CLASSIFIED

someone new

to think about

some different

legs to miss

not another face

     that isn’t here

but new lips to dream

     to kiss

ALCOHOLICS?

she asked

if we were alcoholics

cos we were putting it down us

like madmen

like Deadwood

and we were just stripping wallpaper on a Wednesday

(she did a bottle of wine in an hour

but it was her first night off in 8 yrs)

i said/shot glass held next to my grin/that we

WERE - of an evening

and she

was happy with that

and

drunk enough to Shake and Vac my bungalow into the small hours

PARTY, PART 20

and

back at the warped window view 

on my awkward and tiny stool 

from the bland 1980 dressing table

my

drink 

on 

the 

sill

is a wonderful sight shining the orange lamps golden

and

my

relief at a new pen

is the soundest thing tonight . . .

and the new biro spits out a tiny insight/opinion i’m proud of tonight;

you know girls are MENTAL?

fundamentally

MENTAL

well,

she’s NOT (and i never touched her at all) and neither are others

but well

you know . . . insight?  unsight!

and i write

and i write

and i write

while a thin dark kid in ¾ length strides

pisses

up the faux deco front of no 1 Euston Sq

into a potted palm

and

a pale couple wait 

and i think;

who picked up who?

(if any did at all)

DECKCHAIRS

on striped sweet-wrapper deckchairs

checking out the sky

till we're dizzy

and the bushes are a surprise

talking some whatever-shit in the garden

see a mans hat-head bob over the backfence

from my kitchen porch

where i'm fetching teas

and the green hills beyond him swell like a muscle

i smoke camels from crete

on the deck chair/older than i am

loud voices behind foliage

muffled to murmur by warping wood and cool cracked concrete

everyones got windows open

showing white rooms

someones got a dog called timmy

barking from his backyard

and 

later

in deckchairs/sweet-striped/older than me

we’ll 

be 

checking

out 

the white stars/humbling sparkle dots

till the shadow trees and black hedgehog hedges 

startle us back home

talking 

some 

whatever-shit

HICCUP POP

whenever

i mean to think

WEDDING

i think

FUNERAL

whenever

i mean to think

PATIENT

i think

CUSTOMER or VICTIM

whenever

i mean to think

HOSPITAL

i think

PRISON

whenever i think FUTURE i think NO

but

really

it's the only prayer on my lips

i ask - is it as pure with you?

TORPEDO BROTHEL

read in the paper

that

during a weapons amnesty in Hull

a brothel 

was raided

and they found a TORPEDO

now that’s

some 

specialised

kink

PARTY, PART 19

so,

this ink so faint/only pressing out a word'd groove

have to go 

go now! 

and borrow a pen

from the man in the foyer . . .

i run and jump and hurtle narrow stairs and corner

past

a big black man fumbling cases

in a musicians suit

ask to borrow a pen/picking it up/holding it up BORROW THIS?

(so drunk/so raging/i feel i'm KING OF THE FUCKING FOYER!

mercury in my veins)

and 

i run and run

back up stairs and corners

past the big black man carrying cases/travel in his eyes

and

i

got

no

shoes 

on

but i have to pin down werds I HAVE TO PIN DOWN WERDS

i cry this at the eurotrash lugging bags outside my door

I HAVE TO PIN DOWN WERDS

and

the

new ink is so rich on this page

its

like

LUXURY

after the shallow word'd grooves

LOOK AWAY

-

stuff . . .

-

i look away

crystal truth

burnt dawn

even good legs

i look away

it all looks just like

ugly dogs fucking

so

i have to look away

A BEER

chugging green glass

bottle-beer

slim necked romantic

ageless

round tops bent 

dented

foil torn 

discarded

(like love onto the floor)

not

been

in the fridge

no

time

for

that frivolity

tonight

MOMENTS

these moments

you know?

