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The Date

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I met this girl – Ronnie, she called herself. She was far too pretty, too fragile to be a Ronnie, so I kept things formal with Veronica. It made her giggle.

I liked to watch her; the blood in her cheeks would rise and I could taste her enthusiasm for my face. She liked my eyes, just like all the rest.

But this one was different. “Why don’t you smile?” she would ask, “Aren’t you happy?”

Her innocence warmed me and all of a sudden, it was too late. I wanted her. I wanted to keep her.

“Come home with me.” I stated boldly. Her eyes locked mine and she knew.

Veronica thought she knew everything. I heard her heart begin to drum as her hair blew the perfume that always made me burn.

“How do you sleep at night?” She asked; staring up at my home as her night began; the beginning of her end.

I opened the door and let her pass. “I don’t.”

I watched the artery at her neck and heard the delicious sound of it beginning to swell.

Veronica laughed. “Bram Stoker would have loved your place.”

I shut the door behind her…with a smile.

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The Encounter

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‘Please don’t hurt me.’, I heard her say as she slept. And that was the beginning of it. The precise moment my evening ended.
I lay there tormented; just wondering where she came from; what horrors she had seen, underneath her closed eyelids.
Her disturbing slumber meant no more for me and so I left her side to indulge in coffee that made me think of the waitress, in the Coffeehouse down town. It was the colour of her skin.
Those images soon evaporated in the steam as she came forward, dressed in a towel too short for her modesty.
‘Who hurts you?’ I asked as I stirred the whirling thoughts with my spoon.
‘Sorry?’ Said the stranger, walking around my kitchen like she worked there.
‘You cried out in your sleep…’
She sat down and sighed,
‘Your knee was lodged in my spine. I was trying to be polite.’

Therapy.

It’s in the clatter of quiet
that my brain aches – vessels
of muchness swell with
a feeling of not much
at all.
It perplexes me a little. There’s
a lot to be said for the black
chair that absorbs me
from consciousness; allowing
me to embrace a face of time
that watches me from
the shadows of his glasses
as careful words string
from his tongue
Perhaps he thinks I’m delusional.
Perhaps.

Perhaps.

Shine On

Tell me in silence
I won’t leave this behind me
Maybe you are hoping
that I choke
on the words

You talk in tongues of foreign
Hand gestures, newly borrowed
and smile a smile that’s
littered with a thousand
old spun kisses

There’s a dance that can’t be found
A place we used to visit
and I wonder if you see those
lights that glittered in your
eyes

How do I turn those lights off
and bathe in blessed blackness
How do I turn that switch
from this well lit
remembered mode

Because lights unshared are
blinding
They flick in slumber
Sleeping

Keeping you awake and
real and here
Inside my head

The Killing of The Cheshire Cat

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Laughter lines lost in darkness
Sharpness drawn in and up
with a pencil
Stencilling happiness upon a face
like those dolls; all china and lace
and like every other.
Only you discovered a hairline
fracture
Captured a
glimpse of a secret smile, within – worn and thin
with nothing but
honesty
Lined in imperfect lipstick
and now, your kiss

I miss you – not like lingering
kisses and skin, touching skin

Like thunder

Rolling thunder

And today she cracks the whip

Play the Ground.

I’m out of step
He’s a cock sure bastard, hazard
me a guess
Is it his greasy lightning
frightening the kiddies in
their beds?
And he gets lazy
Walks amongst all those distant
Dreams
Laughing at strangers, howling
because they don’t
Want to see him drawing
hopscotch with my
heart.
And now there’s nothing left to do but to depart.

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