Sogni d’oro


Text the days, and music the nights,
And most mornings sleeping
In reveries of words and sounds
The mind is somewhere keeping.

Sogni d’oro: Italian, ‘dreams of gold.’


The glorious woman is coming in,
The black woman, the white woman.
In fact, every woman who enters is glorious
And I am ready for them.

Moving song


Time to be off, time to move on,
Time to see more of the world.
These walls are creaking, definitely creaking,
Time to be off somewhere else.

The different drum


At 27, it seems late to be
The brightest shooting star, and
The stars are young. But my youth was glorious too,
All bongos in the rain.

Kreuzberg sonata


Kreuzberg in the rain
Is as beautiful as her,
Lying on the bed
With thighs ajar.

Their story


A woman reduced to radical powerlessness
With the warmth pressed against her chest,
And a man, wheeling and bleary smiling,
Hears the faraway click of a latch.

Throwing themselves back and forth.
Their sound is kuh, kuh, kuh.
There is no-one about, I watch nature
Doing its thousand year work.

Let’s go to the beach, and
Celebrate the lives ascribed to us,
Eat chocolate cake, drink wine from foam cups,
And lie together naked under the dusk.



The prisoner singing torch songs to his warder,
‘Ooo bossum, you treat me so bad.’
‘Shut up!’ The warder jangles his keys, aggressive.
‘Quit hollering! Don’t you sing me that!’



Love your broken heart, it’s all you get to keep
And a copy of Darwin to read, along with
All the other great men who undermined your love,
Read them on a deckchair, the sun will cool your blood.