Stuart Miller-Osborne

At 1302 this afternoon Bitter Everest Confessed to my murder This is not a confessional poem

Yesterday I visited The Gender Neutral Toilets Of a chic art gallery And found an abandoned miscarriage In Cubicle Two I reported this to the owners Who ran a Lavender Airline In a Budapest Square

They were a long way from home These gentle Huddersfield girls Paddling in a low sea They hugged anonymously Norma Jean and Gail

The wild dogs have entered the desert They are killing the innocents We are planning our revenge This is the Final War

I once fell asleep on a nudist beach in the South of France It was the most luxurious sleep that I have ever enjoyed I say I slept but I was aware of the sounds of the waves And the idle chatter of other people on the beach When I awoke I was surprised to…

You are never more lovely Than when you sit in the sunlight With a full lime in your palm Listening to the sounds Of the summer city

Millions and millions of bubbles Searching for their freedom As the water cascades down From an unblemished sky I am swimming through These small pockets of air And am witnessing a beauty That blinds without warning I know that my visit will be brief As this a savage beauty that kills

Blessed are the cunts In Thorpe For they will inherit Scunthorpe This is not funny Freddie This is not even The Scunthorpe Problem And quite why you mention the Bible Just illustrates the vagueness of your mind Other than that I like your play on words

What are you reading Ophélie Why have you typed my name in bold Because you are important to me I do not consider myself important You are This poem is about your summer My summer What are you reading The Year of Magical Thinking Is that the Joan Didion book Yes Look at the cover…

I am travelling on the blue train again The sun is setting behind the lavender hills My journey will be a fragile experience It will soon be forgotten by those who travel