THE SQUATTER

The squatter you never knew you had
in your spare room
is watching with indifferent eyes

from the shadows at three in the morning.
He hasn't the capacity
to feel for your suffering:

that glittering
of falling teardrops

that he will never experience,
being so ruthless a predator
without a shred of humanity.

The killer instinct is all-absorbing -
you are instantly forgotten
as Kamikaze fly

dives into sticky triangle
of house spider web...

RECANTATION

My wild child days I've given up:
those days of desperately seeking
mad alcoholic parties
is no longer my mindset's domain.
Black lace basques and micro minis
lie discarded in the stale darkness
of a locked and bolted chest.
They must not tell tales of who I was -
the metamorphosis
is all that matters now.

Aah... those seductively hedonistic yesterdays,
with their constant reckless cravings
that stunted the Soul's evolution.
No artificial elation nor lust fulfilment could ever hope
to satisfy ego's increasing demands
that filled an otherwise aimless life...
until you came
and taught me how to love.
Now I am someone else.
Pure, like a baby.

ENTITY

I have no heart, yet still I heartless go
in search of love. Non-physical,
should I then languish in limbo
for eternity, devoid of hope or aspiration?

In your dreams, feel invisible fingers
caressing the inner recesses of your mind.
Register my face. Love me, then forget me -
and us - when you awaken.

But a presence lingers at the edge of consciousness,
loving you in secret.
See me in the trees, the grass
and in a stranger's face:

an invisible overshadowing
that inexplicably disturbs your senses
and toys with your keypad, playing it like a piano.
The entity in the machine

composing messages with double meanings
that only you can decipher.
Then as your heartbeat quickens,
my image fills the screen...

ADAM & EVE

What does it mean to be a woman?
One might as well ask
what it's like to be
a chair, a flower or a horse.

Are not our breasts the same as man's
only bigger? The sole difference being
a random configuration of chromosomes
that also endows us with an extra rib.

And what is a uterus
but a biological instrument of the Gods:
a vessel for the manifestation
of  Divine concept into living matter?

So what part does man play
in this near-exclusive arena of womanhood?
In fact, does he have a role at all
in an age of commonplace lesbianism and cloning,

where feminism has become a God ( or should I say, Goddess? )
that grows daily into an accurate semblance
of the original Apple Tree - and bears fruit.
Except my fruit is rotting on the boughs.

It is only in his eyes that I have seen
the perfect apple, the answer to my dreadful famine.
So I reach out and savour each mouthful...
for I am a daughter of Eve.