From The Attic

A wooden chest, labelled ‘Uncle Jack’

Slowly I start to unpack:

Inside there sits some dusty books

Carefully placed so if someone looks

They will not see what’s underneath

A collection of human teeth

A fine, silken, black top hat

A jar half full of congealed fat

Some boiled sweets in a paper cone

Something that looks like a finger bone

Some...

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Jack

Stainless steel glistens in the gaslight

it cuts through gravity and sinew.

Whitechapel is mine tonight

nobody knows what I will do.

It cuts through gravity and sinew

when you hold it right.

Nobody knows what I will do

If you put up a fight.

When you hold it right

Just one swing and you are through

If you put up a fight

I’ll cut you in two

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Bucks Row

gaslight lamps

cast pools of sickly yellow

and the cobble stones

glisten with evening rain

a smell of burnt stew

drifts in with the stirring

of fog and smoke

that wraps your legs

in cobwebs and candyfloss

a street sellers distant call

proclaiming hot chestnuts

while a dog pisses

against a bollard of black iron

blood spills from an alleyway

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The Trade Name.

When the green fairy

kisses my lips

with sweet anise,

I take the grand wormwood path

just for jolly, wouldn’t you?

Cachous,

to mask her breath

of juniper.

A road

to mothers ruin.

The gas-lit fog

cloaks the backstreet

opiate dens,

where wretched

addicts lie.

Pastry faced women,

lifting ski...

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A hundred or so Years ago

Dark Came chancing

With a ripper's knife

Came he dancing taking life

Deftly in that midnight hour

Came the stripping

Then the ripping

Just as lightly he was flitting

Into the darkness

After slitting snow white breasts

Plump pleasuring flesh

Dr Death awaits concealing

A heart

 A womb congealing

Watching bloody 'n...

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