Cat

There's a dead kitten in a box by the side of me

A spare gardenia decorates its stiffened limbs

It's failure to thrive is the ultimate metaphor

A failure to remain in the Goldilocks Zone

A wooden talisman slips constantly sideways

Survival amidst the optimum illusion

of soft light and rocks

Never comfort; just a death

Millimetres away from a disastrous dawn

~SRWB 2010

Funeral For A Cat

It's a big box for a small body

"at least we're not diggin 6ft deep and 6ft wide"

No, it's not that bad yet

and clayed earth is a bastard at this time of year

Missed opportunities to lay everything to rest come and go

There just isn't a hole big enough today

and any old song makes the tears flow

so it's a silent house ...

when your budgie died you took it back

and they buried an empty box right?

I thought about it

The box has been on the shelf for 2 days

I cant keep it - can't bear to put it in the earth

but I don't want it to rot either

so the sensible decisions come thick and fast

and sensible always makes me cry

uncontrollably

for days

maybe weeks

The thought of never seeing you again

is not a good one - it's really sad

Missing you in the flesh might be a focus for a while

deep enough - and covered

I walk inside without looking back

to scrub the stains from the carpet

with more tears than soapy water

~ SRWB 2010

Honestly

I penned a letter to the universe
but her ashes remain at my feet
lost too; a breeze threatens
and then fades with the stench
of a fixed smile and domesticity
letting go is a challenge
as three swords pierce fresh hearts
displayed in vulnerable cases for lunch
look up, it's beautiful
when i do i remember kates sky
and the fact that there hasnt been a time when it wasnt like this
I'm waiting, not running
still here, not slipping away
but it seems that you're already a dot in the distance

and you'll never want or need anythingbodyplacewherehowway

I'm drawing my own conclusion, you leave me no other option

But you'll just leave me to think what I think; right?

after your heartbreaking past carried the title of my dinner, i flipped a bit
head space; full grace; if you stop trying it stops hurting, doesn't it?

I tried it but it's only my own fingers that bleed and scar eventually
i miss you but i did anyway

locked inside mostly - I could never reach ... you?
i took photos of lifeless bodies
for future paintings
hot/cold; life/death
it's a decision either way
limbo; is it? let me know 

I can't be here listening to the 'phonics all day

nor wondering whether you really care enough to come get me

I'm in for the long road

bad or good

are you?
i ran out of paper on a busy street
so it's here
for now

~ SRWB 2010

Post Anaesthesia

xpansive painting of futures vulgarity constructed

never the same; a game, a dodge, bring me out

angels exist as accidental patterns on the bottom of burnt pans

Sepia records agitated in grieving and ugly wanting lips

moving images flicked through jagged marks of mournful sinners

fucked akashic memories swirl downwards; gouged with blunt pencil

sharply onto tea-stained manuscripts that no one gives a fuck about any more

Idle - Idol - false green and silver gods and presumption ALWAYS in endless lies

foolish putrefaction; laughing, creased up with sore belly at your stupidity

Bellies - Belie, half-hearted cracks at unwanted star-filled skies - notice

No care. No realisation. No waking up. Stay awake in front of synthetic flames

in plastic fibres and forlorn temperatures, fry on one side gently, feel blue

passing a finish line brings your loss, I'm three quarters there already - strikes

counted insults and cherry pie comforts at armchair lengths inside wanting depths

An invasion, screaming forks on china plates and white TV snow that hypnotises

Anger is quiet - that train has gone - boredom is home for the holidays in a Rolls

Visions of writing on walls drip silently through dreams of ancient labyrinths

Unicorn shit style, love is not a drug, nor a necessity - its like beer in an eternally  empty fridge

Books on cleaned shelves shift uneasily to be read and absorbed; collateral

cholesterol; blood worn veins and artery spurts damage the flow of every fucked up day

it's lists; it's listed - always list worthy - written down with no purpose of an underscored priority

flowers - suspicious. Suspicion in roses always and ideas of great times and harsh sex

thrown in with un-argued screaming matches and silent punches

never caught in time, positioned well through glass doors and ceilings

smoothing air bubbles from safety film - keeping busy - fuck off

Coffee ... 

~ SRWB 2010

No batteries required

stars are lonely creatures

light is a centuries old illusion

it might not still be shinin'

just ... residual

Poets are lonely creatures

words are a centuries old illusion

I might not still be writin'

just ... upset

SRWB 2010