John G. Hall

I banged down doors
I ripped out throats
looking for the words

(it came to this)

I searched father's colostomy bag
I opened a dying patients arteries
hunting for you and your adverbs,

(it tied me down)

I pulled on pink rubber gloves
I delved up and down your passages
probing for signs of 'right characters',

(it flushed me out)

I unzipped delicious leather cased pencils
I chewed the end of many blue veined pens
sampling for evidence of your good taste,

(it poisoned my letters)

I slept with conferences of curly swine
I came up smelling of roses and shite
sniffing for clues to your whereabouts,

(it made me sense)

I listened well to many a weasel's speech
I noted every white mans forking tongue
trying to catch that fabled Freudian beast,

(it made me slip)

I banged down doors
I ripped out throats
looking for the words,

(it came to this)

but in the end after many
miserable examples of my
contrived dialogue metered
out to look & feel like verse,

I gave up the quest to find you
instead i kept my golden silence
in a lacquered box labelled Haiku,

until love comes
needing an ocean of me
to cover it's earth,

there I will sit alone
busy filling the gaps
of your dashed lines
with my white space.

*Sometimes a poet's muse just needs a good kicking

(O baby O Yeah)
You grew into me
a pink hearted salmon
diving up a waterfall,
(O baby O Yeah)
into my bloody stream
sat curled in my atrium
a sex maddened foetus,
(O baby O Yeah)
yanking loves umbilical
until red snowdrops fell
flecked on bathroom tile.
(O baby O Yeah)
In the snap of your back
sits a sensitive lithograph
arching & aching for relief,
(O baby O Yeah)
my clawing fingers flailed
to no avail on woman's script
but I still dream of living ink.
(O baby O Yeah)

* An old failed porn star recalls a lost lust, lapsing occasionally into sex film cliches.