Wednesday 31 October 2012

HEADLINES


newapapers!

the garish row of shouts and screams 
and demands and blame and bloated breasts
line the shop shelves

i'm only in here for bread and eggs
not
detailed
moral
apocalypse/the reckoning and porn

well, 

i feel an anxiety when i look at them
a troubled
unwell surge
that threatens dizziness
and . . . what?  ACTION?

anyway, 
out on the street the low sun catches a white house
high on the hill
and makes it shine like fairytales

i feel simple when i call it ANTIDOTE 
but . . . well, it is




Tuesday 30 October 2012

YOU


It’s after eleven.  You go in the first dark bar you see.  The wooden stool scrapes on the floor as you sit down and order.  You hope it will settle the shake in your hands and the white noise in your head.  You sip quickly and order another.  You slump forward as the tension eases away in the flood.  You look around and taking off your coat you fold it carefully.  You scoop some nuts from a bowl into your hand and tip them into your mouth.
     The TV on the wall shows rolling news.  Reporters wear body armour over pastel shirts and dusty soldiers wear sunglasses.  You’re jealous of how far away they are.  You check your phone.  Eighteen missed calls.  You order again.  You pick up the bar menu but don’t read it.  It’s nice in here you decide, quiet.  You want to stay longer.  Stay here all day.  Your wedding is at one.


Monday 29 October 2012

YELLOW CHIP DINNER


dont know what to say
to the world today

except maybe; 
i wish it was a nicer place, globally, you know?
with the emphasis more on its people
that its trade
and 
i wish my chip shop didnt shut on mondays
cos
i could go for a paper wrapped yellow dinner tonight



Sunday 28 October 2012

PARTY, PART 14



and later on
before she leaves 
she makes her goodbye rounds

smiles and hugs and promises and waves

and
i take her picture which could have been great

a talking point/an intimcy/a last grasp

had 
she 
only 
kept still for me




Saturday 27 October 2012

AUTUMN!


autumn blue
like dialled in from photoshop

the crispy litter gathers round
the weedy borders and the red brick edges
of
quiet domestic morning toast calm

in the cafe the waitress women wear floppy halloween hats
and
i
sit
reading Bunker cos Foyles had no Goodis

graveyard; natures ragged gold coins pile and clot
under
the burnt amber hues
a woman bends over 
wiping down her parents shining black headstone
and 
a mother chases a football kid in the park
he stops his little running and picks up a big leaf
and
turns
to
hand
it too her
same mother and child i saw singing together when i left the 
warm cosy heating of the drying washing house

i buy milk in the shop - all perfect
all autumn - dialled in from photoshop
cold air
cleans 
that Silent Hill fog away

and - what is that?  in the brown drift hiding the kerb?  
a leaf, lots of leafs, but
they
are 
WHITE!
albino leaves in the torn gold stacks!

what Windows glitch is this?



Friday 26 October 2012

SMALL GESTURES



small gestures
like
in the bar
where we both indicated the seat in the corner
in the park
where i failed to recognise a goose and you frowned your eyes
on the sofa bed
in that living room where you moved your foot on me
 
small gestures punctuate and decorate and anchor and skewer 
my life
and
its
only
small gestures that are big enough
to 
haunt 
me
for 
years and years



Thursday 25 October 2012

WRITE NOTES



write notes
all day

tuck them in zipped trouser pockets

     safe

scribbled in stairwells
and
scrawled in storerooms
before
the
nurses
burst
in looking urgently for this and that

i wonder
will i have the energy to type them up when i get in?

this is one






Wednesday 24 October 2012

PARTY, PART 13


and we hurtle on brakeless greased sliding
but its fine
its fine
my sweat is only a thin itching coat invisible in the dark

i think we should slow down . . .
i think we should . . .

but

whats to say?
whats to say?
whats to say?

