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from Creation Myth [#29] You are sunk Your hair grease-sagged eyes panda-popped undying devotion to the brown-crust nails What are you? child man void? Drunk on deception there - zero is all. We clamber into adulthood knuckle-scuffed but you pristine but for the stains of indolent refrain find a soft spot paw an alcove retreat and reframe. - Simon Huggins, 13th September 2002

from Creation Myth [#28] On the top deck of the bus On the way to the start of lessons that will make me grown-up providing independence makes me loathe the soft drone of this gentle bus. The windows mist the shared warmth in and at the front two small boys in uniform gusto cadence sing of a prayer, I am taken there ten years on I am here, my goal perhaps realized. Simon Huggins, 13th September 2002

from Creation Myth [#27] A line of mothers inversely hanging freshly washed on lines with bumps and mountainous breasts obscuring faces nothing will save them from the scissor lop the excavating scoop that plucks the unborn into holes and packaged, consumer-friendly dead. I take each baby, two legs fat-folds splintered into wedge-hooks babe-upon-babe pass indigent until welcomed cling-filmed onto cooker-tops. Billingsgate emanates from some subterranean orifice fish-shit bubbles to your skin without tail or fins even you recognize vileness. Old, my bereavement chunters on. Alien landscape, warping vision is me / not me. I have impinged the twin-soul madness of one done with a world of wasted lives a friend of old - who distantly calls, calls... The cold dawn flow of ions threatens storms filters dreams from this beaded brow a real anodyne pressing some squirming loathing presently down. Simon Huggins, 12th September 2002

from Creation Myth [#26] Temporary job. Temporary life. Pass her in the street displacing credibility brush-touched and turn memorable briefly thrust and cut her life - complex now - thanks for this non-adoption - adapted out the situation - placenta central grows grows - oh! for one explicit conjugation - oh! and split split split forming one new whole Simon Huggins, 11th September 2002

from Creation Myth [#25] This perpetual cylinder whose jagged massive teeth hook twice-splintered legs paltry specimens pluck-puckered and warm rolls slowly for collaboration up, over gone in a trice. And more, still more skinny bodies conveyed in flattened fashion perspective reveals an infinite distance; The spitting hatch is but ten feet away. Chicken armageddon. I, in my stripy coveralls small part to play in this *Belsen* revival. You though efficient and dexterous sloughing brown stains each body a culture a friend after friend. This is creation. Hushed tones - reverent: The Tunnel beckons - The roar undeafened by a porthole door. And my friend recounts the wheelie-bins full of chicken heads the occasional cheeky wink slurried by the churn of steel. I sat that night, stunned enough to pick the meat from my chicken legs unstained as yet. Simon Huggins, 9th September 2002

Builder *from Creation Myth [#24]* It is a timeless task, constructing you my perfect friend of all the sloughed off parts of me I send my parts to you. My fingers raw from bites and chews shaping you from the delicate excrements I treasure in this new form that is you. I wipe my brow with brown you know that admonishment would be the norm for this cruelty of perversely natural you. You are finished, stickily open your eyes are born, I am Mother. Smile, a smile? You stand, joints slide and Brother, hugs me inside. Simon Huggins, 4th September 2002

from Creation Myth [#23] And upon leaning to scrape the waste to that watery place where your young thrive, in bubbling wiggle-dance the outhouse chaste for years, engaged I notice the buzzless graceful arcs of gnat-flies, rim-perched, now randomly advancing, some sucking on my insides. This implied disregard fills like shit fills the mossie bowl the hatred joy implores, "Destroy!" Unhappy clapping for hours as ignored, shit crusts to hair. Simon Huggins, 3rd September 2002

from Creation Myth [#22] Let this sewer regurgitate me, up to the shade that is light, replenish me in the decay of life, let flakes not stop the seed of guilty love I feel, still feel. Dissention laps from my membrane, the wilting lilt of farts that emanate though once habitual, now feels strange to feel no dust flake from this skin-space. You feed your prophylactic skin/string down through drain-slit to scoop my feigned frown up. Simon Huggins, 3rd September 2002

from Creation Myth [#21] Do you think brother, it'd be right to tiptoe in, hop quickly out of counting the drone? It's coming back stronger than ever, angrier brother that our insect selves share nothing back, filtrate unabated waste. And that is when, with shock this unified consequence lops the head off my cock y confidence. "Brother, regulator of sense you know your nonsense babble is rhetoric death, stop and all reap some consequence." He pauses. I understand his place. And before resuming this places a hand on my shoulder wipes a tear from my face. Simon Huggins, 2nd September 2002

from Creation Myth [#20] "Tell me, did it change your life?" I shall tell you streamers of truth blow blow watch them distract you relax you, detached from your thoughts. "It was no big deal. But now it's done." bare - its urging need to drag me on discerning finally its pining call narcotic I - who drives this urgent call? "You seem at ease. You are a man?" Indeed, the ease is but one fledgling predator pawing at the playing dead. I am overfed on indiscrimination. "Yes indeed. And now I taste taste taste." Sucking on the variegated honeydew flowers that shift in seasons taste hives accommodating peregrinatory dreams. "It seems your taunts are alkali." When whimsy pales, perhaps the man is tired of childhood games. Perhaps I espy the border futility. Humility high. "Keep your dreams. Start life small." I do not wish your presence here. I wish you to be my anchor boy a proof that some may falter still whilst we, as Adults, stave your fall. Simon Huggins, 31st August 2002