“How long have I been away?”

Carla became a bag of wet sand and a quiver ran under her face,

She was leaving to a place unwillingly visited.

Her body hardened to a frozen hunk while she flitted over the time barrier, through the pain-wall, to be cast down so cruelly into the fray.

Her new body was the trauma she had once felt, in the past – crystallised into a glass sculpture of herself.

She grasped to be let out behind rustling crepe paper eyelids and the screams escaped, but she couldn’t hear them under thick syrup.

“Flashback” gives the illusion of speed, but the shutter can keep clicking.

In the depths

Down in the depths where the man floats, you know, the man –

The man that we see. With the suit on. And that thing round his legs.

Well, down in the depths where the man floats,

The crabs sing and the fish nibble at his skin and it comes off in clumps like hair in the shower plug.

It really is a lovely environment to raise a shoal, plenty of plant life, plenty of air, just a shame he couldn’t extract it – could have made a nice life for himself down here in the depths, got a nice wife, couple of friends, some anemones.

I hate the Norrises

The Norrises sicken me.

The dad combs his hair back without swagger, smug.

Prim and proper- a proper pervert underneath.

He talks on the phone without hands, obnoxious. His mouth a cavern of acrid attitude.

He thinks he deserves more life than Joe, or Linda who works on the tills.

I flew inside the house once, let my geometric legs land on the wallpaper, spied him through my kaleidoscope eye.

He eats flies for breakfast, in a bowl, and he cups his balls under the table.

The kid’s got no chance – he’s gonna grow up to be a right little fly-eating prick.