Rum City Lights Night Night

I'm rum drunk
sprawled across the curtains
masquerading as a bed spread

gotta make myself feel at home
gotta feel something
though the rum will put a stop to that
nonsense
whispering sweet nothings
swallowing
sweet nothingness

sweet somethings
something it's best
not to talk about

It's quiet here
I can't quite get used to it
No rattling trams
Breaking glass
Backyard cricket
In my non-existent front yard
Echoing off the columns
Stone stairs
Into the starless night.

I can see the city lights
A stones throw away
If I had good aim
And were as strong
As I felt

A tiny giant
In a ginger bread house
Sweet and falling apart
This quirky fairy tale

With a prince on platform three
And the possibility of a
Happy ending.

The Hunter

Once again London has me in her vice-like grip
chained
tethered
captive
caught in the bright lights
still as a deer
but not doe like at all.

You see I to am ready to strike
cobra like
poised
prepared
she thinks she's got me
bunny rabbit ears and all
all a quiver,
but who is the hunter here?

I'm coiled
tensed
can you feel my heart beating
this isn't fear
and I can't blame the coffee
today
the thrill
the chase
who is the hunter here?

This is the loaded gun
steel glinting in the long shaddows of the
summer evening's sun.

Waiting,
waiting for the final act

hunter or hunted
the gunpowder is packed

ready to shatter
the still calm silence,
penetrate.

The hunter has waited
long enough.

Falling

I'm leaving,
and she's being a real bitch about it.

Now is not the time
for fines
and bent keys
and police banging on the window
of my already beat up Hyundai Getz.

It's the push, pull,
the tide, the volatile wave, taking you higher and higher
then dumping you down
leaving your ears waterlogged
sand collecting at your crotch
that all too familiar
uncomfortable feeling.

I probably have snot
dripping out of my nose
and you're all too polite to say
anything.

But the surf's up
and I don't give a fuck
about the steep descent
I'm after the high
free wheeling
on the edge
where the water froths and foams at the mouth
mad
with the speed of wild horses
loud as thunder
as unpredictable as the tsunami
dumping oceans worth of water
on your freshly washed hair.

It's not the way you planned it
it never is
the rhythms
and rhymes
gallop at great pace
kicking dirt in your face
leaving clouds of dust in their wake.

Exhilarating.

I'm packing, now, just to spite her,
to make it seem final
zip my precious things away from her jealous stare
scrunch and fold and roll
tumble
fall
yep, always falling

and in case you were wondering
I don't need you to catch me,
just step off the edge
and I'll see you mid air
wind in my hair
for as long as current keeps us
falling
together.

In Your Eyes

Someone has swallowed the stars.

I'm looking at you,
fat, bulbous moon
trying guiltily to hide
behind cotton wool clouds
betrayed by illuminating
bright burning light.

There's a puddle of water
in the street
right at my feet
that holds your reflection captive
where I can poke and prod
trying illicit confession
but the ripples
won't talk
silent
murky
his cellmates, fallen leaves
discarded coffee cups

someone really should clean the drains.

He mocks me from on high
shining in through the curtains
I sewed myself
rose coloured
like the hills hoist
the brick work
and whatever else lurks
beyond the french doors.

Soft velvet sky
sequined too sparsely
why do you refuse to shine?

Ah. All in good time.

The seasons,
seemingly with out reason
turn
everything fades, lies,
guiltily hides

and spits whatever sparkle they have swallowed
back out into the sky

and if you take the time
to look up ,
shimmering stars will collect
reflect
twinkeling
in your eyes.

As Yet Unfinished

In the morning,
I tell him that I love him
and the tall taiwanese girl standing at the sink
giggles

I'm not sure why

I'm serious

even before I've been caffeinated
into full consciousness
the thought is crisp and clear

we're a funny pair

perhaps that's why she's laughing

me, yesterday's make up smudged
him half asleep

we drink black coffee
on the edge of the mountain
on the edge of something
exciting
feeling the vibrations

bright images surround us
unfinished,
much like so many things
that have been started
recently

a little detail will do it
a little specificity
simple lines
and it will be finished

it will be finished
and when it is
we begin again.

The taiwanese girl was right
it is funny
we start, we finish
we begin again
each time, each step, each fine line
more deliberate

cutting through bright colour
can you make out the shape of it?

Perhaps not yet, but when you do,
you'll probably laugh

and I'm ok with that.