Pine-Eyes

I want to find the place where old Pine-Eyes turns wood again...

Silverman

The box arrived from Social services.

There’s a photo of her, smiling flat-faced in the flash, with two men. The same photo – two men. One is tall, a small beard on his chin, perhaps to define it from his thick neck. The other, darker, his eyes close set under heavy eyebrows, stares indolently at the camera, his hand draped over her shoulder.

It’s funny that in this box, crisp and white, with its neat label ‘Florey Silverman’ should contain all of this girl.

And Somewhere a man ashes a cigarette into a sardine can.

Her mother smokes constantly, even in the hospital. It seems to define her, each furtive suck a punctuation.

Cause he’s a bastard – drag – that’s why – blow – never cared for her – drag.

Said ‘He wasn’t running a home for strays’ smoke wreathes the room, mingling with grey light.

That’s where she was going that last day – to tell him, to tell Albert what he done was wrong.

Children play on wrecked cars games of sticks and forts. Somewhere a fiddle. Stares from caravan doors.

Albert is stooped into his face, his hair pushed forward into dark-set eyes. His grey jumper stained with grease.

She was a nightmare. Threw her out. I make decisions about what is best for my community.

Where do you think it was then?

I got no idea.

Florey was a handful – she had a knack, I spose – for causing trouble.

Were Sara and Florey friends?

Yeah, I spose, all the kids were.

You better come see this.

Fetus bones? Yes, from site 1.

We have strong evidence she was pregnant. She may not have shown.

I didn’t know. She changed so much. We had another row – I didn’t know. I said ‘I’d had enough of her behaviors’

The spray is police issue.

The righteous father and the grieving son.

I encounter Robbie on the stairs. He sidles past me, I can hear him inhale - cataloguing for some later feast - my dark smells.

Malcolm, were you there? Did you do it?

I know these people, I fought their battles.

Do you know who the father of Florey’s baby was?

Stop it!

I knew he’d done it. That is why I had to act.

Shaun?

It wasn’t him.

The person who attacked him – it wasn’t my dad.

You’re wrong Liam. It was Robbie.

A bent cop doing a favour for a mate. A pregnant teen and a forbidden relationship.

She was dead for three months and no one even noticed she was gone.

Castle-maine

castle-maine turners receive

threats knotted in glass

beasts of burden stalk mangers,

spilling frankincense in mir.

ink on ribbons brings marked

velvet papers with irregular rhythms,

strokes on strokes

keeping toll with high pigeon

dreams

making make, it’s time enough

to find there’s days of

absolution built into

calendar years

creep into smithies by iron-

fire light, forge tinkers

and test-tubes

leaving only baby wraps

and evenstar dreams.

Click

Click.

Trawl. Click. Anal. Click. Search. Thumbnail porn galleries.Click.

I’m a librarian - Read that one. Seen that ass. Fuzzy sound. Bad picture. Click. Anal. Click.

Watching, some latino dude, a little too much muscle, glasses, wrist-strap. Some Brazillian chick. Always the most willing. An apartment. A discussion. An exchange.

Click. Bigger picture. Click. Sound down. I watch him pop the tip of his cock into her gape. I’m stroking my cock in time with this. But it’s her I’m watching. It’s her. I want to see her face. I want to see the pain she’s in. The discomfort. It’s the sound of fake moans that gets me harder. The sound of her pain under those false comforts. Ohh big boy. Ohhh yeah. Hurt me. Hurt me. Click. Spasm. Jizz. Spasm.

Click.

hexagonals

London, UK

New beginnings ticking dangerously in the dark.

Though apparently, these days they don’t - they vibrate.

Then it’s destroyed on a tarmac. All orange safety vests

And hollow-points.

We don’t imply ownership.

It’s not that we couldn’t,

it’s that when I see the blue flash of your eyelid -

too much make-up, too little guile -

I want to start a beat with you

There and now again.

But let’s not tell. Fall at your feet and say

rosaries till the necklace is worn through.

I’ll not pretend that a formality can cross us

but it’s something this day.

As we bounced round black-box hexagonals

and corralled chairs in dark flashing corridors

lit by laughter and cell-phone glow,

I thought of empty stops and tragic stations

where no one gives orders anymore.