If you think of the dark as a black park and the moon as a bounced ball, then there’s nothing to be frightened of at all.
Love’s hate behind a white veil; a red balloon bursting in my face. Bang.
my body now a softer rhyme to his, now echo, assonance; his touch a verb dancing in the centre of a noun.
If I was dead, and my bones adrift like dropped oars in the deep, turning earth; or drowned, and my skull a listening shell on the dark ocean bed.
In his dark room he is finally alone with spools of suffering set out in ordered rows.
Pray for the immortal soul of rock 'n' roll.
Today I am going to kill something. Anything.
A man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth in the distant Latin chanting of a train.
The clocks slid back an hour and stole light from my life.
Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself.
And, of course, unmendable rain fell to the bleak streets.