KnockKnockScratch

"A lot of women think they don't need cosmetic procedures - rubbish" (Elle magazine, October 2010) Corset: all laced in, and then she caught a glance of It. Her fear of the hourglass A futile battle, but no worries about time. She took a chainsaw to her motherly, yoghurty gut Ripped away the gluttonous strays of heaving fat. Through the tickertape of a ruddy rouge ruptured fleshy reflection She simply saw ribbons of perfection. Beauty is in the eye of those who judge - Hourglass girl is now a floor-spread sludge.

Eleventh chance in April a pair of eyes ignoring all sight of other affections breaking and their dimming shelf lives, leather suitcases piling, waiting women still smiling as they hold a gloved hand over their heart trying to see his train. your breath was my air and my blood moved for you what's the possibility of fortune when  made to ignore you? but we chose silk and nosebleeds over canvas and the need to ever, appease faces that disagreed it's ink on papyrus, a Japanese iris - a full season to take bloom but perpetual perfume although we were secret, the scent could not be deleted ceaselessly bound by love undefeated…

Life inside a music box is perplexing. Turning round and round, The gears click monotonously, but produce most palatable melody. When they lift the lid, I can see All the circus actors in the sky, Dancing, somersaulting. The circus-folk aren't much different from us, They just managed to keep their act up, unlike us, simply pirouetting to the tunes of our restrictions. I can see the beads of sweat falling, as they walk their tightrope. If they fall, they fall from sanity, into the music box.   Occasionally the actors glance in to our box. I recognize similar faces, Familiar faces. Faces from acts I used to be pa

Not Nightlong I dreamed you found an anchor. It was so redundant it hurt you and I. But the look in your eye when I told you, (I dreamt about you) I knew. It sparkled like a native metal, like Audrey’s bracelet, like gold. Dinnerlady tried to take it from us. What use is an anchor? Her thin lips quivered, what use? It would cost time, you would polish it so it didn’t lose the glow. You would guard the anchor and cherish it and if any man smudged it or mauled it, you would bruise your fists on his ribs. You would risk your life to win it back. The taste of worry would linger, while your eyes, lips, heart and fingers

Note to all mothers: Your children are being taken. Note to all Wives: We’ll take your husbands too. Note to all suitcases: Brace yourself. Tape yourself. Note to all country roads: Be aware you’ll be eroded. Note to the city: Prepare to be lonely. The tin-boots won’t Clatter, echo in the alley. The market stall will diminish and the bakers will finish the last batch of rolled oat biscuits. The town centre won’t chatter and the silence will get fatter. Note to Anderson: Stand tall. Note to windows: Blink, dissolve the light. Note to Fredrick: Take care of your sister. Note to Emilia: Don’t sob. Don’t

They rejoice, and they adore you. You will make one. Make a stand - not intentionally. You will make a stand in front of the patronizing curls and The naïvely knitted eyebrows. You will not choose khol liner and you will not choose gloss. You shall not choose brass buttons nor will you choose silk and They will resent you for that. Crowds do not forgive. Turn the most humble of juices into wine. Turn their blind eyes to the truth. You will climb the pedestal, every pull, kick, grope of the Wooden frame will tear at the fingers of your ambitious hands Like the nails, staining your hands with the pain of vinegar He felt. Yo

Verity’s Necklace A suede sky Draining to grey Her discarded future Il fait mauvais. Lutte après lutte Try after try Hearts want to love And Verity tried A magpie and a half Three wings, two beaks One encounter for a lifetime Forty winks, Forty weeks Lutte après lutte Try after try Hearts need to love So Verity cried When curiosity thrills you Could it eventually kill you? Two golden bills of superstition A monochromatic premonition One for sorrow, two for joy No middle value, one ill-fated boy. He’ll never ever know the truth of his birth He’s unlikely to realise that he came off worst. Lutte

Louisville Sky-Jewellery. She took advantage of the bursting fireworks, The rainbows drooling over their smoked backdrop. Squeals leaked procrastination Into the condensation Of gunpowder in the tearful sky Thunder over Louisville Smoke, Smoke makes the eyes of the couples fill As they delight and overexcite At glamourised markings of warning lights, While their shoulders alligned Their hearts recognised that This earaching bliss was too much to miss The women clamour while they’re saturated with glamour And the sparks kiss the sky Before they fall in their eyes He’ll clasp onto her shoulders. He’ll nev