Sunday 30 December 2012

SPORTS AND XMAS IN BARS



animal rammed bars of sweat-glisten foreheads
in picked perfect casual wear 
thats tweaked undone or stuck tight
all clusterfuck in exclusive phonepod clumps
mouths chewing and gurning manic 
or just hang open 
all gurgle mad laughs 
like hysterical damp caves 

animal rammed bars 
of 
manipulated opiate
joy . . . 

they do feel something/they've been TOLD to 
waving
coloured drinks in thick air 
shouting sales and house party plans 
and making mating moves

this is TIMES/sports and xmas in bars

i see Superdry and Fitch wrapped rats
sucking maze rewards

my
queue of short drinks turns me dark
dressed in bargain black
silent
righteous and ruminating 
hot with paranoid truth
in 
marijuana margins

the corporate sponsers shouting on their shirts
and new pop sop banging out to download ears
is 
FUEL to them

DEMARCATION
to
me
plotting bloody revolution and an isolationist UK state 





Saturday 29 December 2012

ANY BANK HOLIDAY


i work/on time/as usual
early tuesday after bank holiday monday

BUT

cheap coke's caned my mo-jo/i am a no-no
a
shell 
without
soul or vocabulary or go-go
the
ME
i WAS 
eaten by the low snow-snow

(be moody if i wasnt so vacant
early lunch at mall KFC 
tastes like its box)

can
look
in no ones eyes
today 

- they'll see in and see the nothing there

its a day of upper lips and chins




Friday 28 December 2012

WERD STRUGGLY


the werds that danced and exploded with relevant madness
barely trickle now

eyes that saw the streets in poems
blink dull

and the werds!  
the actual werds
that flew like bees and butterflies
and perched like hawks
now
blurt like farts
inadequate in meanings and slim of substance

but i wont give up on them!

dead fade sentences of today MAY sing new lights tomorrow


must trust them
must have faith they still hold true truths and hot dimension
tho
they
look
like
crushed spiders to me





Thursday 27 December 2012

BETWEEN


theres a lull like a dirge

its stale bread

and work/if youre in/is muted

between
the pagan feasts/the rows/small comforts and the sales

and
the wild yell of the 31st when the cities burn cordite and light

then the epic black january hole/more stale bread
with

talk of diets and gyms and budgets - disappointing sandwiches 
and
the lucky book holiday

all schedules slip
waiting
for
the sun






Wednesday 26 December 2012

MORE MUDDLE EAST



buy a broadsheet this morning
to see if anyone is left alive
in the Middle East at all

they way they've have you think
its all block of flats ripped with giant holes 
like
a ravenous monster came into town and bit thru to the lifts
and
News Men, of course
shrunk under helmets and pale blue flak vests

after all the bombs and bullets and bangs
no
one
asks
if
mummy can smile at daddy
and
play with you
this morning



