Tuesday, 31 December 2013
leave a country for another
climb into a machine that shoots itself
high cold black
small cool dinners and microwave hot towels
fall down into a sea scape of orange glitter
climb out into a still quiet world
of teleported bags
show another machine
no one says OI! or WOOHOO!
shakes your hand
taps you on the shoulder
in recognition of this feat
Wednesday, 25 December 2013
there is a mark in the plastic floor
in the hospital
a simple imprint of a nail
i remember when the building was new
all the doors unlabelled
builders dust covered everything
it was the only blemish
a simple imprint of a nail
(until all the door handles came off
had to replace them all
now the building is bashed and used
still i stop and look at the
on the dotty lino of level b
happy xmas nail i mutter
Tuesday, 24 December 2013
this is an incomplete list of noises
that are some way comforting
cars parking in the street
i'm stretched out searching for sleep
machine clunk of the drivers door
whir of washing machine in the kitchen
slowing down and speeding up
music in another room
distant - muted-clear
a tv in another room
unidentified clipped chatter
(maybe just the sound of stuff in other rooms . . .)
milk floats at dawn
hear it coming from far away down other streets
the shift change siren yelling over the miles
the thames at any time of day
and of course gentle rain on the evening window
the gutter after a storm
the hum and chew of summer mowers
Monday, 23 December 2013
year three of xams rehab
moody and alone
long drink of black
used to pace the night streets with scorn
raw beacons of the stupid happy
used to go to work
used to stretch out in the bath
smells fresh of pine
too many places to go
Saturday, 21 December 2013
childs broken diorama of a world down
simple words i know
them seem inadequate sometimes
another toilet ditty
the daily death-gasm out the quiet windows
lexicon to cross the rubicon
a giant vocabulary can alienate before it can impress
block paving roots in the tangle under the red berry bush
Friday, 20 December 2013
morning moon brother
bright sky eye lover
in the ether
up the dawn hill heather
moon glows clever
cos theres a machine up there
Thursday, 19 December 2013
well good lord days are big
the stale 11 AM
the rattle of chatter all around
autopilot is permanently disengaged
crumpled with creases like an old school report
again i crave drink
warm kissflood of soft strength
drinks of the 90s and the 00s i want
cold black limosine
Wednesday, 18 December 2013
the BIG doubt
daily earthly stumbling and thinking and doing
like the pain all the way to death and back
hot ice knives
photo album regret
mortal mistakes on the graveyard path
that doubt/that BIG doubt
the truth of new turds
the holy swear rumble
Tuesday, 17 December 2013
everything over/worked out/crashed/catalogued
think at all
halfway thru the easy downward slide of Endgame
Xanadu Sanatorium of dead formats
Gun Club LPs
End Of The World
Monday, 16 December 2013
Now I wake in the bowfarts now its Monday. Mind scene is Sunday-night squashed-orange apocalypse sun - Sex Pistols Submission plays despite silence. In scalding shower I’m feeble feel scared feel shakey.
News says helicopter need 44 hours maintenance for 1 hour flying crashes 31 marines are over. News says law to prison uncharged people pushed forward.
Tie new Caterpillas up tight I belch breakfast egg. Too tired I yawn terrible tears. It is St Timothy’s Day had bad guts bible says drink wine not water.
Lift at Bear Corner now in back of boss Julies blue Corolla. Janine up front hands folding over handbag holding fags. So tired I’m seeing tracers stripe over fresh turned fields. Dirty lazy cloud lays low.
Go by Eastern Garage;
HOW COMES HE SELLS THEM PORSCHES SO CHEAP? Julie says as if no one knows.
I DON’T KNOW Janine says half-deaf doesnt hear. Always saying I DON’T KNOW in cars then looks shifty.
Cushion-cloud like dihydrocodeine cuddling me makes irritation impossible.
COS THEY’RE SECOND HAND, BEEN THRASHED HIGH MILEAGE, AND PARTS AND INSURANCE COST A MINT I say.
Boss Julie gone blank Janine nodding looks shifty.
Office scene is waking computers whir then stutter. Blank monitors blink then strobe. Bad lights blur then glare. I feel all .
New guy starts. Looks like thin Asian Lenny Henry. Announcing hes Muslim but dont pray or anything. Says dont worry about bacon or nothing. Says got 8 cars driveway full. Nightmare getting out he says.
