BBQ REGRETS

sorry

i left

your

BBQ

early.

sorry,

pressure and confusion and distance

made

me not

ride out

the BBQ horse.

sorry,

i said

in the beer can and carrier bag kitchen.

sorry

i said in the deserted dark front room

curtains still drawn from the night before.

sorry

i said

waiting for

a cab.

back in the day

in a different garden

i would have rode it to the bitter

screaming end.

CRY OF JUNE 06

could’ve

stayed

sane

COULD’VE

but for

-   desire

-   time

-   panic

-   fear

-   enlightenment

now

insane

TORN OF DREAMS

i’m

hanging

     from

     the

bar

     too high

WHISKY POME

drag

out

my

own living leather/a cutlery monkey

writes

nightime words

to

exist

me

on a pad

EVEN MUNTERS SHINE

there is

living porn

breathing walking 

sweating

on the

sun thick

streets

in the

empty gutted

PO

actresses wear little nothings

in the queue

and

in the

cool

supermarket

a woman in

sunglasses

delicately fills

her black top

choosing

her gossip

magazine

even Munters shine in this flaming June

ASHLEIGH

it says

above a

plain girls

arse

a handy

reminder

when her

face is

so bland

and

your balls

are sweating

TO AN ASIAN DR

I seen

you

5 times

today

(we’re in a lift together)

is there

only

1 of you?

(we coincided; same pace same direction)

wot am i

saying?

got to be only 1 of you

(she’s smiling self aware 

light

and

life

in her eyes)

there’s only

1 as curvaliscious

as you,

I know your

underwear

is both big and small

(I say this mainly in my head)

WRITING

cry words

out

on my desk

in

the brief hours/drinking unnecessarily heavily 
at the end of bad days

try

as hard as

my

learning and life and science

lets me
tho i know i could be cleaner/must 
up

my

game!

    but often i pump

artlessly

and     

can only

     hold on -

hoping

     to dream

EGONE

she

efficiently

followed her

relationship flowchart

to

my

harmless

email extinction

NOTE TO SELF

publish a new paper.

          fill

          it full of good

          news.

find the good and positive 

     in our

          struggle

     against the hard dawn.

and i laugh because that is not me at all.

D3PR355I0N

it's there when he wakes before dawn 

twisting his guts into hot knots of barbed wire

he drags it to the shower

dead weight
big and black as thunder
and by the time the birds are bawling
and the weak winter sun draws shapes round the curtains
its shrunk to a black dog
that's fat and farting on the greasy kitchen lino
by the time he leaves for work
its packed tight in a backpack
and just about light enough
to travel with

BORIS THE BUNGLING BEAR

Boris the MP

jogs into

the photograph crowd

printed hat

from a hiking shop hides the blonde hurricane

calling out

MIND THE GAP

over and over

as he

muscles thru

oh, the humour 
of the bugling bear

MORE NURSES

theres nurses

shaped like crystal glasses in wine coloured dresses

theres lady surgeons in blue pyjamas and paper hats hide their hair

this modesty makes their deep eyes shine

theres young support workers

their health zipped in tight grey

or swamped sweetly in loose teal

i

don’t want to know

wot you really wear

shopping and partying

out on civy street

because it will ruin everything

when

in my mind 

out of hours

you are ALL

dressed

in

leather

or

lace

AT 6.00 AM

i am tired and rushed and morning hectic

and whatever - you know?

but my eggs have already boiled

and

a

shower

will only takes five minutes.

with effort i am relaxing on purpose

and

lighting a second cigarette

i

read

from

Watching It Burn

on the toilet

in silence

again.

BAD MONDAY

because 
the detail of the world explodes in my face
like hot confetti
and the image of the sky reflected in my de-caff
is TOO interesting
and the world is pushing its planet mass UP
into my feet
and i feel every tick and fit and fart belch across 
all the land
i 
am 
having
a
bad monday again

NURSES

the prettiest nurses

are the busiest ones

work

their way

up

the sick ladder - away from the front line

climb up

some young Dr.s snug Farah legs

not the teenage

chatty

cash & club hungry/still training

long shifts wash over them

in moans

not the fish wives

in blue dress ruts/attitude in their

wide pores

bounce from

ward to ward

not the motherly

eager to smile

living

on the front line

with monumental

tolerance

- all the put upon salt of an old earth

TOMORROWS CONVERSATIONS

playing

in the night

with

tomorrows conversations

i WONT have

i’ll smile my small cheeky efforts instead

defensive

SHOULD

tell that

year-long

divorcee/the ranter/that her blonde hair extensions

made me

think

she was

her own

younger sister

SHOULD

tell

bubble haired 40 desk lady

she is

SUPAHOT

in her special

and sweet

bubble hair childs way

(i saw her skip

literally SKIP

down our

bit

of level B

our spastic

wave we share

i treasure)

SHOULD say so much more all day

but WONT

smile my small cheeky efforts instead

too defensive . . . 

