a japanese bookshop

her face
distorted
with laughter

the glean of light
from the dashboard

halfway between his house
and the city,
all of the roads
start to look
the same.

waterloo

the sky tends to do
incredible things
behind the suicide towers
at this hour of the morning.

you always call them
ghettos in the sky
but through the hazy mist
of dawn rain,
they could almost be
ivory fingers
tickling the belly
of the clouds.

red door

allen

his nails were bitten down so that the tips of his fingers resembled bulbous turnips swelling up from the earth.

i pressed the barley sugar between his lips, they parted with a dry crackle, revealing the cold moist interior of his mouth. i let my hand linger there for a moment, sensing his taste buds moisten as he savoured the sugary pellet, a sweet film developing at the corners of his mouth as he sucked at the lolly.

after a moment i let my hand fall away, watching the old man relish in the onslaught of flavour, his wrinkly eyelids slinking down like a toad as he swallowed.