“Where’s the moon?”
Gasping in the dark there,
Caught up in the branches
Through the kitchen window.

I can’t breathe.


“Can I come in?”
No, I’m growing wheat
And my herd and flock
Are grazing here.
You’ll have to rot.

Your blood and bones
Will fertilise my earth.

You can’t breathe here.


The moon is screaming.
It will keep us awake.
Suffocate us all.


Me rewrite your history for me
Me tell your story to me
Me your status quo me
Me see you misconstrue me
Me spread like a virus through me
Me sing mosquitoes on and in me
Me misquote and sting me
Me misfire and mistrust me
Me remember history just ignore me

Me meme me.

A Beautiful Response

You could try the recycle boutique
To help make ends meet
Or some avocado on rye
Fresh coffees to go.
And where’s the man I passed near immigration?
Now a lady lounging on a bench
With all her worldly goods in a trolley nearby.  I smile:
Would you like a coffee?
“Piss off, you stupid cunt.”

And lost at sea in tinfoil and plastic
A gull with its guts spills out.

A golden serum on the wall behind claims
It will smooth out all the cracks and fissures and imperfections.