Tuesday 25 December 2012

SHIRLEY LAUGHS, A HOSPITAL TALE



Wave a hand like a Jedi auto-doors would slide open anyway.  Maternity entrance C level scheduled caesareans tear tracksuit mums.  I heard them when I been in there their buffalo bellows.  Small shop baby clothes and bacon crisps.  Tense dad in Sergio Tachini buys a Sun all night eyes no socks. 
Sky throbs a backlit grey dreamt I peddled a dirt bike up a barren mountain pursued by suits I shot at with tiny broken pistol.  It is St Apollonia’s Day patron of dentists.  Cheers last night Norm was genius TRIPS TO NIRVANA ARE DEDUCTABLE he says. 
Our bit of level B is brown anus of hospital.  Cadavers clog corridor corner saw a taut foot flop out finished dull and dead once.  MOR comes out kitchens radio staff share morning stout.  Big-eared linen man Patrick big feet point outwards at maternity lifts mutter about wrong PM. 
BROKEN LIFTS ARENT MAJORS FAULT PATRICK I say. 
Walk in 8 AM brown Gola’s like Boy George New York community service in the paper.  PPE not arrived.  High windows frosted wired break light into dust.  Fruit sandwiches and a book are in my bag.  Early over thirty still new feel old.
Shirley Rose skipping down our bit of level B hair  like child’s always down.  Bumps into me for fun shoelace undone.  Milks in a mug Hobnobs in a hand I try to crush for fun.  Her hand is cool and bony.  Shirley Rose laughing.
I’M COMING BACK FOR YOU JOHNNY.  WE’RE GOING TO THE MI.  YOU BEEN TO THE MI YET? she says goes into an office.   Tiny Debbie Lee hunched over PC called me hot legs at interview.  Mug has her dog on it.  Spills coffee down black boots on box files and full bins. 
HELLO LITTLE BOY she says.
HELLO LITTLE BOSS I say.    
Our office Janine says she saw TV called Fat Women And Feeders made her feel like Twiggy.  Vicki says she saw half of Creep on pirate couldn’t watch it it’s a horror she was alone.
WHAT YOU DO LAST NIGHT JOHNNY?
Drunk I called Rumsfeld a RED SKULL CUNT when news came on crashed in clothes.  Full of codeine now.
OH, YOU KNOW I say.
BLUE EYED BOY SO SECRETIVE Janine says.
Ash coming in Vicky goes worried.  Wife works in Legal.
DO YOU THINK HE HEARD ABOUT PIRATE DVD? Vicky says.
Ash ignored by everyone burnt his bridges.  Hangs his coat thumbs his phone.
GOT TO RING THIS GUY ORDERED 16 MARBLE TOPS FOR MY KITCHENS IN THE HOUSES I BOUGHT PROBABLY HAVE TO LEAVE EARLY he says phone to his face goes outside.
HE DON’T GIVE A SHIT I say.
SHUSH. Vicky gone nervous.
JOHNNY YOURE GOING DOWN MI WITH SHIRLEY Janine says TAKE THIS DOWN.  Clear bags full on the floor.
CAN I GO?  NEVER BEEN DOWN THERE.  I WANT TO SEE IT.  BE INTERESTING.  WONT GO ALONE Vicki says.
CAN I HAVE COFFEE FIRST?
DO ME ONE Janine says.
     Shirley Rose skipping in with empty mugs.  Coffee hello counters codeine goodbye we crowd out.
I WISH A PLANE WOULD CRASH INTO THE HOSPITAL OR SOMETHING.  I KNOW THAT’S BAD.  OR A BIG FIRE.  I DON’T KNOW, I DON’T WANT ANYONE TO DIE Vicky says.
Shirley Rose laughing.
THERES A NAME FOR THAT.  IT’S COMMON TO THINK LIKE THAT.  EVERYONE WANTS SOME VICARIOUS DRAMA I say.
Vickys hairs shiny red today been here since school she’s 21.  She don’t know what vicarious is I’m calling her a MOODY EMO BOY.
FUCK OFF I’M NOT A BOY she says.
Shirley Rose laughing.
I am carrying bags feel tall because they aren’t.
TELL ME ABOUT THE MI SHIRLEY ROSE I say.
I HEARD ITS ALL A BIT CUCKOOS NEST Vicky says.
THEY GET WORSE THE HIGHER YOU GO.  I THINK IT’S FUNNY.  TOP FLOOR THEY’RE REALLY BAD Shirley Rose says.
Connecting corridor on Level A we’re going down stairs crowded with consultants cleaners contractors Shirley Rose laughing at the cram.
MI unit.  Out corridor windows empty courtyard in a green cage green hoops and abandoned basketball.  Green plastic chairs looking chucked.    
LETS GET THE LIFT Shirley Rose says.  Shirley Rose bobs on balls of her feet waits to laugh.
WHERE WE GOING?
ONLY B.  WANT TO GET THE LIFT.  IT’S FUNNY.  Shirley Rose laughing.
Lift announces A FLOOR posh woman’s voice.  Shirley Rose laughing pressing B.  B FLOOR lift says Shirley Rose laughing.
B Level quiet corridors divide to locked doors. 
GO ON Shirley Rose says.  THAT BAG DOWN THERE.  MI ASSESSMENT. 
I’M NOT GOING ALONE Vicky says. 
Vickys on my heels Shirley Rose bobs on balls of her feet waits.
Worn cardy woman walks up corridor arm held tight by nurse in white.  No slap hair flat least of her concerns.  Calls out a noise when I’m close surprised I stop.  Her eyes shine her eyes sparkle her eyes wet with water watch  thin white hand touch my shoulder.  Far away satisfied  smile goes quiet goes on.
