very rough ideas

I leave my imprint on you
like teethmarks in wax
knead your shoulders
like clay, make you bleed
twice on cotton sheets
like a baptism massacre
dab at your heart
with a sponge

like an ink scar
of the past
a mistimed blink
of the skin
snaking up your wrist
to your elbow
I trace each lie
in permanent
needle point

you burn a smiling face
into my wrist
watch as each twisting
serpant writhes, spits
blue venom
and the eyes on your arm
become mine, the deep
indigo pools
you once swam in
now hissing acid pitts
like warm apple core
sockets, I tease
seeds from your pores
to plant

Frozen Door (2nd draft)

Among the asylum
of thrusting priests
I am nymph skinned
bleeding freckles
on the silent tiled floor
You plead martyrdom

as I chew the door handle.

I lose you on 'A Szerelem Sziget'
in light dust lacing
but I am a sailor heaving
through indigo oils
through labourers folded faces

I press a fingernail
through waxen fruit
drain the rivers to sand spines
hear your neck crunch
on Salome's pillow

Frozen Door

Written in response to a visit to the Museum of Fine Art.

Among the asylum

of thrusting priests

I am nymph skinned

bleeding freckles

on the silent tiled floor

martyrdom pleads

through the quiet awe

of misunderstanding

I lose you on 'A Szerelem Sziget'

in the light dust lacing

I am a sailor heaving

through indigo oil

through labourers folded faces

I press a fingernail

through waxen fruit

drain the rivers to sand spines

I hear your neck crunch

on Salome's pillow

Tell Us Something We Don't Know (2nd draft)

Eyes rolled like eggs

in the cutlery drawer

The coffee stains

on the rug

began to bleed

That looks uncomfortable

I gathered the eyes

in a pan

lit the gas

The pupils were pips

to be pulled

with tweezers

They hummed

in a bowl

A bubble broke

the surface

of the water

I covered my mouth

with my hand

Pardon you

I'll leave you to it

I danced

with the fireguard

during the wait

but he was overexcitable

and had to be sent

to the cupboard

under the stairs

to calm down

I smoked a cigarette

to cover the screaming

The challenge had made

my hands shake

the air was blue lace

Revolution Day (unfinished)

From the park

to Heroes Square

grandparents hold

their inheritors aloft

like flags, painted faces

blend into charcoal

helmets as beetles

swarm the streets,

slice the junctions

with guillotine blades,

an almost unnoticed

handover before coffee

shop windows.

Cyclists dismount,

trams judder, a tin

voice echoes over

conversations

about the varying

degrees of McDonalds

standardisation

across continents,

'But we haven't tried

Hungarian food yet'.

Remove and walk.

Blacked out eyes

of oil coach slugs

unloading ants

onto the pavement.

An old man flutters

against plastic shutters

in the tunnelled

underground,

resurface into the

eye storm,

a headlight looms

and fades.

Alize

I can remember drinking

that too-sweet wine

in the sorozo, where fat

men sweat over fruit machines.

I led you through charcoal

wallpaper to the wrong

side of the looking glass,

road signs shrank

like night butterflies

in paper cups, owls

framed a tiny door.

We were lizards basking

in a decollage of glass,

brick and plastic, crows

pecking at a landmine,

we bent teaspoons

down throats

to steal yawns.

Among a shadow puppet

theatre of the grotesque

silhouetted on gables,

we are butter drenched.

I clutch my brown envelope

like a lunchbox,

and leave.

Sculpture (unfinished)

Discontent
with folding tissue
paper ducks
you developed a taste
for innards,

the hippopotamus skull
was the beginning,
like russian dolls
you scoop out layer
after layer, hang
them out to dry
like a butcher's
carcass,

your obsession
slit my chest open,
ripped my ribcage
like a corset,
filled me.

no matter
that the plaster
bloats the hollows
of my cheeks
like a drown
victim,
clogs my eyes
with pebble tears,

strung up,
skin shredded,
you display my core

like a burst plum

dripping from the sky.

