THE BALLAD OF ALCOMABOOZE PT 1

I drink drink

the glass political

I’m singing

the Alcohol electric

Seen as low

as piss in the snow

this delirious amber exit

I protest in

aged wooden bars

of hanging smoke-ghosts

where one pound

buys digital Rock

And later; water-raw

and livid of lobe

from the whisky-sticky

bottle top

With the broken seal

a necklace there

to play

and scratch my fingers

I shout out

madness primal

in brilliant drivel

lost in the

night highway

of a dozen stars

Freed from the angry

backbrain

yelling yelling

sane anguish

of hope

My liver is a river

the Rainbow Warrior

rides the

wash of 

tankers touching

my tramp hull

I suck on the glass,

the tin,

the small steel

from the

activist pocket

always ready,

that comforting sag

I will drink/drink

today

I will leave myself

lost

to trot about

I potter soppy

- like homeless

but happy

I abandon choices

to look people in the eye

in the late

hour Turk shops

of wot I need

Another to pour,

to spill –

and another

No thought no thought,

glorious,

no bother

I don’t care

if this takes

all the night away

I care

if this

doesn’t

take all the night away

I say this

drink/drink

that I fucking love

Will carry me

speaking silent liver words

In a great NO

of a thousand turned backs

I; no participation

in this world

but of grapes and

chemical hops

No hands steadier

in this night

than these deft heavy

cranes of thirst

I wave to use

And the world/Portugal burns

And the world/politic turns

And the world melts –

poles,

lies and cries

and sinks

retreating

before time and drinks

I buy it

bring it

borrow it

devour it

like bitches

saying goodbye

And I say

excellent

to the corkscrew

gripped in

clear-tasked paws

And I say

outstanding

to the

half-bottle appearing

unexpected

greeted like a

nightshift Wisdom King

I toast junkies

and the wailing masses

ignorant and spastic

spending their plastic

I pay part-time

babies my wages

For the glass-held

protest of ages

I say drink now

Drink in their faces

Drink the booze electric

with sly eyed witness

Pay with these damp notes

here by the ashtray

Giving up

is a powerful thing to do,

is waiting

Of great thirst

either way,

both frightening

commitment to

the black holes

of heavy peppered 

Or the eternal morning

where there are no smiles?

Give up drink/drink

Give up

to

drink/drink

The choices line your bars

and your Turk shops,

your mind,

clinking,

familiar and happy,

wet and burning

I have parachutes

to wash my teeth

from the great height

where I know the floor

I know the

water of yesterday

was the key to survive

I know the

desperate

cold cider rocks at five

And I know

the follow-ups

inevitable and

coming/coming

I say

pukka;another!

and pour it pour it pour it

I hold drink/drink

high

so you can’t ignore it

  

And all you

lame rulers

and temping conjurers

Will have to count

the masses

shouting/fighting

Cunted on the city streets

I say

the real danger

is the tuned minds

Drinking their time

right on the line

We are pale monks

burning

in the late streets

Walking

with the dozen stars

Witnesses

in another heaven

Watch all of us

after eleven

Waving our cupped fists

off my faced

Counting

my eggs in one basket

I pull the top

hissing

spitting

like a farting beer cobra

small metal head waking

I pop the top

bending

rending

the cobra open

for drinking

I screw the top

spinning

like a roundabout

and I am

swinging

I uncork

The Cork

popping

opening

the party and

fumigating

minds ill with living

XMAS TV

because

some Jurassic Park or other is always on

and

i mean

ALWAYS on

i flick channels undecided fidgeting and mad

and

i accidentally

make a Jurassic mash-up;

Jurassic Lark 

i call it

but of course i dont pitch it to anyone

it’s all

jeeps with winches yellow as toys

trembling puddles in giant footprints and the foolish who

Won’t Stand Still

smart flimsy vehicles the wrong way up broken as toys

all the Jurassic icons

all the stuff

all the toys

on the ride

smashed lunchboxes in the giftshop

its Frankensteins Monster again 

if

you

not noticed

XMAS DAY, LATE PM

walking the silent street

xmas day

i need clean air

need to look about out here

tiny lights and lamps and blue tvs are glowing

out 

from 

rich thick dark velvet curtains and gaps in drawn tight blinds

all generations celebrate waving their arms at glowing blue tvs/new Nintendo

     

