liberate your sin

Fair figure wrapped in veil of fragile skin
Soft visage kept in shade from ray of sun
The posture of your legs moan, “Come on in”
Meanwhile, your rolling eyes do much to shun

For men of flesh and blood and not of tin
Can forage far and wide intent on fun
But only when she liberates her sin
May that intrepid gent boast battle won

The maiden fair may not be quick to lay
On quilted bed or plot of grassy ground
She may not rush to cast off virgin’s mask

Unless she knows a man is there to stay
Until she’s sure a husband’s what she’s found
On that day, all he need to do is ask


a kind gesture

Graciously beyond and above
common standards of masculine practice
fiercely enforced and stubbornly upheld
by fathers, uncles, coaches and drill sergeants
from his past,
he reached up to take the kind offer
of her hand
and together a smile of mutual gratitude
was shared between them.

London at 3 a.m.

the street is alive
whether that life has a point to it or not
whether that life is that that which gives back to the creator
or that which sucks the absolute energy away from all around it
has yet to be seen
whether it’s that guy at the party who’s asking everyone for a smoke
and nobody knows who invited him and everybody just wants him to leave
because he’s bending the legs on the coffee table and making the place smell bad

kilts, I’m not used to seeing kilts
nor am I used to seeing pants ride up so high
you got women who dress like it’s the fifties and guys who dress like it’s the eighties
you can’t tell who’s straight or gay until they sneak one up your ass
you can’t tell which are taxis and which are kidnappers until they’ve got you in their car

a blonde with gazelle straddling legs hobbles down the pavement and
breaks her ankles with each step
she tries to pull her skirt down
but that’s not what it was designed for
(it’s going against nature!)
she turns and I catch her face
it’s the face of a baby doll
on heroine
(too much Miley Cyrus and not enough Family Matters)

everyone eats fast food here
it doesn’t matter at this point
health doesn’t matter at three in the morning
all that matters is the ride home, the last drink
the phone number, the score

guys with biceps for faces
stroll down the way and lose track of their girl
she’s off to find her friends, off to find her shoes, off to find
where she left her purse
oh, Amy has it? Oh good. Where’s Amy?
She’s with Todd.
Where’s Todd?
He’s throwing up in the alley

there are people throwing up everywhere
a guy helps his friend across the street
holding up traffic for six blocks
but it’s okay, they’re going into the KFC
We need chicken wings! This man needs chicken wings! he cries

bouncers are witness
to every single dropped phone call, every single lost soul
they listen without listening, they watch without caring
all they care about is if there’s a threat
Is there a threat?

people stuff their faces with sausage rolls and pizza
Chinese food, Indian cuisine, hotdogs
they stop off at the all night to pick up that last can, that last bottle of wine
Do you have ice back at the flat?
I don’t know, ask Charlene, she was in charge of the ice

bottles of water, fast food containers strewn everywhere
street cleaners haven’t bothered starting yet
not while things are still hot
their shift starts at four and they’ll be busy until eight
until the sun rises over the city and everyone has
found themselves a home or at least a bed or a couch

the underground is locked, empty beer bottles littered about
a man puts an empty KFC bucket on his head
and declares himself King of the Night
a young couple embraces by the bus stop
holding each other in their arms, thankful
they made it through another night together
another bus stop yields nothing but bruised bachelors
lonely souls staring at their shoes
waiting for the carriage that will bring them home
fruitless yet again

the row of cafes and bars slowly but surely closing
Clapham Tandori, Alexandria, Gizel Kebab
Brickwood, Honky Tonk, Black Lab, Pepper Tree
one by one emptying their contents into the street
vomiting humanity back into the city
where they have to deal with their own two feet
their own two hands, their own two eyes

it’s fall now and the park is empty
somewhere they may be a vagrant, somewhere there may hide a bum
the odd park bench has traffic, occupied
by teenagers or post-bar graduates
sucking the marrow out of the night
laughing until all the laughter is dead

over the park the night is quiet
the city beyond still rages but
even that rage subsides and
somewhere above
the clouds and fog and smog and mist
is the full moon
has not brought utter chaos tonight

after hours

she’s the daughter of the bar’s owner
I know she doesn’t care for me
she doesn’t have to
she’s got money
she goes to sleep in a five-story house
in a quiet neighbourhood
the only reasons we find ourselves here
are booze and geography
her friends all trying to bring her home
so that they can fuck her
or give her so much coke
that she’ll fuck them all
she looks to me and so do they
what am I doing here?
I look to her for an answer
they’re her friends, after all
she looks at them and says,
“I pay him to eat my pussy,”
they all look at me
I say, “You heard the lady,”
they don’t ask about me anymore
she goes home with them, eventually
and I go home, thankfully, alone
some situations are not worth the trouble
no matter what the pussy tastes like

faces, voices, touches, memories

sometimes I wonder what ever became of them

the black girl that came from France
who had the skinniest ankles I’d ever seen
the brunette with the husky voice who fucked me in my van
she had a tattoo on her back of a butterfly and she wrote me a poem
the almost-virgin with the most perfectly tiny nipples
who screamed like my cock was a knife inside her
the one who bore my child
the one who used me as a way out of hell

the one who took my virginity in my parents’ bed on new year’s eve
I remember her in flashes of memory now
the way her perfume stung my lips when I kissed her neck
the way she said “no” while she told me not to stop
I remember the way she took me by the hand
or maybe I took her
and before I even knew my shirt was off
my pants were too

I think of it sometimes and wonder
whatever became of them all
the girl with the rad blue jeans that I loved in grade school
the one I asked to graduation dance and then accidentally stood up
they came into my life, all of them, without motive, agenda or reason
they left without goodbye
all I have are the memories
just shadows of dreams
just echoes on the breeze