CALL ME ASH NICKNAME COS I USED TO SMOKE SO MUCH, STILL SMOKE BUT DON’T WANT KIDS TO SEE, SET AN EXAMPLE THAT’S WHY I WORK, DONT NEED TO, LOADED ME, FROM WRITING SONGS, ROYALTIES IN MY WIFES NAME, SET AN EXAMPLE, GAVE UP WAS EASY BUT I GET THEM SO CHEAP, ANYONE WANT SOME?
Lists 8 cars. Ones silver limited edition Mercedes SL. No one knowing what to say.
Boss Julie taking him to Personnel get him a pass and that. Boss Julie not crying eyes clear. Desperate for distraction got some.
Buzz is; 8 cars? Consensus is; judgement reserved.
HARD BEING NEW ISN’T IT THO? LOOK AT THE STATE OF THOSE TEA TOWELS, ALWAYS FORGET TO TAKE THEM HOME AND WASH THEM. I’LL PUT THEM IN MY BAG NOW Janine says.
Everyone goes mumsy goes THE LITTLE ‘UN about a grandkid acted up. Everyone clasping coffee cups nodding and nudging. Faded ink faxes flow out fax ignored. Everyone goes OOOH everyone goes AAAH. Its like the blandest dream I ever had.
LUCOZADE SO EARLY? Richard says.
I LOVE THE SMELL OF GLUCOSE IN THE MORNING I say.
Rolls his eyes at the women shuffles off clutches papers and PDA.
Vicky’s coming in 8 minutes late. Hangs up small bag and small coat spraying perfume up small tunic. Tells me got some horror scenes stuck in her head she cant shift she says.
I DON’T KNOW DO I?
THE ORIGINAL RING?
WIZARD OF OZ? I CAN’T WATCH THAT EVER AGAIN.
SHUT UP FORD YOU DICK!
CHILL OUT GINGER BOY.
WHY THEY ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT GRANDKIDS? I’M OFF TO SEE MY MUM GET SOME MONEY she says.
Julie supervisor coming in for small flat-bed trolley sighs hello. Had corn rows at interview gone now. Eyes like Cameron Diaz still there.
GOT TO GO BACK TO MY CAR. FORD, GOT AN NHS FLEECE FOR YOU IN THE BACK IF YOU WANT IT she says.
OK. NEED A HAND? I say.
Car park stuffed with hatchbacks slopes downhill. Looks like toy town to me. A nurse is nervous veers onto verge. Parked walks away looks behind. I pull pink files out of pink Golf boot. Theres pink Kickers in there. Fresh air is good blue of ghosts up there. Gives me her fleece JULIE S written in it.
NEVER WORN IT FORD she says.
YOU LIKE PINK? YOU GOT PINK BOOTS IN YOUR PINK BOOT.
FAVOURITE COLOUR FORD she says.
Office scene is I write Ford in felt-tip now says Ford/Julie. Our names together feels intimate. In it I am bona fide. NHS it says with our Trust underneath.
OOOH LOOK AT THE BLUE EYED BOY Janine says.
Shirley Rose and me down ITU is a pre-fab. Floor creaks bent over bumps. I take trach-care off shelves seriously sort it right. Keep active keep awake. Cant believe how big a day is.
FUCKING MESS SHIRLEY ROSE, STORE ROOMS A HOLE I say.
I KNOW FORD Shirley Rose says laughs loud.
Knackered relative stayed the night coming in. Bags under bleary eyes dont know where he is.
ward manager might
be Egyptian finds him frowns fierce at us. Sharon
GOT TO WATCH WHERE YOU SWEAR FORD Shirley Rose says.
GOT TO WATCH YOUR LAUGHING, THEY CAN HEAR YOU OVER IN POST GRAD I say.
Shirley Rose laughing.
ITU housekeeper twitchy eye coming in tells us they’ll need more 60ml cath-tip syringes to last the week she says. Tells us they got a man in a bed crashed into suicide died jumping off A13 bridge. Selfish they say. Obviously not thinking straight was he i say.
Lunch is corned beef in brown baps. Crossword book out CAVALIER and CORNISH I say. Cram fuel in watch coffee cool mesmerised by steam. Tense and trapped I go outside smoking alone count birds on broken conifer. New guy Ash gone up Admin Block lunch with his wife works in legal.
CARS! everyone says ROYALTIES? SONGS?.
PM scene is up Level D shift stock out big trolley to small flat-bed go in the renal ward unpack. Machines bing and chime bright and calm. Clear away empty boxes nurses leave everywhere. Deftly catergorise catheter drawer. Nurse getting ear re-pierced drips red blood laughter and squeals.
