Stuart Miller-Osborne

My drapes are still closed although the party ended many days ago The clothes that I wear reek of piss and sweat after my nights of excess My sad captains have returned to their sharp senses And have left me here in this room as I have abandoned mine I live from one fuck dream […]

I had felt sick that morning and found myself in an unpleasant loo in a shopping mall where I shit freely and without reason As I looked at the door I saw evidence of recent homosexual activity which sickened me even more After an age I reached forward to the paper dispenser and found it to […]

The philosopher Democritus once said   Of truth we know nothing   For truth is in a well   But that is about to change as I saw truth   Emerge naked from her well   With a sharp whip in her hand   Liars and actors take heed of my timely warning   For […]

Last month the Royal Family visited my small town As I was unimportant I did not meet them And spent the day in my perfumed bath When the splendour had subsided I visited the beach How fragrant I was I picked up a pebble And awoke it from its slumbers It began to speak to […]

In the multi-coloured craze room Anne and Daphne merged without protest Into the rapid patterns of the poppy cloth         After the painting Sarah Rose Troughton 

I can see your withered petals The season has not been kind to you But you still retain a faded splendour Which illuminates your imaginary cell

I am reading Moby Dick in the shadow of my church Shower clouds threaten but pass over me without issue The wind is chilly for early May Great Days are promised

All was silent in my room when I returned I had been shoplifting again Which is an art And I am Michelangelo I only steal high grade goods A handbag here a dress there Underwear is so easy to steal As long as you have a generous coat I look from my window at the […]

I am walking with you along the Champs-Elysees We are both thinking of the long days and nights That we have spent together In our guest house in Place Vendome A friend from the future has told me That Paris might burn in years to come But all that burns at present Are the passions […]

Only the warmest of summer days are committed to memory   Others fade into mystery and are seldom recalled   You played the part of an ingénue rather well   But this is said to have covered your darker secrets   Byron once noted in a memorable jest that   The Cant is much stronger […]