I rearranged the moles on my arm,
folded the window like a newspaper,
changed my eyes for lightbulbs,
melted the blinds into a pork pie,
posted the tiles to a badger,
sold the soap for bigger shoulders
then wrote your eulogy
filled with things only you would understand,
like the punch of mint shower gel
making a cracked scalp scream,
and sent you a text saying Hi.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Written using sentences found by searching
for ‘clown’ in my WhatsApp search bar

Have you seen the clowns?
Couple of clowns outside where we got married.
The absolute clowns.
The clean shaven long haired clowns.
The stupid clowns.
I’ve asked everyone except you clowns.
I’m just clowning, no stress,
like having a neighbour who’s really into clowns
and, also, your grandfather was murdered by a clown.
She’s a clown.
He’s a clown.
It turns out, I’m a clown.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Abnormal load
was written
on the back
of the white van
passing sheep
whispering in the fields
nodding at the skeleton
sitting in a red Fiesta
pretending to be a gorilla
for a speechless firework.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

I like hearing the voices
my friends who have dogs
have to use to tell them No.
It makes me feel safe
knowing blood that grew
from similar soil to me
has the power to command
and protect and love deeply.
I hear them talking
when I float off to the bad place,
or say yes to plans
when all I want to do
is sit next to the universe
and count its freckles.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

I lick my finger
and rub your cheek
and your bones rattle red
to the tune of my
800 year old voice
singing your favourite song
down the bread aisle
trying to hold your hand.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Her fingers are holding the hand of an alien,
a forbidden straw, an adult water pistol,
an outstretched metallic nipple,
the drooling nose of a puppy we’ll get
when a patch of grass outside
your bedroom is a reality.
Your teeth are axes
chopping the forecourt trees into pages
to teach you how to spell
Her hands fill emptiness.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

Written using sentences found by searching
for ‘some’ in my WhatsApp search bar.

I’m just putting some trousers on.
I’ll do you a recording of bath time some time soon.
Something something pigs ear.
I got some bourbon from our neighbour.
Might give some money to charity.
Always good to see someone happy.
I’ll look for some boxes.
I’ll chuck some sausages in now,
some Prosecco for the park,
I’ve already snuck you some jelly beans.
I just got some bad news.
It always helps to know someone.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

His eyes were chopping boards and trivets,
the wheels on an out of stock drinks trolley,
the miniature holes on a novelty cheese grater,
over cooked meatballs, melted Dime Bars,
the fading Two Metres
on blue and yellow floor stickers.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

is to fall
into a dinner lady
with a grazed knee
and a battered sausage.
It is drowning in aftershave
and garlic in molars.
To think of hugs
is to stick to the stomach of a man
who enjoyed your attempted volley,
to say How are you?
to say Thanks for asking,
to feel fingertips on ribs
unsure if they’re going to break.
To think of hugs
is to remember and restart.

© Carl Burkitt 2021

What are you like in the evening?
Are you a morning person?
I’m getting worse at small talk.
I have zero opinions.
I watch the soft spot on my son’s head
vibrating like the heart of a kitten
punching against ribs.
He has the eyes of a man
who could pick up the phone
and discuss the day’s news with ease.
I had a dream last night:
I walked him to school
and his tongue fell off.

© Carl Burkitt 2021