markbousfield

CROCODILE TEETH LINE MY STREET

Crocodile teeth line my street,
L'Amour-antine nostrils to nipple
hiding beneath your notsovulnerableardour,
i slip and tear upon your tights,
sparkled with gold on black the nylon tears
and teases in my clenched sexfist,
together we blink the slow blink.

And draws in the princess of dawn,
voices of sun light hitting my sleepless face through
the fire escape like...
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I'm at a loss to excuse myself, too many acts contained within selfish drunken madness. Things that I would not do or say coming from my being, almost as an alter ego. What to do, what to do, apologise is the first thing on my mind but...

horrific.

An endless promise of light at the hub of the spinning wheel,
gently rocking to sleep the green mosses
illuminated on the tree bark
running through the mill.

Collective,
stagnant,
Boldness and high land spouting
above the waves flooding to my feet.

This Tuesday hangover,
these mulled winter mornings,
they will be the death of me,
dry cups of coffee and long in need of...
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...is having hard time being normal. I feel like I am crumbling at the seams, as though I am disintegrating into everything I never wanted to be because the people/women I meet are not just simple open people. I am losing the edge of me, the bits I was proud of that were real and different because perhaps they were slightly naieve. Instead there is...
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Sealing the human wax into the earth around the coffin helix,
curling each oak slant and angle until the laid rosetta chaplets
cast as sails reigning in a fading breath,
risen from the ashes of a whispered gale and
tempered by willfully resonant electronic laughter

I smile. ..

Sealing the human wax into the earth around the coffin helix,
curling each oak slant and angle until the laid rosetta chaplets
cast as sails reigning in a fading breath,
risen from the ashes of a whispered gale and
tempered by willfully resonant electronic laughter

I smile...

PARISIAN...

I said I love you,

You said fuck off.

A steamy Parisian morning,
the air was cold around my legs
as I drew my trousers up from the floor.

I heard a scream from the street below,
down on the blue-ing pavement...

...this belt never buckles...

...an overturned piano lays splashed onto the stone.

I turned back to you full of expectancy,
and,
as...
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IT'S 4AM AGAIN...

...on an empty (Chapel) market street,
the cigarette I don't smoke hangs on my ear,
the tiredness of it all aches behind every joint,
each sinew of last night's veins contracts
to a melody of the company, of the love I passed over.

I dry the tattered edges,
damn,
human viscera shot from the barrel of a gun,
the same face I...
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After two days off I feel like I have somewhat returned to normal.

The stress of the previous few weeks has subsided to an extent and I can look at the next project, phew! A connection with another friend has changed slightly over the last week or so too, not sure what happened but we seem to be very close physically all of a sudden,...
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I SKIFFLED WITH A FISHERMAN

The light I did not light,
it was not lit by me,
or one like me,
moreover it casts shards of shapes
in the form of some ill-advised (misplaced?) misanthropy,
showered in stagnant water,
by repetitions lacking the diction and duly the charm to while away
an overture into spaces previously thought raw.

I skiffled with a fisherman,
scraping a...
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