THE POT-HOLED AVENUE TO EVERYWHERE

clutching the cornershop change

for an orange panda-pop

in my flopsweat palm

(couldnt trust my pockets

 cos its proper coins

 & thats adult stuff)

i was in shorts
red superman ringer t 

& eight or thereabouts
on a street corner

that i now remember

being football pitch big

& i felt then

inside my tiny bones

& unformed strugglepup mind

how absolutely madly immense 

our hulking world must be

PORTCRANES NIGHTGLOW

 

& much as
i dream of
a one man
seaside gallery opening 

i know
i have
to actually
do some good paintings one day

of street sadness

& the portcranes nightglow

& the dogshits  

they bag-up & hang in trees

but i do almost

have a playlist 

totally nailed down

CITIES, A HAY(NA)KU TRIPLEPOP

cities
call me
like elephants trumpet

~

zoo

lunch & 

clink clunk trains

~

knowing

i cannot

go visit again

REALITY GAG

&

he

is

so

sorry

but

all at once
the seasons become
things to be got thru

so he does that like that

into autumns 

freerange rainwet heart

& 

winters locked-in 

long monochrome bane 

SHOWER GEL MEMORIES

& the smell of the shower gel
is just like

a friday afternoon was

after getting in  

from a hospital shift

when i would 

fit two bottles

of heineken or becks
in the freezer
& shower
& then get the beers out
& sit on the back step
& crack one 
& look at the land
& the trees
& the hill
& listen to the traffic 

on the motorway
& the hiss woosh
of trains in the cut

& crack the second

& later friends would come

& there would be whisky

& we would be heroes 

of the goddamn night

until

the

rude lurid oil smear of dawn