I DIDN’T EVEN GET TO TELL YOU . . . 
all the stuff and gypsies
my uber muse

uber muse
with your flat that STINKS of design
with a frosted glass wall
so cool
and the wood so good
the wood so good
and the view like Rear Window

(i never touched her at all)

and
as soon as she daintily and strategically and tactfully could
she 
was 
off
into the dark of bar and party



Tuesday 23 October 2012

JIM MORRISON THE CAT


the kitten purred awake before dawn
he put his paws on
he took some whiskers from the ancient gallery 
and he walked on down the hall
he went into the room where his scratch post lived

and...then he
paid a visit to his empty bowl

and then he
he walked on down the hall

and he came to a door...and he looked inside
master? 
yes son
i want you to FEEEEEED me
master...

i want to...
MIAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!






Monday 22 October 2012

MONDAY HAIKU


bad monday, damn, hell,
bring me a better weekday
tomorrow, for sure



Sunday 21 October 2012

PARTY, PART 12


so eventually after some mingling
and some drinking and some laughing
with only talking to her
on my whisky mind
on my tired mind
on my lonely mind

after so long

(she found someone else and i stopped my hungry emails
and drank
and drank
and drank
cos i never touched her at all)

i
come in from smoking another cigarette
alone on
the drizzle market street
where
i'd
deep into the puddle world/where things seem both
clearer and murkier at once

and

I SAID HELLO

and she shot up like a bolt of
curly lightening
and we talk over each other
our tongues like thick drunk thumbs
hurtling into
conversations and tangents
and
like she used to
she
filled my gaps
and
i had to smile because

I LOVE THE WAY SHE PUTS THINGS
I LOVE THE WAY SHE PUTS THINGS

i love the way she puts things

so clear

my uber muse 
i 
never never
touched
at all



Saturday 20 October 2012

TURTLE HAIKU


the turtle looks sad
he lights my nights with blue stars
birthday present '12



Friday 19 October 2012

CARBOLOAD



i don’t EAT these days
but
CARBOLOAD and PROTEINPACK
in vacuum gobble jags 
of hot sauces and crisp black edges
cos
there is no time
not really

there is
an
infinitely
higher chance
of 
WRITING
something
good
if you are there
WRITING 
in the dark
alone
with your chin and hands and Chet Baker
and
a whirling alien
pan-fried
mind that just
MIGHT
lock onto to a wispy gem
given half a chance



Thursday 18 October 2012

PARTY, PART 11



so
so

GIRL - of course/etc, and hmmmmmm

anyway
theres her hair/like a trade mark
she
has
a
NICE top on

deeply cut down her slim chest

and i see a small sweet pimple
like a street sign
over her
left boob

the NICE top
has pirate cuffs and a glamorous flouncy neck

its a party top/for a party

its glamorous like
her 
hair
like 
in 
the
pome
i wrote and sent to her
i wrote and sent to her
i wrote and sent to her

so, GIRL - of course/etc, and hmmmmm



Wednesday 17 October 2012

TRUMAN WITH NO SHOW


ANY activities
seem abstract now

to tap these keys/prepare that meal

like an experiment
the scientists
lost funding for or interest in 
long long ago

i am Truman with no show

i partake from habit
and
the mildest smidge of curiousity

but one day i must stop
and
climb behind the walls




Tuesday 16 October 2012

PARTY, PART 10



so, party; despite the odds i did arrive
in a numb bag of ignored stress
buried
deep
to
make
DIAMONDS!

and
i did arrive
and
i did arrive
and
the first thing i see is HER
was HER
profile of big hair like some sea creature
long nose of ideas
her smile twists for another man

and
i had to hide/piss out the big whiskeys
of the afternoon
and let the
street sweat dry off
with the rain drops/clings dirty to my skin
forehead
livid 
with
the mark of cain; the big red canyon groove
where i’d dragged a torn crushed beer can across my head

that
drunk garden
yesterday
seems
such a
long science ago

(and digression and Midnight Run make this pome an unintentional epic; an ode to DODGING)




