Thursday, December 24th, 2020

Xmas Eve Prompts, 13:05

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Guttering full of pigeon-shit, butt-ends, matches

MORTIFIED

At twenty-three miles, cobblestones

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To understand the pull of blood

Odd flowers in a wrong-sized bowl

To the toilet after Mum

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The cervix, mother packed with lead

My foisted middle name, Vincent (after de Paul)

Embarrassed by the smell of bum

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The tick-tick-tick of a passing cyclist

Confetti, given time turns brown and rots Now God sends hailstones

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Mam has gone to Mars. Shall I take a message?

Mass Murder, Sicily

He also ran a carpet shop in the Grand Bazaar

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What if one night we all start counting stars?

I sometimes wonder about Puerto Rico

The pigeons leave a feather behind

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We all deserve a bitchy friend

I had no inkling, never could

Monday Washing, Tuesday Poems, Wednesday Beating

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She emerges, immaculate, from squalor

I am an ancient desk, your arm a heavy lid, with scratches

Called cunt in front of the kids

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The commissionaire who made us paper boats

I am experimenting, cross-breeding Tories with Humans

I miss the yacht I haven’t got, the Rolls

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