Wednesday, 24 October 2007


That hood, that scythe,

They’re for me.

I won’t let you take them,

Not even with a cherry.

This is not your calling,

Child of the Swan,

Song of Dusk,

This is not for you.

Broken Guitars

Shattered remains of a broken guitar.

Splinters I can’t put back in place.

Pieces don’t fit together,

I can’t mend you, my love.

I can’t fix what I myself broke,

Strings that now play this muted, ugly sound,

No longer reaching from end to end,

There isn’t enough glue in the world.

A blue guitar. Rosewood guitarist.

Disappointed. Demented. Distraught.

Want to see another break?

Hold me by the fretboard, snap off my headstock.

Monday, 6 August 2007

When Strings Break (For Eric)

The flower is open.

I can smell it.

Touch it.

See it.

I hear the song it plays.

There is nothing so beautiful in the world.

The flower smiles.

I see the joy in the smile.

And the pain in the eyes.

No one heard the song today.

No one knelt by to smell.

I bent down and touched it.

It quivers.

I hear the song again.

I sing along.

And then I see it.

The flower is held open.

There’s a delicate, invisible strand.

I can see it.

No one heard the song today.

I listened for it.

It was gone.

I hear a tiny sound.

The strand is gone.

The flower is closed.

I will stand by.

I will wait for the song.

Tuesday, 3 July 2007

The Writer

I wrote a destiny today.

It was beautiful.

It danced.






I wrote my sister’s destiny today.

And I wrote it in blood.

My blood.

Blue on a Red page.

Green on turbulent Yellow.

A corruption.


I have trapped her.

She is in a pulsing,

Quivering prison.

The walls are slick, and

Painted Red.

The only way out

Is through a gaping hole.

Sunday, 20 May 2007

The Prophecy

And so it began

The serpent slithered up his arm

And it rained as tears

The rivers were salt

The faithful have begun their wanderings

In the lands of their fathers

The faithless unite in silence

Driving the herd back

Into the safety of inaction.

Tuesday, 24 April 2007

Three Shots to The Brain

Three shots straight to the brain.

They say this stuff can knock out one of ‘em hippo-sized canaries that’ve been flying around in my neighbourhood … At least that’s what they said in the news… Oh wait, was that one in my head or on TV???? But that’s not the point… What is the point?? There’s a pencil on the table… no, no, that’s not it… Let’s think shall we??


Full System Failure. Shutdown imminent. In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 and whoop-da-dum-deedle-doo!

Reboot in 10, 15, 36, 3, 56, 9…. No, wait, that’s Windows copying my files… Shall we just start over?

Three shots straight to the brain. (That’s it!!!! That’s the point!!!)

Anyway. Coming back to the point.

Three shots to the brain. (Just how’d they get past my thick skull anyway?)

And they said one of these could knock out a rhino… Ha! Maybe one of them plastic ones that come free with the Cap’n Crunch… ooh, maybe one of them Animal Cracker Rhinos… Three of them, and I’m still up and running!! Or maybe I’m not and this is all in my head. But isn’t it s’posed to kill me or something vaguely dramatic like that? Besides, my ribs hurt, I dunno if that qualifies…

Oh, hang on a sec, Mary-Kate and Ashley on my ‘private line’ (know what I mean?)…

Hey babes!

Ya, sure we can hang! Though, with the two of you around, I won’t be hanging a lot, you know what I mean? Yeah, I’d like ta get Full House on you two…

Hello? Hey babes???? Um… Mer?? Ash??

Hehe… Ôla again li’l peeps… minor technical glitches there…

Do you guys know why I have this headache so bad? It’s like Barbara Streisand meets William Hung (remember the Chinese guy from American Idol two seasons back? Stiff dude singing “she bang she bang she move she move”) ya, that on steroids…

Anyway I gotta split… get it? Headache… Gotta ‘split’…

Aaargh! Never mind…


Blame Frankie’s “fickle friend, the summer wind”.

Monday, 26 March 2007

The Vision

She stands, leaning in the frame of the door.

She looks at me, right then,

That look that says “I’ve got your number…”

The eyes squint, the eyebrows form that look of mock anger.

She starts moving forward slowly.

I feign fear, back away till I'm against the wall,

And she’s getting closer. Closer still. Oh God, so close…

She waves a finger from side to side. I see her lips form the sound,

Tsk tsk tsk… Hear it in my head;

Her hand brushes against mine. I shudder.

Goosebumps run down my arm and a chill down my neck.

I close my eyes and feel her touch inside me.

Then, slowly, suddenly, the touch is gone.

I open my eyes, startled. But she’s right there.

She looks at me, assurance bleeding into me.

With her eyes, she tells me to close mine, that it’s all right.

I do.

Every pore on every inch of skin is alive, alert.

Waiting, expecting her touch.

The hair rise in anticipation, my skin charged, eager.

I wait.

Eventually I open my eyes; she is gone.

Wednesday, 21 February 2007


Death will support life.


The madmen will prance in circles.


The wise will be persecuted.


Hell will rain down upon the righteous.


The fools will prosper.