Sunday 14 October 2012

SHOES


my shadow on the bridge is suit shaped
silhouette with a Heisenberg hat

my satchel is Finnish/made in the 80s
and
my mind; a very present day Scream

bright shoe shop window on the north shore 
yells irrelevance at me

the
shiny
shoes
on
stands
are the MOST trivial things ever 

i am angered by it - FUCKING SHOES/JESUS!
and
i
stomp
and
limp
thru the building site City of dug holes and new swelling towers
to
escape on a train
with four seconds to spare

all the long journey home 
(the train fills and empties and fills and empties)
i think about shoes

and how 
of all the evils of consumer capatalism
the
ready
availability of such a base essential is actually commendable

not so long ago
everybody
had just one pair of shoes/if that

and
i
got unworn trainers in the bottom of the wardrobe
waiting for their moment

whatever that means

anyway



Saturday 13 October 2012

NIGHT APPLE


the moonlit apples
black and white, wild, soft and sharp
rot on silver lawn



Friday 12 October 2012

PARTY, PART 9


so, 
mount the steps by toking smokers into the long dark bar
of gold and black wood
my
shirt
is
too tight/too brown
and there is a long lurid red cut on my forehead 
where i crushed a beer can last night
drinking out on the dew wet lawn

and

there SHE was
back to me/talking

her man tall by her side

so, 
i hurtle by calling out 
where's the toilet? 
to some vague acquaintance

i wipe the street sweat from my head/i cant go in cold!
not street fresh!  dazzled blind by traffic and humanities holes!
hot steam 
clogs my arm pits
and
itches the corners of my face

no,

yes,

i hide in the toilet to regroup
(dazzled! dazzled? yes)
i not seen her since before LAST XMAS when my optimism was at its
blind valium height

and 
NOW

i'm fresh from the rain on the street - DAZZLED 
and shaky early drunk

been hassled by a lost couple misunderstanding an A–Z
looking for some closed meat market
and i'd asked them directions
to this bar

to this bar/to this bar

where i see HER
my uber muse 

i never ever touched


Thursday 11 October 2012

ENGLAND


hospitals moody
its break time, coffee and fags
england is raining



Wednesday 10 October 2012

PARTY, PART 8



all of it!
blows my baby-heart away -

i must think on -
and the drills rattle london teeth

i must think back
and DO the party again in this baby-head
i MUST write it down

cos
i must
i must

cos this towns too small and ripped of mind and hope
and my tiny heart pumps only cheap soft toys

but i’m not keen . . .

(i need a cat in here/a cuddle bag of purrs
or 
a silent woman of curves to decorate
the 
cheap
bedspread in delight)

so,
i’m not keen to but
but
but

OK

i will
for my torn insides and for my baby-heart
WILL write
it down . . .

i take a long drink of course
and 
the night and the window and the blue tv
will
watch


Tuesday 9 October 2012

THE SMELLS!


the empty air stinks of 1000 memories

wig-wam weddings
and the new dark school terms
huddled dusk streets
and thick mists
of
other older time

nature blooms a red death on the hills burst palette

and the heatings on!
clicking and clopping
and rattling like tiny hooves escaping home

and 
stinking
of crumpets and dr who
and of the silence of early nights
intimate
with
memories of her and him and this and that

everywhere and of everything

but
so
little
can be nailed down


Monday 8 October 2012

PARTY, PART 7


so,
i force myself to force myself
to
think on the dark party that happened

to
think back/rerun and rewind

to
confront the thing . . . with open armour

all the Things!

to
to
to
write intelligently about the Girl
who 
has 
lived
on these pages more than her street reality

and i never touched her at all

to
confront like therapy/like a crystal moment drunk

the last blown happiness-

late summer/jumpers at dawn

-when i suddenly flew on brief wings
lighter 
than
anything 
i
felt
since
since
since
i was too young to spell the days 



Sunday 7 October 2012

PARTY, PART 6



and these heart-drain drills rattle on
a staccato mash on city skin
pummel out a new architect picture
of 
transport
and
orange brick canal

drills been rattling in Kings Cross
since the dole years
when 
i lay on a sofa bed fried and died awake in dawns stare
and
hungover
beyond
sane reason/beyond puke and mending
to
rise
and shop without shoes
and laugh hilarious at the wooden pub revelation
rolling 
whiskey
bottles
across the wobbly floor

- i’m thinking back/thinking far away
sipping and smoking at the secret midnight window
rather 
than 
the 
fresh branded memories
that 
tonight
shoved up my boozy brain

inside the dark heart of 

party. . .