Warm on wards new bona fide fleece out in corridor in big trolley. Finished I go back its fucking bloody gone. Made me feel bona fide.
Mattress collection dude wears a fleece is yards away. Not seen him in a fleece before. Bona fide. I stare him evils by Osteoporosis. Watch for guilt. See no sign. Feel like a cunt.
Office scene is boss Julie acts surprised to find fleeces boxed under her desk. Me and Ash try them on. I write DO NOT STEAL in back of mine. Everyone wanting new one now tutting.
HOW DID SHE NOT KNOW THEY WERE THERE?
I ASKED FOR ONE MONTHS AGO!
Making me feel bona fide.
Home scene is I pen pithy prose raw and rushed then shattered I shower then 6 PM shout SHITS at faces failing on quiz show then re-run Simpsons WE OBEY THE LAWS OF THERMO-DYNAMICS IN THIS HOUSE Homer says.
Dinner is soup then waffles out the toaster eggs on them brown sauce. Now I pour large brandy ice cracks under amber. On sofa on TV J Bourne slides apart Motorola I used to have he drops it. Old films are old but am amazed at how old new films are.
Tired to tears. Ice cracks under amber.
Saturday, 14 December 2013
the bar is all black paint bricked up windows low ceilings/visiting a friend working a long bar shift/i hunch on a choice bar stool/watch myself sink iced cider in the dirty mirror/ok so its starts well enough/place fills up with students for happy hour and the big match/drinking out cheap pitchers and smoke superkings from ten packs out the machine by the toilets/square cellophane torn on the table in ale puddles/my friend well she can only slip me a freebie or two/tequila cos no one ever orders it/gold jose/neat and warm/there are goals on the new plasma and cheers and groans/i go to piss and coming back i find a huge guy on my stool/dreads to his back pockets bulging with whatever/think oh well but he gets up/saving it for you dude he rumbles/well my friend got some pull here/i nod/take up the drinks/cold glass and a drinking crowd - i am a cipher/the crowd changes/students drain out after shyly scoring tiny weed bags from yardies/saying man too much/way too much/man/well the yardies they filled up one dark side of the place like ghosts/bunkered in booths in army fatigues/low growls/mean laughter bounces harsh off the cement walls/i sink the drinks/cold glass to my kissing lips/mumble to strangers/visiting her there i say/you know her? yeah - i am a marked cipher/my friend well shes busy shes blonde shes popular shes respected/i go and throw up deliberately/splashing booze out on the ceramic void/making room/well time marches invisible/i decide to eat nuts/well i end up on a table of smoking women/heels and leather/wide poured skin/red nails/big handbags on laps/their phones ring/they wobble out the door/they disappear/theyre back in half an hour or so/not long i'm not sure but not long/they return with fistfuls of notes/buy rounds for the table/well i'm in on a few rounds/some jose shots i dump in the cider/and when i go throw up again my chair is saved with a huge handbag for me/i try to buy a round/i think/i am sure i tried to buy a round/i'm told no dearie/want some fun dearie? i'm back at the bar/well i'm holding it together for twelve hours now/place almost empty/echoes/some lights on like god found us/well my friend is chatting to the owner/we're waiting on a cab i'm told/you ok i'm asked? i'm head down on the bar/hear her say to the boss hes ok honest/me head down on the bar/well wheres the cab? a straggler in denim/garrulous wide boy talk/tries to shift a can of tennets super for eight quid/i shake my head into his speil/well we got out into the predawn air of pitch black and sad fog/blurred streetlights like drunk angels lipstick smeared form kissing the lords arse . . . slide across the back seat of some cab/well my face is on the rough fabric of a thousand areses/my friend talking with the driver/endless and seamless global small talk/driver well the driver has a high pitched german voice/just like some cliche nazi from some cliche film/well i'm grinning and thinking war criminal/well when we're dropped off and paid up and he's driven off i shout warcriminalnazi into the street/well my friend is shocked/that voice i'm saying/that voice! hahahaha/my friend she says it was a woman from rotterdam would i please not shout nazi out in her street at dawn/well i have a rolling rock in front of the tv/she has supermarket spaghetti out a tin on toast/i go sleep in the spare room/on the floor on old sofa cushions surrounded by bikes and hoovers and steps and local papers
Friday, 13 December 2013
the ziggy stardust album!
i am saying this with uncharacteristic enthusiasm
play them all the
ziggy stardust album
no one dies listening to that!
i think i have a breakthru medical technique
drs in the admin block
see their eyes light up
we can save everybody!
no matter that last time i heard it
forty odd minutes
i didnt die!
