NEPHOPHOBIA

He likes winter best as the sun barely shines, bruised and awkward
skies from which he hides himself. Not from fear but from need,
the need of a tormented mind. He isn't sure how it all started
but he would bet his last tenner that drugs were involved.

The gloom of night soothes frayed nerves and the lights
of the office comforts him like a quilt on a cold night
he knows they are out the waiting, waiting to ruin
what little peace of mind that he has, children play games

with them, lovers lament them, they can make or break
a picnic on the beach. He knows the truth, they are the
harbingers of doom, destruction and desolation.
Cloud after cloud spreads across the world, he imagines

their birth as they are brewed up in the bowels of
hell. He lives in darkness so he cannot witness their
spread of annihilation and terror. There is no escape
from them, there are everywhere. He cries in his sleep

Oh death where is thy sting?


MY PRAYER

Fear is a part of me,
my life, my future,
my past, nothing can
erase the memories
this broken mind
holds, Oh lord spare
me from the influence of
those that seek to harm
me, you know them and
their intentions. Help me
circumnavigate their traps
and snares as they plan to
stop me finding happiness
and fulfilment. Your help is
sorely needed, do not cast
me out into the darkness
and gnashing of teeth,
strengthen a timid
heart, let me roar like a
loin as face my enemies
in battle.


Either that or let me
get laid.


DENIZENS OF THE 7TH PARALLEL

In the multitudes of the
world there are those
that see beyond the
constraints of reality,

some revel in
an existence where
telepathy and
precognition is the

linga franca,
others are destroyed
by the gift that they
were born with,

unable to comprehend
the world that they
live in they are
tormented by the

voices of others
and they seek
refuge in drugs,
drink, desperation,

anything to stop the
chaos in their minds.
Such distraction
never works, once

you are born into
the 7th parallel
nothing but death
can free you. Some

lucky denizens
adapt, some thrive
and prosper, I am not
one of them,

anarchy and misery
is all that I found,
happiness and
serenity is impossible

for me, this I have found
through many wasted
years. Years where I have
walked the roads of the

impossible and have forseen
the worlds decline into
lawlessness and acts
of extreme hatred.

HISTORY LESSON

A folded magazine on the table,
an empty cup, nothing else
nothing else, her clothes are
burning in the garden as
I sort through photos selecting
memories most hideous to
mind and body, they too
will join the furnace of
my hatred, images
flash through unfortunate
mind as my lips long for
her gentle caress once more,
then the radio plays the song
which was the soundtrack
to our playful lovemaking
and the tears swirl down
beaten cheeks.



CELESTIAL TWILLIGHT

After a sodden purge, I woke to find broken glass
and a week old kebab blooming with mold
and bacteria. Patchy memories of drunken, abusive

calls to those that had left me, girls long gone
but often remembered in the depths of my self
pity. Love is not a gift the Lord is willing to

bestow upon me, oh, the occasional fuck come
my way, plain, uninteresting women with the
personality of a spoon. I feast upon their

sex like a man who may never have the chance
again. I loathe life, even the word itself pains
me like a spear through the heart, why was

I not consulted before being sent here, if I
knew what disquiet and distress was waiting
for me I would have never come here, then dream

upon dream she arrives, the one with faithful thighs
and a silken laugh that recalls the peaceful moments
in one of Shakespeare's comedies. Easy, quick witted

and full of love, things go well, really well and at last
I understand the path the has been laid out for me,
wretched with loneliness I did not see the worlds

beauty, she teaches me to love myself again in quick
easy lessons that a child could understand and we
marry under the stars which I once longed to return to.






1998

Muted and smoke haunted the bar didn't seem much,
the barmaid plain but blessed with bounteous breast
which amused the customers, the music leaked into
the collective consciousness like a pathogenic virus
intent on slaughter, hours, days, an entire lifetime
spent within the four walls of the Reef, time not
regretted but given with honour and respect to the
altar of our ever loving god of the good times. Early
mornings spent recovering, late nights in raucous
abandon. Chance meetings of friends lost to the
ever ticking clock, life lived with the constant
accompaniment of the vessel of our destruction,
pint after pint poured down willing throats, then
cursed the next day, the question remains unasked
why do we spend our lives poisoning ourselves?
The answer, well the answer remains to be discovered.
Perhaps if Socrates were alive he would know, but
he too poisoned himself with hemlock, just like us.