TIMES LINEAR BALLS

i hate all that
this is NOW &
that was THEN lark

&

i hate the nothing 

of clabby calendar mist 

that hangs inbetween them

&

i feel i can 

almost almost very nearly

reach out & finger

us climbing drunk again

over the cemetery gates

MISFIT CAFE MORNING

the misfit cafe morning

7 AM gentle light & bacon

& us - our strange meat

is squashed & stretched 

into silhouettes similar 

to rejected supermarket fruit
 

& the floor & the tables & the plants

& our canes & our rollers & our braces
are all shaped from

the same resinous 

oil industry

by-product goo

& when a regular joe comes in

with wifi token & saturday paper

& sees two tons of neck beard

& 47 yards of wheelchair rubber
their hesitation is only noted

in the misfit cafe morning

7 AM 

gentle light 

& bacon

ROSE TINTED RADIO

& still my resting mind

is pelted

pelted

by pop hits

from the 80s chart parade

& a fondness has grown

like the familiar winter gyp

of an old drinking wound

or a split burred toenail

that passes the insomnia by

& because they sound WHEN

dont they ladies & gentlemen ?

but no not necessarily GOOD 

TIMES BACK THEN

there on the cricket crease 

where we pooled our pennies

for the bottleshop & chippy
inside a long summer afternoon

& the warm dusk elation

& the nights secrets ours

smoking on the hill bench

smoking on the hill bench

the bell for last orders 

far & off & away

ROSES & COFFEE

i am in the terminator lull

with a face full of roses

& the idiom stink of coffee