Wednesday 29 February 2012

SMOKING BAN JULY

fag butts fall from brown fingers
used/small meteors/dead tan flies

flakes of fluff soak up the rain/beige confetti 
all up the concrete steps
on 
the 
very 
edge of the ban

the very edge
of 
mean 
clean hospital grounds

we all flock there
              to laugh/die
fruitlessly endlessly bitching
smoking our wonderful fags

SOFA SNAP POP

tv; on
sofa; on it
a drink; sipping

time . . .

tv; an ad has fierce bass
sofa; i feel . . . 

that
this
Earth
would be better off more
understated
should barely be a 
     hint

(we overplay it all you know)

and from we where i am it mostly really is




Monday 27 February 2012

ICELAND - A CANVEY ISLAND OF THE MIND

pretty lady in the supermarket
                        big eyes, loose white top.
she is delicate
          like an antique occasional table
          but much more cheap.

this is a point in eternity
                  
like Iceland-
          a Canvey Island of the mind.



Sunday 26 February 2012

RADIO

rock n roll  
blues    
jazz
are
the religions and the art
of 
adult-pretending children

tune in to radio hifi and phones

too heavy for seesaws too occupied too tired
too cautious on all the short school nights

too lost too bloated too ravaged 
too many miles 
in 
too many shoes carried too many bags down too many roads

we listen/development arrested
to tunes on radio hifi and phones

rap
country
fusion and news is mashed up
into sonic rain bangs like rifles

(too much choice - if anything)

we can only wash in the water of the world
pouring
from
radio hifi and phones



Saturday 25 February 2012

SUMMER DRESS

you can really get your hands
up a summer dress.
maybe in a meadow laughing at tiny flowers
or
in a North London alley
up-and-coming piss on our trainers.

loose innocence
pretty as a picture (porn)
and slutty - slutty too.

beautiful succubus loves to dress up.
today; a summer dress.

floral
has access and cover
and
all sudden surprises like thistles
rendered soft
or
glimpsed mice/urban crickets singing dawn techno
when
your 
hand is
right up a summer dress.

summer dress
worn with almost unbearable self-consciousness
or
with terrifying open freedom.

its from a department store.
your hair is down.
you cry stories down my fingers.





18/07/07

Friday 24 February 2012

WHISKY IS A BOOZE


whisky is a god-
is a booze!
i bow to/humble
and weep . . .
if its gone again
or 
hurting 
me.

i notice i got green potatoes in a thin white bag 
on the kitchen chair.

green potatoes!

i am staring at them and pondering bigger things.
(whisky!)
 
datelines Browns wet summer
of clown car terrorists-
the doors fall off/hes on fire etc

weird wet summer fug.

Thursday 23 February 2012

SUN

suddenly
its not cold anymore.

the sky is a stretch of soft brushed blue.

my street is like a picture out a storybook-
young mother walking bouncing children home
her
arms
full with padded parkas and colourful flasks-
the white haired widow outside her ochre house on the corner
washing her hyundai hatchback-
neighbour opposite rolls out her bins/her arm not in plaster anymore.

they have all taken in my bulky mail and amazon packages for me.

but!

i see an apocalyspe/its like this is a memory of the before-times
and
now
all the dust is dust . . . 

wait!

i dial it down-

like a picture in an estate agents pamphlet/the apocalypse
only
his
commission.

i go inside and the big eyed cat happily shows me
where
he dragged
a tea towel over his curled turds.

Tuesday 21 February 2012

WATCHING MILITAINMENT

mug on the coffee table
is unspecial - vivid blue graphic tanks show old war on the Golan

watching militainment again

on the death tv
             
outside is summer rain - the complete opposite
really
if i think about it

and

because its beautiful sweet and sudden June rain
and the bathroom window is wide open
when i go in 
it smells of festivals and tents and health and life
that i've
always felt
buzzes along just outside my reach - for OTHER people

and i become all sad
and 
piss

Monday 20 February 2012

A CANVEY ISLAND OF THE BATH

laying in a lukewarm bath,
              it is the bath of the world.
it is Gursky meets Bosch out there
              but i can only see
              the blue grey sky
pouring weird June floods
              because i am stretching out
in the bath of the world.
              stretching out and not
              sweating yet.
             
mayhems probably rioting
beyond the quiet toiletries
dusty on the windowsill tile.
people are flying out there and
              birds are hurtling 
              reflected in the shiny dirty walls.
hurtling like when they were falling all mad
              on the fresh bread i'm putting out.

