WEIGHT

A heaviness has sunk into me
like an old armchair. This austerity
has been gaining pounds
since the crash in the Middle East.
Now, if I try to lift myself,
it is like I am coming from a deep floor,
up through an ocean of my thought
and it is dark and I am changing.

Now it is time to decide
who to be. The closet is open
and the monsters are knives out
in the night at my throat.
I have a wasp wing. A lion claw.
Pressure rings in me
like a bullet in an oil drum.
I can feel my evil thrum.

It is hard to love. Love is hard.
Love is a fossil inside a rock
and the rock is hard
Love is hammer now. Love is anger.
Love is a broken tool. A split shaft.
Love is a stone. Love is dust.
Now it's a breeze. Now it's blown
Everything is broke.

BONFIRE NIGHT

I'll turn Fawkes under rain slicked leather,
humping the explosive in a waterproof rucksack,
my dimmed torchlight making for the cellar.

My fingers thread the wires, red and black,
round the silver pins on the ignition device.
I've rigged the whole basement; front and back.

Tonight I'll exterminate the filching lice,
in their Armani and ermine supping their scotch.
The bastards above are parasites.

And when the fireworks blow I'll stand and watch
the bursts, the sparks that flame and ember
until Parliament is razed by white-hot scourge.

Every fifth of November I know they'll remember
that lions can bite when kicked from slumber.

TWEET

in support of Paul Chambers


#twittertrial Strange world, when a bluebird sings on canaries for faking down the pit. Clowns goster at powderpuff explosions. No screams.