Picnic

An ink crow

smudges the mist

of the sattelite orchard,

294 television screens

like Dali's window,

the transposed bodies

of men flickering,

etrog sweet.

I am the heart hunter

plunging through the trees,

prick the pregnant

boughs, burst fruit

flesh with my tongue.

I write my section six

on sliced white bread,

my right to squat

inside you,

but up ten hundred

flights of stairs

where light melts

my shoes, you wrap

yourself tight,

nut skinned.

My abortion sprayed

up the trunk,

I settle down

to peel.

Photgraph of Budapest

This city is a brittle leaf
Dry skin peels
from buildings,
carcasses of age,
bullet sprayed.
Metal cages clasp
construction sites
that swell the sky.
Streets are missing
teeth, cleanly dug
gaps of earth.
Statues roam
past parliament,
grazing
marble buffallo.

Cyclones tear
our throats out
beneath the pavement,
steel inspectors
pierce my face,
the beggars
dormitories expand
through the subways,
bare mattresses,
fruit box bedside
tables, couples
wrapped
in reading.

I tie parcel tags
to trees, label them as
Turcsi Orr,
Levél Bomba,
Diótöro
I glue wooden
picture frames
to broken windows
and call it
No Sugar,
Leftovers,
Ocean.

Look.

Biscuit

She took my hand,
led me through staggering
streets. We paused only
to wash our reflections
from puddles.

I scattered pieces of myself
through the city like crumbs,
scrunched beneath the cushions
of a dilapidated sofa,
pooled around the drain
in a flooded subway tunnel,
bobbing in tear
tracks on the road.

You found us curled
in the pocket
of your best friend’s
leather jacket.

You Taught Me How to Make Wine Bottles Cry (Inspired by Louise Bourgeois' Cells)

I swallow his words
like small spiders
in my sleep,
awake pinned
by his arms,
spine twisted
in his palms
until I prickle,
thistled.

Our children
are glass bottles
we hang
from the ceiling,
untie at night
and roll
across the carpet
like clicking marbles.

Missing

If I go have a shower,
will you still be here
when I get back?
You hover by the door,
pluck threads from the towel
in your hand.

Each time
in your absence
I toy with the idea
of disappearing.

If I buy breakfast,
you won’t leave
while I’m gone?
Your pockets crackle,
you scoop change from a bowl
on the desk.

I could dress quickly,
click my heels
and leave
no note.

If I make some coffee,
don’t go anywhere
will you?
You scatch your stomach
and scan the floor
for trousers.

I was not prepared
for your reaction
when I hid
in the wardrobe.

Ecseri - unfinished

A chest of haggard dolls
and a beaten roller skate
snap at my fingers.

A cacophony of abandoned
string instruments
creak on a shelf,
glass gas lamps tarnish.

I am too afraid to touch
the porcelein or examine
strung up street signs
clanging in the wind.

Caged chairs clamber
across one another, discarded
rubber limbs writhe
in a heap on a cart,

scarred clocks leer
at ruby film posters,
flocks of chandeliers loom
over lock jawed wardrobes

Purple furred, beside an oven,
she sells postcards of
bear baiting, a frozen lake,
a faded holiday camp,
wishing they were here.

Lemon sun through
the reflection
of a window,
the hills
breathe cherry smoke,
the wind blows
chemical kisses.

You stroke my palm
with green fingers.

She spoke four
languages
behind my back.

It is still cheating,
you said, Just because
she is a woman.
I am not above
hitting a woman.

I pressed my idiolect
between
paper feathers.

On our return, an old
woman sits
by the roadside
holding a cardboard box
filled with coloured paper
and small yellow birds.
Fortunes.

Dolour

Eating green apples

on a grey day

in a white room,

the lamp plays

hopscotch

on parquet wood tiles,

the glass bell

of the water pipe

sighs.

Outside the window

two men argue

about the price

of flowers,

a tram sails past,

ash sprinkles

the sky.

Yesterday was salmon

and falafel, tonight

will be

an Irish cat,

tomorrow

I will hurl

your guitar

through the glass

and

leave.