2024 Knocked on My Door and some poems for friends

2024 Knocked on my Door

2023
Came and went 
Spent
In Glasgow’s
Deep lament 

A boy in red 
From Inverness
He said 
Beckoning again 
For another attempt at betterment 

Flowing from my arms, to my legs
and then back to my head
A rollercoaster has been thread
Into my skeleton and cerebellum 

Coasting rigidly 
Overriding my reasoning 
Prancing down my spinal cord
Eliciting sensory overload 
Next to my tight, lonely soul 

What is better? 
How can I be better? 

My structure’s impoverished 
A fast handiwork construction 
Running on a drip of digital detritus
Fed through tubes and synapses 

I’m a technicolour tent
A carnival of nootropic contempt 
Bustling and bristling
Then smouldering pathetically 
My chronology merely increasing

There's a clock is ticking 
Deep inside 
Withering eyes, muscles, mind 
Doors closing 
Avenues narrowing 
Crushing and smothering 
Brittle bones down a pin-head hole
I’m dying 

It’s fascinating 
The ease of simply existing 
The tightening noose of ageing 
It’s the feeling 
Which reminds me of just how fleeting 
This all is 

Cara’s Crunchy Convivial Concoction [For Cara]

Cara is a woman
With a bosom,
Light eyebrows
Mullet-like cut
A furious cum slut

Boots that go up to her nose,
Looking like she should be swinging round a pole
As she clamps down
Arguing about the urgency of gay rights NOW

It’s hard to miss her
With a fairy-like demeanour
Complimenting her being prone to seizure
A Sisyphean dreamer

Her flaming ball of light
Has gonads
Lacking the mod
For romance
Burning
Like the sweet touch
Of rectal
Mint-on-mint bromance

No sense for urgent temporality
Her speech can wind indefinitely
As she considers (ineffectively)
The necessity
Of the death penalty

A rodent in the brush
Smoking all the hash
She likes to mosh
While weeping

A melancholic little dear
Who regularly gets the fear
Shhhhh
She’s sleeping

Don’t speak too loudly
Her escape plans are expanding
It’s hard to navigate the labyrinthine expanse
When you are too stoned to put on your pants

With her stomping around in my life
I wonder
Is this the penance I pay for being a slow goer?
Or is it a blessing
That I get to reckon
With a beautiful little soul
Trapped in a world far too dirty
For one so effortlessly flirty
and whole

Blossom [for Alisha]

Lush
Fruits 
Picked and bloomed
In the bath water
Of my multi-ethnic daughter

The Sexual Revolution [for Becky]

Skinny waist, perfect toes 
Roots on show
McHarg is about to let you know 

Blew the game apart
Robert Gordon McGee
Went Next on employment 
Opportunity

Cashing in her loan 
From Wonga 
Willy’s high APR sister
To get rizzed up
For Quavers
And her many pegging compatriots 

Highly enriching 
To know her
Like breast milk
For Infants
A cornucopia 
Of decadence

Double Ds
With greens
And root beer 
To keep your palate clean 
She’s a keen bean 
To be YOUR anal queen 

But she does make me laugh
For instance
With her brazen, big titted nonsense
Riding her bike in sapphic silence 
To enjoy her therapy sessions contrivance 

Pretty bob got you feeling listless
Before she comes tongue first
Into your anus 
Prawn cocktail flavoured 
Realness 
Becky McHarg’s favourite 
Queerness 

She’s a queen 
Rotisserie
Juicy
Sweet
She’s the one the one for me