Untitled 57

Why do you even bother

To wait until noon?

We both know you’ll be

Bringing on liquid

Like a ship in a storm

Come 2 o’clock,

Regardless of the sober hours

You manage by midday.



Each new morning

As the crisp sun cuts through the oak

That lines Sophia Gardens

A litter of fresh baggies

Line the Cardiff streets.

Frantic tongue and nail marks

Scar the ragged plastic

And betray the city’s nightlife

To the soft, welsh day.

Untitled 51

You see her face and every wound is torn open

Each memory memory dredged up

Like silt from a stagnant pond,

And through a cloud of settling ash

The odd hot ember jumps out

To scold you for mistakes you never made.

No, you know what, I take that back.

It feels like a man with an iron boot

Is kicking you in your gut

Over and over again.

And you deserve every single blow

For each mistake you chose to make

And each chance you’ll never know.


Nighttime on a cool August day

And the stars above me blink

With lidless eyes.

There is someone watching

Through the windows

Curtains closed

I feel them.

Until the sound hits.

A crack or shot

It’s sharp

Into my bones

And the curtains open.

I run outside

And hemmed into the alley –

Lying side by side,

A family of strangers smiling.

Their cold corpses washed

By the pale moon.

Camden Town

One Wednesday morning

I found a ball of heroin

Lying on the ground.

I snorted it of course,

I wouldn’t smoke it.

Except I would.

And I did.

By Sunday I was chonging down

Long, broad tokes of the stuff

Like a kid with cotton candy

Rotting out his teeth.

Untitled 33

I remember a house

On the high road in Amesbury

Right at the top

By the roundabout.

The house had hollow windows

And no one cut the grass

But someone lived there.

Sometimes musty curtains

Blotted out the sun

And once I glimpsed a pale face

Darting past the drapes.

I wonder now

Whether they glimpsed back.

A funny boy I must have looked

All spiky hair and shiny shoes

Marching on to school.