Our Proud, Blind Youth


“Getting strangled to death
was the last thing in the world
she imagined she would be doing
Thursday night,
the day after graduating university.”



As You Linger


remember me, won’t you
as early hours click by
and lingers
with fingers curled, you find yourself
garments forgotten with the light of day
a closed bedroom door becomes your watch-dog
no one’s allowed here
but me
you allow me in with suicidal touch
and flick
and tug


What Went Wrong


“This can’t be the end,” she said as her eyes filled with infant tears.
He didn’t know what to say to her and to those tears,
and so he simply said, “It has to end some way.”
“You’re a shit,” she said, and turned away.
He wasn’t sure exactly where they went wrong, and what happened.
Thinking then about what she said, she wasn’t sure what the world went wrong either.

Devil’s Elbow

The night I saw her at The Devil’s Elbow
the tramp in the square’s twilight terrors
split the night’s soft toddle of music from Chambar.
It was the kind of bar, I thought as I trundled past,
where you were supposed to meet someone like her.
And it was one of those nights, too.
A night known to poets and soldiers alike
in troubled nights of pacing paneled floors
or waiting in the barracks.

you and your poodle

from the fine wire-rimmed glasses
to your royal blue overcoat
your preening and spoiled dog that has
an attitude to go with its stylist
from your mouth held tight as the
grasp of your waxy fingers upon your clasp
to the way your eyes look down your nose
and straight ahead all at once
in my head I see your savings, your estate,
your pension and your inheritance
throttling life and foul air from your frail frame
dying alone and despised like the wispy,
brittle bitty I think you are