Saturday, February 08, 2014

hurtface (after Ceravolo)

i come home late like a man
like a stranger // zebra-headed & foreign & sit 
down at the table to write poems cos i want to
put my key in the door & keen 
& cry for my flat old places
fall asleep on the keyboard 
& reblog the universe fuck 
with my long sad dick every last utensil 
  put on whiskey & strip
in the garden, have an irksome & scritchy
fight with next door’s pets // eat & vom the flowers
flowering on my face the face of 
        my stupidness today

i sing when i work & i work all the time
with lovely wifi & a sharp clean sharpie
& my big girl knickers all in a twist
around my throat.  i have drawn you
a face to wear & it is my face & it hurts
me.  but whatever comes you’ve come 
           thru the door & in your own 
face with your job & a bag of food –

o bum!  o joy!  o bloated world!
what dreams i am on the stairs of!

Thursday, February 06, 2014

Thursday, January 23, 2014

Grace Lake, from 'Silk & Wild Tulips'

"I read of women who have been found disregarding class, the heavy book
Bearing the sombre tone, we anyway tremble whilst we are broken down.
What is love? o what is love? the tip of a tongue, a silk white dove.
that will not fight and is crushed by speculation, a sinful breast
Cleansed, the surprising lightness in weight, the emphasis returned to
Provocation, that is the dead weight, that we cannot speak until
                                                         spoken to
And divided by omission are invited to attend to the traffic signals,
Indicating slips don't for one second imagine that i am in the least

Grace Lake, 'Silk & Wild Tulips'