Victor Brauner p.a. morbid. have been writing for quite a while but have only started to do anything with my 
writing this year. have been published in the Kenaz magazine as well as performed at all 
three launch events and the various smaller poetry events in middlesbrough, 
stockton and darlington.  i am a musician and artist. 
 

August Night

The bodies slow to lead.
Soft openings ooze sweat.
Thick tongue licks mouth corner.
Speechless, dumb.

Sheets thrown back to reveal
Stark white bodies.
Sweat sheen blurring the edges.

Whether fucking or asleep
The thick animal parts
Move by themselves.

The mind tears as it struggles 
Through this miasma of meat.

Blinds flapping uselessly in what 
Is only the illusion of wind.

August night with its withered stars.




 RACHAEL


                                    1.
       
I could imagine you sweating
nectar, in between bouts of
housework, cigarette held
in your delicate hand.

I could imagine you sweating
nectar, dabbing at your eyes
with a cloth, wondering all the
time whether I could smell it.

I could imagine you sweating
nectar, watching it form in beads
on your neck as I, in total awe
of you, lick it away with my tongue.

I could imagine you sweating
nectar, the sun pushing its
timid way into the bedroom, 
a sheen of love in the dark.

Thursday 12th of May 2005
                    

                   2.

Her belly rose like a dune, 
a caesarean scar where the tide-line 
of her last baby had been. 

The sea was all about her, 
dark and blue and raging. 

The wind in her face, 
eyes blown wet with tears. 

The spray from the water,
cold and foreboding.

In her kitchen the knives 
would slip and cut her hands 

shards of broken cup find their
way into the flesh of her thighs, 
drawing blood.

The moon drew her upwards
reacting against a confusion of day. 

Too many things in too great
a focus. About her this house, 
children and pets, shadows growing. 

I can hear the sea in her, almost 
as if she were a shell I held to my ear. 

Yet I said nothing. 

I stood and watched 
how she moved 

how the wind played 
across the surface of the water.

16:24 Friday 13th of May 2005

 
                        3.


She moves her hands 
away from the sink, 
placing them in the 
stretched rectangle of 
light that is thrown 
across the work surface. 

For a moment there is 
nothing. And then the 
silence, mounting into 
something strange, 
she feels the stirring of 
some new sensation 
between the horns of 
her pelvis. There the 
flesh, soft and clam-like, 
is leaking a residue of 
that ocean we all, at 
one time or another, 
have crawled from. 

The light swells 
to take up the shape 
of her arms, tiny 
hairs glistening as 
the awareness of 
some other world is 
waking within her. 

Speechless in that 
instant before it 
dissolves and the 
screaming of the 
kids brings her 
back to her self. 

Back to her body, 
the house around 
her. Water 
dancing with light.

18:34 Friday 13th of May 2005.




(28.01.05) (coming down)

Every time I scratch 
the surface you are there. 

I try and ignore it. I rush 
away from my feelings, but
there’s nowhere to hide. 

If I cut a way out into my 
arms, you pour out of the 
wound like a ruby red finger 
accusing me of cowardice. 

We cut each other to ribbons 
and watch, fascinated, as the 
blood flows. Then call this lust 
and need love. What the fuck 
have we been doing?