Thursday, 12 December 2013
so the door isnt letting me go clock in, i cut thru xray where a bluedress is checking the red drawers on the crash cart and come out by the Costa.
and when i come back thru the stubborn door a four foot plastic snowman stands there with the paint on his hat and scarf worn off, all shiny round the edges.
he wasnt there SECONDS ago.
i eye him. an urge to smash his plastic face rising.
i go make coffee. i smoke. colleagues come in.
THERES A SNOWMAN they say WHERE DID HE COME FROM?
i say BY THE CAFE? I KNOW. JUST APPEARED.
NO, UP BY THE BOGS.
i'm in the corridor looking up to the corner with suspicion. there he is. right at the end, looking at a liquid fire extinguisher.
innocent and sinister.
we work. its busy. endless stream of unwashed fleece clad drivers file in till the packages make a messy mountain.
i'm deep in paperwork and ink stamps when a bluedress stops by, asks for a light, says WHOSE SNOWMAN IS THAT? IS IT THE PORTERS?
i say DUNNO and give her a lighter i wont see again.
i wheel pallets in and out, organising, choosing an order and there is the snowman outside the door to the porters lodge where the smell of cooking kippers is overpowering.
hes halfway up the corridor.
pale and old, rejected.
innocent and sinister.
and in the afternoon when the flow has subsided and i'm in a soft chair in the office across the way with a bar of fruit and nut and another cup of coffee talking about that driver who looks like Uncle Bulgaria who wears a Masonic ring on his knuckle and has no sense of humour, i notice a dirty white outline peeping round the fake pine door frame.
JESUS i say WHO KEEPS MOVING THAT THING?
i'm up out the soft seat and am staring him out close up.
his smile is a faded moulded mockery of seasonal joy, his eyes wont meet mine where ever i stand.
JESUS i say.
at some point he's gone. i worked the last push, got stuff ready for lock up, pile papers under the teddy bear in some else in-tray and he's gone.
not even in the alcove full with a tangle of condemned trolleys and chairs.
i go to clock out by reception where sad relatives sip coffees outside Costa and hide their worries in over priced baguettes and over sized muffins and guys on drip stands shuffle around in pyjamas reading the Mail.
door behaves and i wrap up in grubby cycle clothes in the changing room by pharmacy.
SEE YA SEE YA SEE YA SEE chorus my departure. i'm heading to the stairwell by the office where the bike is locked to the metal handrail by abandoned contractors sheeting and an ancient wooden ladder tied with frayed yellow rope.
of course there he is. snowman. innocent and sinister and right in front of the fire exit.
i get out of there.
if hes there tomorrow, i WILL smash his plastic face in.
Wednesday, 11 December 2013
work is endless
phone rings like a fire alarm
out by the ambulances
sun low as trees at just quarter to one
and of course i'd rather be at home
low sun sink and burn from a garden recliner
home ground coffee in my hand
filing slow outdoorsy reports
grey fluff of cloud between the blues
like the cotton wool
girls use to dab make up away in the evening
dress in childlike pyjamas
and fold their legs underneath them
to watch any tv
grey pink clouds
by the bathroom bin
Tuesday, 10 December 2013
give your dread a name
make it a pet
when it next rises out the floorboards
clutching your weakness in its animal fists
like the people do with posh perfumes and aftershaves
boris and natasha
get to know its breath
observe its habits
its evil play
Monday, 9 December 2013
want to find
with those downcast hiding eyes
and few friends
and pointed-in feet
all overdressed and overdone the best they can
with those stooped shoulders
carry it off
all silent at home
and in class
their books in the morning
firmly and with proof
get better . . .
Saturday, 7 December 2013
Friday, 6 December 2013
its not so much that i want to travel
to the cities of the world
the coma hum of planes
airport cab rank night
breakfast on a broad avenue
taking my bag and any notes i made
Thursday, 5 December 2013
with bubble snot noses
names out loud
thank fuck for them i think
innocent indestructible sweetitude
they are out there in the World
and knowing it
gives me strength
bland and murderous
Wednesday, 4 December 2013
all i hear is
making soft taps
the split tarmac
brown leaves tumblefloat on ghostwind
the A road
more imagined than heard
when the phone
buzzes its muted rumble
parkpath world to the cafe
Tuesday, 3 December 2013
dont remember much about
the room opposite the clock tower
over by the park
dutch to me
like the allotments cowering under the tall cranes
askew water butts
rusting and brown
i wasnt in