I got lost in a stranger’s beard.
It swallowed me like a furry sinkhole.
I drowned in a skunk-hair swamp.
On my search for an exit
I passed crumbs the size of a Sunday roast.
I jumped from milk blob to milk blob
like Sonic the Hedgehog
on his last life in the Marble Zone.
When I resigned myself to the hairy grave
I fell inside his mouth.
His tongue tasted of my judgements.
His teeth wouldn’t stop chatting.
His canines stung with a sharp wit;
cutting through incisor insights and molar memories
of a life I’d be lucky to taste.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

When characters on reality dating shows
list their preferences
of height, weight, hair style,
muscle definition, sense of humour,
bank balance, interests, work ethic,
girth, age, horoscope, fashion sense,
whistling ability, history of farming,
pizza making techniques, burping range, number of languages invented
and level of skin-invisibility in a partner,
I’m struck by how
few people would want me in their home.
When my eyes blink goodbye to the day
I float in the breath of a chance taker.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

The sign outside the church said
A fresh approach to funerals.
I imagined the bodies of loved ones
popped in rockets and fired back to the universe.
I imagined a rollercoaster hearse,
a Live At The Apollo eulogy, a Nando’s wake.
I imagined hologram gravestones, BBQ cremations,
an Order of Service not made in Microsoft Word.
I imagined a corpse on a bouncy castle, ball-pit coffins,
climbing frames made from rib bones.
I imagined He was such a sweet lad
balanced with every mistake he ever made.
I imagined them not happening at all.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Gravel Faceplant
Crispy Quiff
Mince Pie Nightmare
The Tall Boy With The Small Boy
Mustard Pupil
Discarded Foreskin
Kann Ich Bitte Meinen Blazer Ausziehen?
Tonsil Blisters
Chicken Pox Shaft
Crow Toe
Tequila Bile
Nightclub Loafer
Stoic Eulogy
Therapy Virgin
Knackered Optimist

© Carl Burkitt 2020

There’s a bench in my local park
dedicated to the loving memory of a woman
with the same initials as me.
I like the idea
of being useful when I’m dead.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Made a risotto. Driven a car.
Enjoyed a bath. Shaved my head.
Successfully wiped my arse sitting down.
Disliked my voice in the shower.
Won the lottery.
Properly got rid of my stammer.
Bought an animal.
Screamed as loudly as I’d like.
Finished a sudoku.
Pulled a moonie at a funeral.
Admitted how hard I find things.
Peeled off my skin and removed some ribs
to make an umbrella.
Not puked after tequila.
Genuinely been happy with a mirror.
Held a snake.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

And that’s how it happened.
In the blink of an eye in the dark.
But then you know that
because you were there,
living an earthquake I never saw.
A moment that turned my bones
into the chassis of a car I’d never drive
and my skin into ham
for the sandwich at a wake.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

My skin is the only onesie
that seems to fit me.
But from time to time
it feels like I’ve slipped
into someone else’s.
On the occasions I’ve wished
to tear those off,
the zipper on my spine has jammed;
a set of smiling metal teeth reminding me
that sometimes things are not easy,
and that’s OK.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Whatever you’re doing right now –
whatever you’re making or saying
or eating or yelling or discovering
or losing or breaking or kissing
or staring at or buying or standing on –
you are the only person on Earth
that is doing that exact thing right now.
Unless you’re synchronised swimming.
But even then, you’re the only one
swimming or drowning in that specific
patch of water. So splash about.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

Let’s dance.
You and me.
Let’s dance
like everyone’s watching
and welcome them.
They’re only watching
to learn how to dance
like nobody’s watching.
Let’s dance.
Let’s two-step
our way into a world
that doesn’t care
(in a good way).

© Carl Burkitt 2020