Masked shoppers swarm like locusts
Jostling from a safe distance
That last can of beans their sole focus
More for me means less for you
A little old couple look on
They’ve seen it all and more before
They know the true worth of kindness
Their pension will stretch to a packet of biscuits
For the foodbank by the exit
Ever fallen in love
With someone you shouldn’t
Have fallen in love with
The rats killed all but one.
Hunted down in packs, cornering their prey.
Sharp teeth ripping the slime flesh, greedy tongues sucking oozing innards. Organs, brains, eyes swallowed or discarded.
Burrowing under the clammy flesh, filling the devoured void with their pus-slicked fur.
Black eyes peering out from inside empty skulls, catching the light from my kitchen door, the slow loping gait replaced with a sharp chaotic scurrying across the lawn.
The lone survivor sits still, unblinking in the wet roots, the stench of rotten leaves masking the fear.
Plotting his suffocating revenge on the nest below the sewer.
Said and Unsaid
Too faint to grasp
Twisted and mangled
Forever a work in progress
A Me-shaped Hole
Brushing off the dust
Scanning the endless horizon
The wall behind me
Close your eyes and trail your fingertips along the thread that marks my existence.
Your fingers glide easily over the smooth gossamer thin silk.
Gently thickening as you travel, small random kinks emerge beneath your touch.
Swelling complex tangles give you pause to contemplate the events that may have caused them.
Progress is impeded abruptly, thickness filling your hand as your fist clenches, the pulse of my blood coursing through your palm.
Reluctant to pass, curious as to what caused the rope to unravel, and which thread you must now follow...
Waking, heavy with sleep
washing dreams from my body
lighter, I start the day
I slowly become aware that I’m awake
dreams are being edited by my conscious mind
random connections smoothed out
pause. edit. re-run to make sense
Eyes twitch behind closed lids
senses slowly focus as familiar sounds unfold
my still body fakes to get the upper hand
but my mind will not be tricked into sleep
Limbs awkward as I become aware of them
brief respite as I reposition and fold into myself
a manufactured dream fails to lull or soothe
my eyes open as time slowly comes into focus
3 bloody 45 again...
Ancient woods creeping into valleys
mossy thick with lichen and ferns
tracks weave and arc between gnarled roots
laid bare by storm and hoof
Boulders random in immoveable resting places
scattered by time and weather
Streams become treacherous paths
stoney footprints hidden by reflected light
Hand snaking the strap through loops
Reddened with desire