Fuseli's Nightmare

That final breath catches
in her spider web larynx.
That final scream is snared,
woven into a lace labyrinth.
She is suspended
in a ghastly, gargoyle nightmare.
Scared, her metronome accelerates.
Paralyzed pupils
Stare into a macabre eclipse.
Sprawling shadows awaken,
Crawling up white walls,
Creeping across creaking floorboards.
Adrenaline rushes through manikin limbs
Her lungs burn with muted screams.
The bed sheets bind her down
with the weight of a million fears,
left at the mercy of the incubus.
A shadow noose clasps her neck
As she gasps for breath.
And in a flash she awakens
Her skeleton aching.
The shadows retreat into a dark corner
Lying in wait.

Remorse of the Souse

Crashed! Passed out on ochre stained tiles
With cheeks on porcelain seats
Whilst body heat seeps from smiles.
From tall we fall and regress into foetal stains
Veiled in shame.
The same souls glide outside
Flush! The u-bend swallows my pride.
Shudder in cold piss puddles, bewildered, befuddled
With single ply sheets laid out mattress like
The cubicle thuds, blood smeared lullabies
Paralysed fingertips, paralysed minds.
Paralysed smiles, let me sleep for a while
There is no admission to my cubicle domicile.

The underground of hysteria

Chaos reigns supreme
in the underground of hysteria

We scream and cry
And pump our fists in ecstasy.
We groan and moan
And writhe together.
We sweat and chew
And drown in delirium.

Chaos reigns supreme
in the underground of hysteria

The Exodus

Stomach sinks,
The train sighs, lurching to a halt
Platform crowds swell and pulse.
Get caught in a rook, rucksack on back,
Vying for the last remaining seat.
The carriage reeks of piss and antiseptic.

The train clears it’s throat, grunts
And jumps, shunts into life.

Anonymous landscapes rush by in a smudge.
Canals, warehouse and chimneys bleed into scenes of sunbleached grass and cattle.

The reek of manure seeps in through the doors.

Pass train boneyard, the breathy horn blasts,
The air gasps as a city bound train speeds past.

In the distance a freight train rolls by and by and by...

And I forge my way back.
Back to the slagheaps,
Back to mundanity.
Back to the shipyards,
Back to insanity.

The Serpent, Mekong

She slithers from countless rivers

giving of life and death masterly,

A mighty serpentine liquid tapestry.

She carries us vessels as we roam,

foam trailing our aberrant voyage.

Our boat’s bow crashes through wake,

which leaps, clinging to the air like midsummer sleet.

Breathless, no one speaks.

En masse we ponder, our virgin eyes wander,

tracing images of thatched bamboo villages

where diligent villagers labour.

We inhale and savour the moment.

She takes us through cryptic waterfalls, fountains

and vast smoke topped mountains

that leer over us immense

from dense fertile canopies of lilac and green.

We helter skelter her vascular curves,

swerving flocks of emerging rocks,

bulbous, like the heads of bathing hippopotamus.

Watch.

The jungle flotsam dances, chancing currents

Before getting swallowed into her muddy surges

emerging breathless from the merkiness,

surplus to her ferocious thirst.

The humble coffee grind verges collapse as we pass

and tumble into the percolating mocha waters.

Camouflaged spies peer as us queer passersby,

with our peculiar features and our alien eyes.

Rising on the horizon

we see hives of corrugated iron shacks

and primitive huts,

sat at the foot of mother nature’s bust.

On approach our engine splutters and cuts,

the rudder adjusts.

And we twist and drift, with a knock,

into the embrace of her floating bamboo dock.

We have arrived.

A Neon Tapestry

Drawn in by dancing Palace sprites,

That buzz with delight by starless night.

They survey a myriad of bumbling drunks

Who down their ale and stumble from clubs.

They sway, crisscrossing the rivers of spray

That slither beneath Mancunian Way.

They sail beneath bold rattling tracks,

the freight nymph dances with a flash

sprinting the vine of cable thread

that dissects the night sky overhead.

Gluts of ciggie butts lie in the gutters,

Drunkards splutter on Topshop’s shutter.

Hairy fairies getting quite contrary

Knocking back shots, the surly get lairy.

Chants and screams vociferously erupt

And ricochet through red brick viaducts.

Stagger through blaggers veiled in thicket,

“Ay ar mate, dya need a ticket?”

No response, bus coughs n takes its leave

As drunks heave and weave into the urban eve.