cumulonimbus squall
of a headache
tore me out of delirium
to blister pack paracetamol
choked almost
that raw pharmaceutical taste
mug of tea
apple spiced
wishing the phone
would cease
exhausted now
as silence fell
I took to being asleep
with tainted tongue
and abstract thoughts
I look at my penis
skin collar
lychee tip
then piss
a long straw stream
you are not a memory
you are a gift
finger folds
and soften furze
we know we belong
but until when
the scythe decides
Chris Lawrence
when apes discover genocide
I wonder how long I will linger
on the verdant green and blue
insulated by my own sickness
that brackish bile
of human contempt
apes will sing not our mythology
but one of burnt forests
and dried out lakes
human carcasses so vile
carrion crows refuse
to dine without the thought
of consequence
and I will lie down
human leaf litter
becoming fertiliser of the new
season a generation
or era where the truth of nature
will win
Chris Lawrence
Concussed by mornings
sharpened light
grasping cotton silence
each breath was tentative
alone
without the other
that shadow fragment
of a once upon a night
recalling synaptic responses
she knew
he had departed
but to who
or where
tears where of no consequence
why shed them
fuck memories
and fuck those
who fucked them
paper cuts once
more painful
than the striating
marks on the heart
each ventricle incised
life a blood force
poured as if from
an unblessed chalice
closing eyes
cannot make you hide
slow each breath
coax intuition
to help
it is going
yield and go
fear of life
the greater threat
even with her
whisper kisses
From the city of Liverpool in England , comes a an epic tale from Peter Sinseeya and his studio , featuring a stellar cast that I am proud to be a small part of .
I look at the trailer again and marvel at the depth and scope of the story , a Liverpool fable or dream with deep undercurrents anyway watch the trailer follow Matopulas on all social media and give Peter a follow he will appreciate
I broke an egg
soft boiled
watched the yolk
spread
in the whorehouse
of my soul
i thought
of my yolk
spread
over your breast
as I kneel
and urge
over
your sleeping
shape
my mess
your anger
limp disaster hung
itself
on my brittle facade
you left
exit by the door
i now look at
knowing
this egg will
not taste any better
the moving clouds
buddha puffs
of a slow conscious
scratched awake
by some yearning
for nothing absolute
but unreal
sucked out of a heart
of someone
once and never loved
sun stains
burns and blinds
i yield
and feel no more
Coughing out the lightness in
smoke and spiral motes of dust
mutable bed and our body acquisitions
cuttlefish ass damp from before
if I was not so ignorant
i would feel again
the tapestry of tattoos on her flank
precise inks more trustworthy
than my cock of threat
in denial and veiled seduction
pressed against her
the hum of bee air conditioning
positioning for me with rump pressure
she felt I could make her sparkle and shine
instead that tremored gasp
returning to her back
looking with a certain knowing
that I was a flake
who would leave and betray
adding to that pile of detritus
and awful decay that was her life
they told me about the garden of love
which I knew never existed
just like the dew settles
a feeling came over me
reaching touching feathery leaves
someone lurked in the darkness
a glimpse a furtive shadow
i needed to draw out of the gloom
no fee to be paid
as wallet forgotten
my fingers picked a rose
holding it aloft to the sun
shadow emerged reaching also
for the rose
sunlit face exquisite beauty
naked radiance for me to see
entranced entwined enthralled
in a boiling swell of passion
i was consumed
infused with the flowers and trees
the garden in this garden
i would remain
many stories can be untold
but this one cannot
i belong to that once furtive figure
no more in the density of foliage
but with me
together as one
Together always
22 years of marriage to be celebrated
