Sometimes I look inside my brain and like not what i see, so i get my brain broom out and look for cobwebs to sweepee But the spiders in my cobwebbed brain are happy where they are, so we negotiate a little pact for peace and brains green par. But the sneaky little fuckers spin their webs both day and night and before long my insides give me shudders, gift me fright. So back out comes the brain broom and i sweep ferociously, because you break a pact with mummy, with the broom

Full to the fucking brim with bees with wants and wishes with the heat of 8000 suns with oozing lava with questions with the eyes of the ravens from that forest we wandered with pulls and pushes with wills and wills and wills with villainous intent with stained butcher aprons with tiny futile forgotten gods with pebbles from the windy river with acupuncturist punctures' with bent forks and blunt knives with yearning with a deep desire to be alive before, again with rage with

Taught myself think small, is all, can't think big no more, for sure. All or nothing, black and white, sleepy days and sleepless nights. Thinking big is hard and breathless thinking small feels safe but restless. How to think big, big girl pants on, fronting frightened brain, pantheon. Deep brain jungle is the safest; out there? Gasping fear filled spaces. Try to think big, mind collapses not what i once was, now, molasses. Tried to numb it, fight it, bear it, time to burrow

Micky magic, inside out, mystic manis panic bout. Macky mint stick, snakes and jowls, if you hit it luck allows. Midnight magic, steering haptics drunken psychic beetle antics. Portals open, snuck sneaks through, if you use it, lucky you. All above and some asunder blinded are we all by wonder. Once together pieces puzzled, drink the dranken hot glue guzzled. Micky magic, far from over, creeping, crawling, four leaf clover. Copper, nickel, deep dark fear once began there's so

These jeans are tight, my head can feel them blood not going to my feet. Holy moly tightest jeans, brains from my ears just might secrete. Got them done up, pulled the zipper, feeling dizzy, might delete. Waist is wasting legs are legging Oh! So tight but oh so neat.

Mannerisms, laughter, eye colour, curls, inherited through generations, preciouser than pearls. I didn't get your eyes or height, I got dads' build and anger. A messy mind that's out of sight, your freckles and your rancour. To know what truly came from you I'd have to know you knew you; so i could know you too, to know what's yours and mine and true. I got your nose but not shared teeth, I got dad's sense of humour, I got your goodness and your sadness, never called late blo

Down the hallway, up the stairs apples, pears and gummy bears. start your morning, tip your toes free fall, offal, beans and bones. Choose them wisely, beasts and bores, they fill your cupboards, dragons' hoards. Piles and mountains, dishes, rags, feet are toasty, packed are bags. Leave at midnight, rush away, awake but empty dawns the day. Numbers crunching, gravel counted, a mother's love is never doubted. Grown up, grown out, jelly beans, nothing wasted, shouts and screams

An inordinate number unhinged at the join, a murder, a magpie, a scavenger, coin. To terms they all come, the harpy, the crone, another adventurer, ardent her throne. Pull them apart then together once more, alive on the inside but blood on the floor. Screaming and scraping, pillaging, spent. Knocks on the door pay the dues, not the rent. A light in the swamp alight from pie-pony, she's shivering, shaking accompliced and bony. Once more through the pages twist tissue and skin

At night I reassure my daughter nothing's hiding in her room. No monsters, robbers, foxes, wolves, no nasties in the dark, no doom. She blinks her eyes and nods her head, hops in her bed so bravely but i can tell she's not believing anything I'm saying. She's seen the ghost that lives with us rush past her on the landing; how can you tell her nothing's there when she knows it in good standing? Foxes, wolves and robbers aren't a worry in our house but my dear departed mother i

A fanny pack wearer is a stylish money bearer, a purveyor of fine fashion who makes people stop and starer. A fanny pack a day, they say, keeps woes and worries far away; off in the fanny pack dimension wearing one inhibits tension. Strap one on and soon discover fannies shift Banal to Mother. What shall you keep up in your fanny? A little ghost, some cash, hand sani? So sew your fanny pack today! A handmade fanny is the way. Fast fahion? Fuck it! Wear around a handbag bucket