and 

old angels shine again

pinned to black hedges 

and 

the 

few 

stars showing

are trivial

still shine above the low gloom

i am smoking a real cigarette

but 

it’s dampened by the dark/i dont enjoy it/not today

so fucking dark out here

dark like the end of the world/dark as the end of everything

dark

as the end

BARELY A THOUGHT

like a pillow is soft

so am i

a dented stained smashed pillow

an empty sloth

left there

like a woman is soft

     so is my head

and my lazy need; woman of soft body and soft mind;

all lushed with half-shut eyes

     an empty bag all full but quiet

alert and correct

of all the right animal parts

to be

an

empty sloth with

me

UNPOST

because of awful waking sleep
punctuated by dreams
of
graphic ultraviolence
where i attacked a 
NY club doorman 
with one of those pole things that hold red queueing rope
all Goodfellas style on opening night
and the wolfmen who stabbed in the side like jesus
leaving me wailing on the restaurant floor
and 
am now righteously hallucinatory
with headaches and glowing hands
big and light as zeppelins
hurrying to cook me vegatables
there
will
be 
no post
today


oh

LIVING ROOM TABLE

some god’s simple silent

rage of syrup is sliding 

over 

shining and glowing 

wet glass bricks

they rattle

and down it falls like amber Rickenbach

j. cash flips

his middle finger 

at me from the photo on the magazine

slim and spaced and beautiful 

mechanical limbic paws

grasp glass gently 

they

are 

drinking 

for me/i am only watching the

stylised scatter of smokes 

and pills and pots and pens

in here

on the table

i'd hide under when i was 4

there’s dirt smeared on the military shaving mirror

and my middle finger/well practised

is

flying 

the Bird

at only me and everything

in flat reflection

a filthy rolled up 20

rimmed in white and red 

is rolling around

because the window is wide open

for

the company

of hovering minibeasts

and

a wind is

gliding

in

tomorrow

i will spend it

for sure

SLEEPY PILL

sleeping 

the short death/dragging 

it out till i ache from still blood

and up

i 

smoked 

a cigarette

from the shops 

in the early dark that fell like black dawn

i bought back 

plastic peppers 

to the silent winter roses

not rest/only a time-out achieved

but

too

sedated

to worry about anything

i sleep that short death 

again

and i made it last so long

JAN 3RD

that dictated hysterical jag-

its forgotten already;

only Thursday now 

and 

already

it’s clean wiped away.

you’re all fickle,

fickle as 

young 

children,

your new toys already grown old from staring

and we’re all left 

in 

the 

dark now.

the dark that should be spring.

counting 

all the 

pounds 

left

to 

count.

WHERE TWO ROSES NOD

rains falling now

everywhere 

like someone's letting it all go at once

i feel the natural health SWELLING out there

its

FIERCE

in the wet air

we’re all only monkeys/gospel monkeys/holding cutlery

YELLING

in this heavy xmas rain

we're clutching our keys tightly in our paws

we're gathering where 2 roses nod

to talk around a fire

and 

later/alone

i 

am 

coming back

to pick them for no one

LEONARD COHEN

 

i am 

guided by the holy water on the mantle

i am

guided by the griffin on the back step

protests and graffiti

etc

only record/expose the

HORROR

walking relentless while we're working

and the light and the hope

hide

only glowing in gypsy painted corners

thank you l cohen

for your dark light of songs

ALIEN LAND

this land of block colours 
is strange
my belly is empty like 
a survivor
yellow faces hover over the 
green felt
they nod and i feel no need 
for fear
other survivors have been caught behind clear walls 
that move
some talk into their hands like it 
helps them
i am smiling at the yellow faces
wondering
what
they
have
for food around here

XMAS ADS

 

all the ads right now

are filled with

the young

and calm

and happy people

who work together

in teams

in bright colours

all clean

Achieving Goals Together

all in the brilliant sunshine

of smiling cities

and idyllic fields

but i know its all BULLSHIT

really

its

dog eat dog

in

the 

Blade Runner rain

ACCORDING TO XMAS TV

dinosaurs

i understand from xmas tv

can track and dig

and

Jeff Goldblum runs away from them

like Cary Grant in North by Northwest

all

loose

arms

and worry

dinosaurs

i understand from xmas tv

always pause to growl and to breath

posing

for the camera

before the attempted kill

this is their downfall

as Jeff Goldblum uses this time to run away

from

them

like Cary Grant in North by Northwest