a decapitant
on a metal bench
outside the converted church
where could I go
then for my conversions
where could I rest

tesco express
Piccadilly red wings
dripping from my fingers
a crumpled suit stretched
hung by the neck
my guillotine body

body-bed-body torturous
he read for hours
until the night feeling & bedsheets
undisturbed
more than a form
& the long-dead

I had a friend
who used to inject
ink straight
into his arteries
black tracks
running up his arms;

z—-
with codeine to see her
ripped flesh & ripped bodice
both to trace the scars so
similar to mine & tell me
please

creations bare bones
now fresh frost curves nudity
living silken suit
sky heaves as life leaves
tense and laboured atmosphere
ice rolls and rises