sundown sinking


sundown sinking ( 24 lines of read )

sundown sinking

bowing heads

going down like

flasher's kegs


endgame shite

dead swan star song

bright twilight

mrs wilson

come & see

golden kisses

slobber trees

bits of carrot

in in their mouths

too polite to

spit it out

thrushes fluster

in their roosts

impatient owls

start to hoot

hallowed be thy

shit 'ot rays

the night is nigh

t'ra day



death by nice

it's all quintessentially 

picturesque & quaint

warm brush strokes

the lord doth paint

thatched cottages for villages

lush meadows all around

a light breeze & birdsong

are oft the only sound

every reverend cycles

on the green - wicket keeping

cake sales & ginger ale

a chocolate labrador sleeping

inevitably green hills

generically idyllic

begging for mass murder

or failing that

a picnic


offerings (how to try)

offer your plans

to the warm blue hands

of confusion

let it nurture them

let them feed off its odd

let it nestle them

let it be their god

then put this faith

in the obscure things & the details

like moss & lichen on a post

an opaque stain on the dog-shelf

the many traces of utmost

& the rest should look after itself


(author notes; dog-shelf is slang for floor)

weekend witches

Weekend witches & Beltane pagans

once yearly-nearly ramblers

& blue moon dabblers.

Wedding drinkers & funeral weepers

occasional tables

the occasionally unstable.

Hy-Brasil & déjà vu

a solar eclipse

or the Phoenix, of course too.

Brief glimpses of HELL & scarlet pimpernels

plus fuck-it-that'll-do rhymers

- bloody part-timers