Wednesday, 18 February 2015


They appealed to me
The arrangements of words upon the white
Slowly moving, horizontal lines
Like I envisaged breathing.
A slow ceremonial liquid glide
The returned incision of my eye
Into the minutes of my meeting.
Do I find it easier
To rub my fingers  over signs of corruption
And cry in a kind of joy at the rupture.
I’m a sleazy woman
A practised actor
Rapture is my understudy, follows
Flaws in the hollows under eye and jaw.
What I speak and see,
Is a fucking lie
What I eat, the elements of my memory.
Time laughs demented in her show

Doles out gender, life and law.

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