Quinn


Whisper grey smudges onto me and make me dusty

Dusty like the evening spirals on her mother’s T.V-lit carpet.

Tassels, toussles, a soft hurricane

Bruises left and replaced with denim.







Ambulance


Flood me.

With the blue lights, thrown, by colossal sirens

Turning my blood blue.

Brushing the concrete of this swamp,

The smell of petrol makes my heart race.

Flood me.







Boost


A caffeinated demon expels its embryos with ripe fruits.

The car’s on fire, darling.

Sitting at the computer in wired isolation.

A lot of ghosts here, just screen watching.

Release us from the clock.

Charge me up, a spell for combustion.

How about a boxing match?







I Prefer to Be Cold


Dust-clumsy

Bought and Sold

Brush-puppy

Turned blue-green mould

Slush-buddy

Dripping wet and soon to be told

Trust-honey

A holly leaf turned 18 years old

Rush-money

Staring hungrily, only to fold

Crush-bunny

I prefer to be cold