Bleach

There’s a light dust in the air
Particles settling like feathers
On lungs and turning collars
A shade darker than the white
Persil bleached reflection
There’s a hum in the air
Lingering dead space
Not quite silence, but I can hear
My footsteps treading on
Chalk coloured stone
Disintegrating houses
Under summer skies
A gust of wind blows life
Back into the brief pause
A second to take in the
Magnitude and energy
To grieve in-between breaths

Bleach

Timer

Big ideas come from
Understanding the robot
As a skinless automaton
Repeating patterns
Algorithm errors noted
Money back guarantee
25 year warrantee
Except in exceptional
Circumstances unforeseen
The unknown unknowns
Genetic defects in lab coats
Dishes thoroughly examined
For evidence. New technical
Landmines expose craters
Slowly filling with sand dunes
Giant egg timers predicting
A new way to tell time

Timer

Blink

I think a lot about time
How its dimensions crash
Through the narrow fields
Of rice and wheat
Ploughing relentlessly
Towards the inevitable
Concluding scenes
Stories that end
Hold greater power
Than stagnant mouldy
Soap left against the taps
For baths I never take
Time finds a way to get
Under my skin
The dark nail filed
Trimmed hair grows longer
Autumnal weather blows
Solitary axes to grind out
A life made of the scraps
As if it’s enough to halt
The silent stare of
Juxtaposed spectrums
Everything happening
In one blink

Blink

Weavers

Carbon monoxide
Infiltrates lungs long before
The over-cooked smell of
Flesh wafts across the borough
Air fresheners only masking
The inside of every two-storey house
With affordable fragrant air
Cooling down from the heat
Under high Victorian ceilings
Jasmine pleasantly bursts
To detoxify olfactory passages
Clothes circle round and round
Still trying to wash away the scent
But the tiny weavers stick
Agonising as they stitch
The dead into the cotton

Weavers

Void

It’s cool to be a nihilist
Pour that bleak, scornful
Weak coffee over the head
Of a loved one.
They stop talking to
Roast each individual bean
At 37 degrees. Life
Signs are good, above
Average life expectancy
We get to watch as puffins
Exhale on their tiny island
Reminded, of how pointless
It is to try at all. Ivory towers
Shooting birds, such a great
Huntsman, they’ll say
Taking the little victories
The small pieces of joy
Smashing them like
Colliders of matter
Colliders where matter matters
No matter what the bulilding
Blocks turn out to be

Void

A Generalisation of Demographics

Tomorrow is just another step
On a platform. Train coffee
Weeps down chequered seats
Last centuries style
Catch a glimpse of a grey hair
Sprouting through despite
The cuts I’ve made each day
A book hangs loosely
From my other hand
I’m reading about demography
Trying to understand why punching
People who smile is assault
But siphoning off money is encouraged
I wash my hands again
In that dirty sink
Blood red, veins dark blue
Losing is a learning curve
Hanging vertically from a tall tree
Drying out till the resolve
To remain active withers
In the light breeze

A Generalisation of Demographics

Biohazard

It’s hard to write poems
Like you’re a voice for
A generation of artists
Suffering in silence
Apathetic about stagnant
Careers in thrift managing
To exist day-to-day
Without ending it.
Glumly, I flick through pages
Of questionable merit
Every job needs a portfolio
Nobody uses filters to cut
Shit included to pad it out
Give it a noticeable weight
A polished golden biohazard
Charged at the industry rate

Biohazard