Perfume

i love
the smell of the city
the hustle-bustle brilliance
of life effective in every moment

sweet ambrosia of death
sits lurking
in the shadows of rancid alleyways
signposted with ciphers
symbols of strange forests
hieroglyphics of night’s construction

breathe in
the humanity
breathe out
the horror

the horror of concrete & steel
a flailing colossus
the smell of victory
over death
not too unlike
“the smell of napalm
in the morning”

lingering
like perfume in the back of your throat

A Certain Kind of Countenance

Her face, like a flower

In a closed fist

Wrinkled against time, adversity

A patronising counterpart

Settled in for a long lag

& the drugs don’t work, all the time

cigarettes, booze, pills, smoke . . .

you name it, it’s viable

as long as it’s a substitute

for reality, three dimensions

a quiet cup of tea

& dogs are barking

cars growling down the thin streets

sirens screaming,

intermittently

a broken tap drips

drips

drips

across the room, nestled amongst

dirty plates piled high

flies buzzing amongst the scraps

on the kitchen bench

a few ragged photos litter the walls

& the money’s all gone

two cigarettes ‘til hell

no substitutes immediately avail themselves

as each thing becomes a part of her

like broken crockery strewn across the floor