You sent me

flowers as an

attachment

to my work email

account.

It wasn’t

quite the

romantic

gesture

I was

looking for.

I replied

with a

JPEG of a

dump.

I never

received

a postmaster

failure

email

so you must have got the message.

From my new book - 'Working Extra Hours Ha...

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All his things are around here, in the wardrobe and in the drawers

The man himself has gone

But all his things are here

Don’t put your things in that drawer, that’s drawer’s already in use

But it’s full of the things of a dead man

And he’s no longer here.

It’s cold out tonight, so very cold, so why don’t you use this scarf?

It’s the scarf of a dead ...

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Love, what is this bliss, I do not know?

Denied all act of an emotion,

That encases the heart, and clenses the soul.

Solitude, is this all I live for?

Destined-confined to this wild abyss,

Or am I meant to fall on loves path;

Embrace its soft kiss.

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Written coming into Stourbridge Junction 29th May 2012

Passengers must not cross the line

An epitaph for a lingering death of times occasionally sublime,

Travellers lovers and would be friends

Attempting to wander over fertile ground

Once so profound

Passengers must not cross the line.

By car, by train, by plain, by boat, adventurers in love.

In time,...

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The history of the world part four

Welcome to the history of the world part four

Part one is everything else that’s gone before

Parts two and three are you and me

And together it’s a volume delivered free

Welcome to your deepest desires

Destroy them, crush them, consign them to the fires

Welcome to the history of the world part four

Available to anyon...

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She keeps her albums in a cardboard box and her singles are left on the floor.

Maybe she’s a girl that doesn’t care but then, she always brushes her hair.

Her bedroom is full of things in carrier bags and empty cardboard boxes.

There’s a bank statement on the side from nineteen eighty five under a TV guide.

In the hallway there’s junk mail and unopened letters and th...

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Just get over it,

Casual, callous, colloquial.

But love is like an amnesiac's boomerang

just when you thing you've forgotten

the love, and the pain

it swoops like a dragon

whose scales scar sentiments.

It usually hits you,

and even if caught,

it caught you by surprise.

Those who once captured your heart

now hold your heart captive.

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