Roads by Night

Roads by night, stars clustered in nests guide my dusty footprints home. I long to be there now, my head's a mess. The moon glints through branches of distressed

Red

Sending her off all scarlet and caped, bound to be taken, eaten or raped: Filthy little slut and only fifteen, glossing her mouth with a lusty sheen: Off to feed the wolves you go,
Cherry

Ray's House

Hearts quickening beneath nylon school blazers. Clenching fists held against prickling hips as we reached the creaking gate that let you know you had reached Ray's house.

My Poor Eye

This is the tale of my poor eye, shining with blood, defiant, dry. In a darkened room, a clunk of heat increases my shivers, love's defeat. His jutting knuckles, bruised and raw,

Morning Papers

I can't stop walking. Street after street not registering. Wooden benches mossy with damp don't stop me. Gusts encircle my strides that refuse to slow, to bend their will

Mind the Gap

What do you call the space between sex and love? The middle-ground that clouds my vision and makes me question every look, every statement, every minute. When the passion has subsided

Abridged

The sun sinks into the clouds and hugs them close. Seagulls sweep into the murk searching for sustenance amongst the stockpot of seaweed and snapped twigs. The rocks crunch beneath my feet

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