The man got a tattoo.
He kissed it and touched it
And did things that people would talk about.
The tattoo never said a word.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

Every time he opened a door
Ryan would brace himself.
He never quite knew what for
but he imagined it’d be violent.
Or sexy.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

One day I will tell you absolutely everything.
You won’t understand most of it.
You’ll challenge me on some of it.
You’ll cry at the bits I stumble over.
You’ll smile at the bits I don’t understand.
One day I will tell you absolutely everything
And no longer be afraid.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

Jimmy really enjoyed looking in the mirror.
He’d never seen anything he truly loved in there
but was confident he would one day. 

© Carl Burkitt 2017

George grabbed a pen and Michael grabbed a sword
as they vowed to finally settle the argument
of who was more poetic.

Within a matter of seconds
Michael sliced off George’s hand
like a thing slicing a thing.

He then shoved the sword as a something would shove a sword
right through George’s quad making a kind of plop sound.
More of a squidge sound actually.
You know, it sounded just how you’d imagine.

Michael was so angry if he was an animal you’d have said
wow that animal is fuming
or if he was a plant you’d have said
wow that plant is annoyed
but he was a human so he was just so angry.

So angry he took the sword and sliced George’s cheek.

So angry he got the sword and sliced George’s cheek.

So angry he had the sword and sliced George’s cheek.

George hit the floor, breaking his spectacles,
Before Michael scraped out his eyes
And strangled him to death as a
bonafide hooligan from an organised crime unit would.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

The Lake District ran out of water.
The locals started all sorts of rumours as to why.

“Probably Jeff,” said one. “You know what he’s bloody like.”

Poor Jeff was away in France at the time
so couldn’t intervene as his neighbours
besmirched his name
and burnt his house down.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

The shirt flopped over the ironing board,
Gritted its teeth
And cursed Sunday nights.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

The man was big
AND he was clever

so he drank all of the beer
and all of the wine
on planet Earth.

Very big
and very clever,
indeed.

© Carl Burkitt 2017

He woke up with four legs.
He wasn’t entirely sure why or how, but he embraced it.
He took himself for a walk, had a wee on a tree and slept in the front room.

He woke up with eight legs.
He wasn’t entirely sure why or how, but he embraced it.
He climbed up the door frame, spun a web and slept beneath the moon.

He woke up with sixteen legs.
He wasn’t entirely sure why or how, but he embraced it.
He scuttled up a tree, curled up on a leaf and slept in a cocoon.

He woke up with two wings.
He wasn’t entirely sure why or how, but he hated it.
He refused to fly, snapped them off and slept until the end of time.

© Carl Burkitt 2017