20 ON THE NIGHTSTAND 3

rolled up 20

on the nightstand

edges crisp and soft 

with blood and dirt

is that cool at all?

rolled up 20

in the

travel tavern toilet/Fenchurch Street

- i could live here so happily/its SO clean

but

is anything

cool

around here?

  

PARANOIA strikes

in another shiny hotel foyer

 (but NOTHINGS going to happen)

pushing midnight

drink the train home away

home to the 20 on the nightstand . . . 

rolled up 20

makes

everything

dirty 

now 

i forget there was ever sunlight

or the hum and vibe 

of city

20 ON THE NIGHTSTAND 2

so tired

i cry

tears

like toy hearts

- creep down my cheeks, those tickle baubles

i hug

stripy

cushion

to my chest

rocking

rolled 20

on the nightstand

SNAPSHOT POPS, SUMMER

standing

at the

corner

of the

building

BBQ afternoon S. London.

look

up

4 storeys/brick & guttering/a black cross

is a

plane

high in

the grey summer haze.

i’m side lit by the sun around the corner.

i’m

drunk & unstable

cheap doubles & pool

early afternoon

in the

Bloomsbury/i won 2 out of 3.

photo man laughing in 8 quid chair.

i’m blinkered

in the

unfinished garden

by shades

and 

by booze.

there

is a fence/we look thru the knots

at a plush

unused lawn

& blank

concrete

wall

begging for

improvised tags.

there is

a bike

there now

that wasn’t

there earlier/it is

white & red.

playing football

in the road

outside

with a

tiny

English football/i kick

it

tho

really

i

cannot.

i ask

for matches

& i’m

given

green cardboard

& told

THIS

IS MATCHES.

i doubt reality & the names of things.

i light the BBQ/hot by the wall.

shovel

raw coals

about

with

a trowel.

ON IT GOES

Gov’ment

calls

for CALM 

with their human mouths

reasonable

like mummy/like teacher

like ANYTHING ELSE would be madness 

and

very dissapointing

all

the

WHILE

they're selling weapons

from big contracts in northern marginals

for

British Jobs and British Wealth

only to friendly states of course . . .

on it goes

DREAM

so the worst dream i ever had 11th june '12
ends with me and my new robot friend
walking hand in hand
into the innocence of a small sunny town . . . 
and
all
the real day
i'm filled with nostalgia i cant place at all
lonely and new without name or location
because of the soft rain 
running down the steel fences
and the cigarette smoke
the wont drift anywhere
and the
blue supermarket brand shower gel 
that reminds me
so 
much
of 
? and ? and ?

ALL CHANNELS ALL NETS

ALL CHANNELS

ALL NETS

Troll Boy foot updates constant

 - just like with the

Golden Spud

last time

around.

WORLD CUP INCOMING (six years ago)

in Germany-

they got a

new schoolboy

signing

    WHATEVER; ALL CHANNELS ALL NETS

 - at least

don’t give

it to

the French

again

for no good or clear reason

EPIC DREAM JUNE 8TH 2012

i'm following a tattooed woman 

down a residential street/quiet background bustle

we go back to her giant house

there are two men there/normal types

all relationships specifics are kept from me

and the silence as they move between rooms is tense and loaded

invited i explore/find others visiting like me

lost in corridors and small bathrooms

and stairwells/all the undecorated bedrooms are empty

and in the huge kitchen with a long breakfast bar

all the windows let in strong light and everyone is down here

and things seem ok for now

outside in the grounds - like a desert stretching to the brown horizon 

in the distance are ancient ruins and a new bridge under construction

i am saying I HEARD THESE HOUSES WERE BIG to one bearded man

but

much to do i have to leave soon . . . 

the tattooed woman says to me I HAVE A PRETTY BACK

and shows her summer brown torso covered with tall blooming roses

and nervous

i whisper WHATS YOUR SURNAME, I WILL FACEBOOK YOU 

she giggles and pulls her top over her face like a happy child

i leave

i have much to do

everything is worse

i forget it is 

then i remember that everything is worse

and there is much to do 

much to sort out 

must find the office 

in school now - and the admin block is hidden

in history class i'd rowed with a long gone friend and punched his face to blood

swimming to his river boat i see him slink away/seen me but leaving

and written on a ball in the prow of his boat is an apology note on an xmas napkin/dont know how that makes me feel

i am diving into the river twisting like a seal and on the shoreline silver kettles shine in the sun

i remember everything is worse/must get things in motion

must find the admin office and TELL SOMEONE

on the shore is my shack i not been back to for a long time

and i lay my stale bedding out on the veranda

next door bill bailey is airing giant gas masks/hanging them in a row in the sea breeze talking continuously

that nurse i know is walking down my veranda

hair in bunches and yellow blusher on her checks all her jewellery is bright childs plastic

YOURE ALL EIGHTIES i call/try to climb the old wood railing but my hands are rubber

and tho leaning down she doesnt reach to help me

and i lay there 

worrying 

in the sand