Sunday, 6 April 2025

Watermelon


Day Six




The bed broke. And

- being short of wood -

I carved one from the flesh

of many watermelons.

The forgiving medium

- a wet kinda velvet -

made me a king, and

- being not short of melons -

I dreamt of a swim

in a cool, crimson lake.

I drool in my sleep

and awake with a splash - 

refreshed, polka-dotted, 

with many melon-pips.




Saturday, 5 April 2025

Gradually Becoming A Disaster

 

Day Five



Ten years of snow,

Hypno-dream-pop pixels, down,

Up to ankles, over eyes,

Got so deep,

Got so high, chronic,

Chromatic overkill,

Slowly snow blind,

Snow-bound,

Fuzzed and frosty,

White-noise-sound, it is

So deathly.

Still.

Here.









Friday, 4 April 2025

Window

 

Day Four


Not so much art as it is

a frenzied blow, struck, it is

paper, cut. Of course, it's

a pretty laceration.


No calligraphy

carves a line like a scalpel.

The way it splits the skin, it's

Delicious. It is final.


There is a boy, looking

at a girl; she is looking

lonely, through a window.

Her face is turned away.


A samurai;

Examining the viscera,

Dispassionate, faced

with anything arterial.


How this severed artistry

is kept, concealed and freshly scarred,

In a forgotten place,

Unforgotten.



 

Thursday, 3 April 2025

The Chiming of a Perfect Chord

Day Three



You can (add9)
to an A minor
and it peals, like
a big, simple agony.

I always knew that chord
I think, before I held
the axe in my hands.
Before things
bade me lie down in its bed.

You can't (add9)
to a dovetail joint
nor palm-mute
a database, oh,
I wish I knew how
to be open-voiced
in appraisal.

I could have been middle-management by now.




Watermelon

Day Six The bed broke. And - being short of wood - I carved one from the flesh of many watermelons. The forgiving medium - a wet kinda velve...