Seb Wheeler

The Pope’s head has exploded.

PURPLE
BLACK
GOLD

(You are plunged into darkness
The hot glare of a spotlight appears.)

Shop soiled mannequins covered in fake finery
Enter stage left and dance
Upon the surface of a perfect half moon.
They start to throb and sweat,
Yellow grey pearls
Drip melt
Fall between the cracks of old wooden
Boards.

(The bop of a skiffle trio falls through an open window
Would you care to dance?)

I’d rather hang
From the rafters throwing confetti
Torn cut ripped glimmering gloss,
One hundred reflections.
And there they are
Until the dark wears off,
Swapping fake plastic jewellery
Playing Chinese whispers in the corner
Making constellations out of the mess on the
Floor.

(Nobody will notice you leave)

CRIMSON
BRIGHT WHITE
PINK
They put dynamite behind his ears.

Seb Wheeler is amazing. Me and Seb have collaborated on projects of all kinds for years. He has just recently been showing me the poetry he's been righting and its ace. The latest thing we have done together is this, and it looks great.
Above is the poem Head IV.