THERES PLENTY BIRDS!
i'm saying to them,
BIG BIRDS DON’T BULLY SMALL BIRDS TODAY!

theres people out there
flying . . .
             
and
suddenly humble
i'm placing a flannel over my essential bits,
              my bits of the world,
bobbing in the bubbles.
              i cover the shocking hair
and the spot on my hip
              fades low in my pant-line.
it is like Gursky meets Bosch in here.
              clarity fighting abundance for my headache.

how would it be if she was in here,
              in the bathroom of the world
shocked by my hair
              feeding me Swedish chocolate
for this headache-
              this headache of the world?
  
              but
i only relish the thought
of the shop new underwear
              waiting crisp and unstained on the bed.


Sunday 19 February 2012

DOG HOURS

8 hour job
lead heavy legs 
feet boiling in sock sweat
overloaded trolley rattling down the corridor miles
i am too busy/too lumbered 
for 
lunch 
today

we live
LIVE
for 4 o’clock

8 dog hours
then Home
where
mundane maintenance is
FIGHTING
dreamy creativity

i am sitting too near the fridge and the ice

beware 
the Lurid Exhaustion
that will throw you off the graffiti desk
when 
the 
music 
is SUDDENLY TOO LOUD

8 dog hours
killing the poor story you're made to live

and today i saw
a nurse takes the earrings from a dead childs ears
the 
screen 
hid nothing

8 dog hours

i'm walking them out
eating on the run

then a lesbian's driving me home






Saturday 18 February 2012

UGLY/BEAUTIFUL - MORNING VODKA OBSERVATIONS

first the clouds;
FUCK ME!
the clouds are AWESOME!

ships with black arses
foaming heads regulated in military focus

CLOUDS!

i am FUCKING stunned by the FUCKING clouds!

then
in Supermarket its all ugly-beautiful
wide-angle drunk 10am

and an
ugly-beautiful bony blonde buys own brand vodka 50cl
and a shouting tabloid 
and an apple pie in a box

she’s talking about having
an Anne Somerfeild party

     ugly-beautiful is homey blonde 40 and beyond
dull blue eyes staring at my black shades.

i am ugly beautiful too . . . flooded with the colours
fish eye drunk

then
the SKY the fucking CLOUDS!
panoramic figureheads stately degrade
up in the heaven dimming
all slo-mo

i bath; ugly-beautiful naked and sprawled in bubbles 
popping bombards me and assaults me

then
though still GREAT the SKY doesn’t thrill

i am uncomfortable


and crashing

Friday 17 February 2012

JUNE CLOUDS FROM A DECKCHAIR

a wish
falls
from the slipstream of a dove –

and
the
sun bleaches this vision blue.

clouds like mountains are chess pieces
on planed flat bases.
slowly
steadily
they move forward.

they degrade on a mighty journey.

patched with grey like engines
they're
brilliant.

they
travel
slower than a plane 
on a breeze 
that touches 
the ground.

Thursday 16 February 2012

MIX A PALE DRINK

NOW is
NOTHING.

NOTHING

is all there is.

i am at work . . . NOTHING.

there is
LATER;

HOME.
 
there is always that.

but
LATER
will be like
NOW

NOTHING
but       more comfortable.

i mix a pale drink.

Wednesday 15 February 2012

IDIOT MOON

massive full moon conquers all the night.
owns
the
whole
black
sky.
looking right in right at me.
front door 3 am.

neighbours hatchbacks all look silver.
hedges
all
black.
one shining cat is frozen still.

i am exposed as a white night secret 
unsleeping and
full of wine like some vamp
with
nothing
else
to
do
at
all
but stare up deep into the exiled white eye
sick with loneliness and delusion and age.

night TV got nothing for me
now
the
lingerie
sale
is
over.






