Sunday, 3 January 2010


Whilst writing SKIN BOOK, and swearing blind to anyone and everyone who'd listen that it WASN'T A POEM but a flash novel, I got a terrible sinking realisation that maybe in 2010 I OUGHT to write a poem.

So I entered up to do a live reading at a local arts festival in the poetry category to make myself write something.

The problem was, I soon realised it was impossible to turn off my story-writer's plot brain. And my OCDish feeling that every rhythm must be carried to its resolution. So filling the 3 minute time slot seemed pretty nigh impossible. Instead I decided to commit myself to a proper, full-length poem that I'll perform at a dedicated reading later ni the Spring. It's called Freakshow.

But, after days and days of agonising, wondering if I could just do a chapter of SKIN BOOK (ignoring the fact IT'S NOT A POEM :p), deciding the local blue-rinses would actually physically expire if I did, I came up with something. The product of torture, pain, despair, it goes by the delightful title:

A bordello in the chambers of my heart

Life says
There’s a bordello in the chambers of your heart,
Under the eaves
The semi-dark breeze
The pigeon scat and bat-soaked beams.
Life takes off its come-stained raincoat
In the orange-grey
Hot rock melting-sweet-syrup-smack
Cigarette bud light,
A thousand sweat stench scents
String out on the scab slab floor
Seep spores leaching into gravestone paving.
Life looks up at me,
Dangling skirt flap,
Bird crap,
Its palm and fans me a light
And scans
And whispers
Is that right?
I spark up
And hum
Yeah, that’s my price.


  1. Yeeharr! Very, very cool. LOVE that last line.

  2. Like it Penny sums it up well

  3. Wonderful! Flips off the tongue and gets me *right there*. (And please keep in mind that this is a POEM and not a flash novel!)

  4. Thanks, guys - you know when I wrote the last bit it made me think of you and your baccy, Pen.

  5. bravo

    that's a fine spray of words

    it runs like a brook