You, my blue lipped beauty
Stare glassily at this sky of fading fluorescence
Of panels and screw coverings
Sharing your long dead warmth with steeled neighbours

In my head your laugh is raucous
As I trip,
or burn another meal
Like how you snorted that day Paul fell off his new bike
Poor Paul
Or when Isobel helped us to decorate;
Daubing delicate pink prints on your mum’s new faux mink jacket

Laughing in my head

Not now
With that fine sheen to your fading makeup
So as you stare on
At your terrible cocoon
The silence left is closer

The noise in my head of you
Is loud
And eternal somehow even from your beautiful blue pout

Mosquito Night

mosquito night

Image: Wikipedia, Words: Bujonswords

Here is still

Even when the light is casting shadows
from my clocks and bedroom jewellery.

Here is still.
Now so late at night –
the morning shift has even started stirring.

Here is still.
Where the ceiling screens my eyes most rapturous thrills
and thrilling visions.

Here is still.
As these bombasted ears
pick each and every monster
to fit with every sound.

Here is still.
To be broken by all creaks
and coughs
and squeaks,
as all my world is stolen.

Here is still.
So still the shiny slide of slugs
attracts my senses.

Here is still.
And here lies my head,
furious with commotion
in the stillness of the night.