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