THESE moments!

you know the ones - 

the ones that put you up a tree/in the fresh meadow/that bar

its not that i want to change it all so DESPERATELY

or anything

but

i

could

do with 

just . . . you know -

to live it again

HIGH ANXIETY

in a bad sleep morning
when cigarette smoke curls
in the egg splashed kitchen
and 
the coffee explosion frozen on the wall
screams out 
LAZY SKANK 
the white-out stabs of delicate anxiety and end-times doom
make
the 
cat 
appear no more than some naked hungry ANIMAL
silent and demanding and prowling

waiting for his moment down by my shower splashed feet . . .

deep inside my architecture
in a safe-room bolt-hole by the storm-drains
i
KNOW
he's Professor Cuddles/he's Catrick Swayze
and
means no more harm than a one-time jet of concentrated piss
deep in the duvet folds

and
when i scoop him up he's unprotesting
and i hold him close/smell his clean and fresh old-man-musk
then
his slow heartbeat
turns the mist outside the backdoor
from a cold devils blanket hiding goblin mutations
into
just
natures decoration
we can both explore

pic by Helethri

TRAILER FAILURE

1 ad

and i want to see the movie

2 ads

and i’m there

if someone has a working car

3 ads

and i’m over hyped to death-

wheres the art and tease?

wheres the drawings and on-set stills?

i experience a pre-emptive backlash

of

Don’t Care At All

i go

rent something

on

Tartan instead

WHISKY RAGE

least

i got

a whisky rage on/least i got that hard growl

a magic hunger

for SOMETHING - an outlet with a screw cap on

from a

cornershop shelf where college kids

work evenings

bantering and bleeping

with each other and phones

a big black security guard

with

bling out over his

jumper

watching

bored

reading the Mirror

smells the drink/sees me buy more with a bag of weighed change

last minute scotch boy at 10.55

horribly worried of running out

PARTY, PART 18

so,

i lock this hotel room door

staring

nearly content!?  or very drunk;

the 

difference is millimetres and lice

staring at the baggy saggy blister wallpaper - sitcom brown

and 

it

fits this mood 

like gloves/like snakeskin

i reminisce 

the last hours from this tiny hotel stool

like

already

they're

sepia grandchildren yarns

Kings Cross is a finger tip away-

i read the sign out loud

KINGS CROSS

KINGS CROSS

KINGS CROSS

i point to it/say - A PLACE ON EARTH!

and 

i TALKED Out There/in crowded wildernesses/in the heart of PARTY

in 

nice clothes too small

shirt tight on my forearms

ragged red stripe on my head

and someone says - wasn’t it your bday?

and i say - 3? is knackering but it will only last a year

she says - [a laugh] wot you do?

i say - drank absinthe at noon in St. James park 

threw pebbles at the pigeons 

then cinema or a theatre/something . . . 

i remember the stairs got harder and harder 

and i fell over red ropes . . . 

and she says - well belated cangrats 

i was drunk and shouty/bit spitty/but smiley

and

lord

i am drunk now/like Moses i feel; ancient and important

and righteously indignant

as

my

ink

runs totally dry

CRUMPETS

somewhere beneath
the
hurtling white noise
of 
folky cover songs and hot blonde images in hair gel ads
and
echoed memories of any-fecking-thing from years ago/1999's cocaine park/pre-millenium tension
and
the crazy dreams where i change personality and colour and doorbells are all queen songs/i'm an actor/playing a runner
and
the two or three decades old chart hits/bad ones always bad ones
and
the rolling reviewing last conversations and texts and yesterdays
is
a
voice thats me
saying
make coffee and crumpets
and
watch a dvd

SICK BED

split curtains leak dawn
light shining on the sick bed,
breakfast and repeat . . .

http://mentalhealthtalk.info/2011/03/20/waiting-a-poem/

WHO?

who was that
who woke up in dawn darkness
and
didnt
know
what breakfast was for?

who was that in the black velvet blinkers
with the headache surging
like a riptide of mercury 
full of sediment of wine?