Tuesday 14 February 2012

VALENTINES DAY

cycled 6 miles home
down deserted dual-carriageways and black lanes
and 
going thru the flyers for gold and block paving 
and the bills and the bt internet pleas
piled
up on the doormat
i find a card from a florist saying they dropped my flowers at number 2 because i was out


wondering if its too late to go knock at number 2
and wondering 
flowers 
really?  
i never got flowers before . . . 


i find another card from the florist and a note from number 2
explaining
the flowers arent for me


they made a mistake


the
flowers
were
for
the next street over


i walk up the shop for smokes in the last of the snow

Monday 13 February 2012

SPECTOR WORK

incensed outraged before sleep that genius goes to prison
for
shooting
dead
a
blonde
waitress
with
a
gun.
he is Phil Spector/it was on the cards.

ashamed in the morning/sure that of course he should.
BUT his sentence must bear fruit.
lock
him
in
a
studio.
hard labour in mono/mic the drum/that lost art . . .

line them up and send them in -

shut up Radiohead/get a real single out of them again.

original Massive Attack do a fresh EP.

Detroit Cobras - a dance crossover album.

and then Beck.

bring the White Stripes back to basics/then add full orchestra.

Dust Brothers to soundtrack my film; i’ll
have
my
sci-fi western
scripted
by
then.
  
no more guns in the studio but my own blasting
over
the
intros
and
codas.

Sunday 12 February 2012

NURSES

work in a hospital eye always out for a compassionate and giving nurse
with
dancing sparkles
of
intelligence and silver wit
in
her
sleepy dark eyes
but 
even all the rough and dull and dim ones have bland and bald men
to
drop
them off 
in hatchbacks in the morning.


Saturday 11 February 2012

APOCALYPSE DREAM

dreamt the apocalypse came to my town
i am back at the house on southend road looking out the front window


it is deserted
and
looks it


my old boss going past warns us 
and climbs fences followed by fire


i pack a bag with band t shirts and a tent
i feel fine


the room burns/all my stuff is floating in a flood under the floorboards or burning next to me
i feel fine


i think GOOD, NO ONE CAN USE ANYTHING NOW, NO ONE CAN USE CORRINGHAM ANY MORE


i wake and feel fine
thinking
only
why didnt i pack my big black knife?

Friday 10 February 2012

RESTRAINT FAILURE

be strong Mr!

but i want some . . . some intoxicant!

so BORED.

be strong Mr!

no! i want some . . . intoxicants!

even if fear nerves and worry come.

it really won’t matter at all/still be dead moths to flick out
the
bathroom window
and
nothing
on
TV.

Thursday 9 February 2012

RIOT

35 and warm rain falling down on A Road shrubs
smells of 90s days.
smells
of
ages
ago.

vague and powerful memories of army coats/smell of new car magic trees/college mornings not getting up hoping to be missed.

other
memories-  
80s marsh of knives and back packs. 
glass bottles of stolen drink. 
70s front lawn back lawn and the iron gate. 
thin apple tree wall to climb.
side
alley
of
cats.

it’s a ball in here! a ball! and a riot!

triggered by warm rain 10 am and sad brown shrubs on the
A Road verge/punctuated and anchored
by a dead great tit solid and upside down
on
the
pitted
tarmac
road.


ABSTINENCE

everythings pale everything pales/in front of my pale eyes
because
of
shitty
abstinence. 

mind empty/no self here/11 am is a wasteland
lasts
for
ever.

now this evening i drink drink down to live
to
be
soft
and
hard.

it is good storm air that comes in past brown window plants.
i drink more
and
now
more.

i try the typer old tappity but exhaustion ghosts
my
weak
fingers
to
incompetence.

silence/hands still/flatlining.


waiting on autumn/i can write well then as
Things
Die
In
Gold.

Tuesday 7 February 2012

DAYS

i got to get the hang of Mondays
but
i just can’t seem to
get the hang of Mondays

i got to get the hang of weekdays
but
i just can’t 
keep it together 

i got to get the hang of Sundays
but
i just can’t 
stop drinking all day

because i got the hang of 
Friday night and Saturday night
too 
god 
damn 
well

and sometimes nothing gets written at all