Vortex is one of my darkest pieces, drawing on the imagery within Heart Of Darkness and Apocalypse Now and linking that sense of entrapment, heat and submission with an act of physical love. In reality the subject matter is sufficiently indecent to render the live reading of the poem tragi-comic (or downright hysterical) as opposed to the darkly masochistic message that, perhaps, leaps from the page. It is of course a billet-doux to all womankind. The final couplet has evolved as a north london dinner party ice-breaker. Which is a good thing. Just added a video that seems to capture the zeitgeist x
Vortex
I welter in that fertile hothouse again.
In the musty whirlpool where rivers meet
An eclipse of thigh my only friend,
Your torso trembles to the lizard flick
Your supine lust the scented garden I tend.
A jack-knifed duvet my mosquito net
Excluding notions of love and time
But way beyond clichés and sauvignon sweat
There’s a reason I lap to your selfish
cries;
Angels somewhere applaud my Amazon effort
(Replanting the rainforest for a missionary
cause,)
Your heart – the horror, the horror – at
journey’s end,
Your sobs of satisfaction my lonely reward.