who was that hollow absence 
on naked and newborn legs?
he 
travelled up the hall halfway
before
he
heard loud
his 
one sentient sense 
cry NO!

he was a dark prince of a childs midnight
he
should have left 
in the rolls royce at the end of dreams

but

he was found
surprised and walking 
on
the 
ugly carpet stains of morning

he didnt know
what breakfast was for
and
he worked the telephone with his hooves

EARTH 2.0

to write out your soul
in simple words
be
it
bland kitchen brews 
or
strong strange urgent journeys
or
a scream gasp panting at the waxy ennui of the 11 AM
or
the sepia tears of yesterday nostalgia bars
glowing brighter than it could ever have been
then
we at least make time for recollection and rummination
on
the hurtling blast burp of Earth 2.0
and
hold tight in claws the glimpsed sails passing in long nights
and
the
brain barked accidental insights that easily fall farted
between
the
rushed
moss
cracks in the concrete spaces
of
home
Earth 2.0

ITS ALRIGHT MA, MY TUMOURS ONLY ACCAPELA

i said

the other day

to a

jehovahs witness DID YOU SEE HIM?  WAS HE BROOOWN?

and

i said

the other day

to a

catholic RAAAAAAAAAAH!

and

i said

the other day

to a

muslim TAKE OFF YOUR COAT, CALM IT DOWN AND HAVE A BEER!

and

i said

the other day

to a

scientologist GOING TO A CLAAAAAAAAAAAMBAKE?

and

i said

the other day

to a

christian SO GOD MADE ATHEISTS, WHY CONFUSE HIS PERFECT CREATION?

and

i said

the other day

to a

buddhist REALLY?  NOW THATS REALLY INTERESTING . . . 

and

i said

the other day

to a

hindu ARE YOU THE ONES WITH KNIVES OR THE ONES WITH HASH?

and

i said

the other day

to a

seikh NO, I GOT IT, YOU'RE THE ONES WITH THE KNIVES

and

i said

the other day

to a

rasta YOU HOLDING LEGAL HASH IN YOUR ARMY SURPLUS RIGHT?

and

i said

the other day

to a

jew WHY SO EXCLUSIVE?

and

i said

the other day

to an

evangelist YOU COULDN'T SELL ME A HOOVER LIKE THAT!

then i went looking for the hindu again . . . 

19 FEB

when i was losing my mind i thought -

at least 

SOMETHING is 

HAPPENING to me 

FINALLY!

because 

now 

its all slow wheels and low growls again

of

nothing touching nothing

a bare cupboard world wearing thick chemical gloves

and the only release and treats and drinks i get now

are

mainly

in

my

twisted

dreams

PARTY, PART 17

my dawn scribble is fading/patchy blue ink in fierce grooves

or

is it the light?

no; its the pen/cant face the desk clerk

to 

ask

for 

another

cos

i nearly DESTROYED his door before he could buzz me in

so i lick it and shake it and lay it on the weak iron radiator

while

i

drink

from

this weird vase cup

there’s a dog out there

sniffing the ground

like 

love

i

at this party/this DO/this successful CELEBRATION

sniffed the floor

too

like 

love

i

made people laugh spit on their sleeves

then brought them wide eyed back down

to

existential basics

with my 06 darkness 1000 god-blue dawns cannot break

FUCK! NAME!

i 

say  

chucking things against the wall

FUCK! NAME!

frustration and violence to deflation and silence

FUCK etc

(when really i am labouring in harmful delusion)

i remember saying

"lets drink depth charges till black come out our eyes"

to

confused brows and cautious refusal

hookers out there/out the window/in the Kings Cross night

of

naked

snacks

they take drunk men to the cashpoint

and 

me

at my window

am happy

to be above it all/like a god watching his awful children

so

so,

FUCK! NAME!

and she leaves with her man

who

had

his

hand

on

her/your leg

on

her/your shoulder (the tall CUNT)

and

i

never touched you at all