SHE JUST HAD TO TOUCH YOU nurse says.  Her eyes kind her eyes dry her smile a beautiful smear of tolerance.
Vickys on my heels I’m pressing the buzzer.  Another worn cardy woman inside walks in circles.  Hairs a birds nest.    
THE CLEVER PROFESSOR IS HERE she says eyes shine eyes sparkle eyes wet with water fix on me.
OH MY GOD Vicky says.
Nurse in white opens up eyes are on my chin.
NEEDLES? she says.
IN THE BAG.
GAUZE? she says.
IN THE BAG.
THE CLEVER PROFESSOR IS HERE eyes shine eyes sparkle eyes wet with water smile a ghost of joy.
Nurse closes up.
SEE ITS ALRIGHT Shirley Rose laughing.
DON’T LIKE IT Vicky says WOULDN’T COME DOWN HERE ALONE.
THEY’RE ONLY PEOPLE.  LOOK AT THEIR SHINING EYES I say. 
NEXT ONE, THIS CORRIDOR, PRESS THE BUZZER, I’M COMING WITH YOU Shirley Rose says.
Vickys on my heels two nurses open up laughing.
WHO ARE YOU? they say.    
DISTRIBUTION I say.
COME IN THEN nurses say.
YOU’RE A RIGHT DOUBLE ACT I say.
LOOKS LIKE WE A GOT A BLUE EYED HECKLER!  GET IN HERE HOT STUFF.  GIVE THAT BAG IN THE WINDOW.
Pass bag in office window for blank face black man tache like TC. 
THEY’RE MOODY IN THERE BLUE EYES nurse says pulls a face. 
WE’VE GONE NATIVE OUT HERE HOT STUFF other nurse says strokes colleague’s curly hair. 
I’m smiling into dancing eyes smiling back.  Press door release button lights go out.  Nurses laugh outside Shirley Rose laughing.
     TURN IT BACK ON BLUE EYES!  Nurses holding hands skip away.
Lights on short man suddenly one foot away.  Three partings and patterned jumper hair least of his concern.
PULL THE DOOR, THE BUTTONS IN HERE TC says.   
Silent pharmacy man silver trolley boxes chains and locks rattle waits to come in.  I’m holding the door wide when three partings bolts out.  Bolts but not that quick.  Short legs more of a scamper scuttles away.  The two nurses inside the ward laughing in each others arms.  Nothing happens.  TCs looking away.
Door swings shut.  Pharmacy man in me out.  We’re alien scruffy on clean tile morning sun shines in frosted windows.  Shirley Rose laughing loud.  Three partings gone. 
WE JUST GO? I say.
I DON’T KNOW Vicky says.
LETS GO I say. 
Shirley Roses going red holds herself up on corridor railing hair tangling with evergreen plants.  Separating her hair I move her on. 
NO ONES DOING ANYTHING she says gasps the words.  She cannot believe any of it.  HE JUST RAN OUT!
I got her by the arm Vicky is on my heels.  Shirley Rose is redder.  Beyond laughter now.  She is crying.  By the lifts she is helpless laughter silent.  Nothing happens.  No alarm is raised.
DID THEY SEE HIM? Vicky says.
THEY SAW HIM I say.
WHAT DO WE DO? Vicky says.
WE GET OUT OF HERE I say.
Shirley Rose slumped against the wall laughter bubbles up.   
Shirley Rose laughing all the way back to the office.  People look at us.  Laughing now about how much she laughed.
In the office Shirley Rose is telling everyone laughing.  Collapsed over a desk red faced exhausted laughing because the short man ran away.
NORMALLY GET RUN OVER IN THE CAR PARK Cancer Rob says lounging in for chat.  Wasting time waiting to retire.
NEVER GET OFF SITE.  MIGHT HAVE BEEN A DAY PATIENT.
WHAT DO WE DO? Vicky says.
FORGET IT Cancer Rob says.
Shirley Rose laughing.
I eat my sandwiches put kettle on roll a cigarette.  Nothing happens about it all day.
Home micro fries smell comforting on toast with beans for dinner booze is desert.
I watch Cross Of Iron because I read Armageddon but not ready for rest of Come And See.  DVD flat on the floor in front of TV sad boy on sleeve haunts me.  Scene with J Coburn and nurse dancing high in rehab making me stand shuffling on the rug ties the room together.  Ice tinkles in tumbler.  Only one booze tonight.
 Outside sky is streaks of black and joy.  I’m writing BE BRUTALLY BRIEF AND RANDOMLY SERPENTINE on my pad.  I’m dating it.  I’m turning the laptop on. 
Phone ringing HI JOHNNY, WERE YOU ASLEEP? she says tells off children in the background.
I AM STILL OVER 30.  EVERYTIME I WAKE I KNOW I AM NOT SPECIAL OR HAPPY I say.
YOU’RE NOT A LOOSER EITHER JOHNNY.  WERE YOU ASLEEP?  HAVE YOU EATEN?  I’M PAINTING STOOLS she says.
WASN’T ASLEEP.  EVERYONE SAYS THAT.  WHAT COLOUR?
Car slowly whooshes off in wet street number nine scooter screams like an F16.  Shut baby blue eyes see dogs burning hear Shirley Rose laughing.
RED WHITE AND BLUE she says.
NICE I say. 
Going to sleep can hear Shirley Rose laughs.

Sunday 23 December 2012

SUMMER



this summer smells of summer

the hills are nicely smeared in a calm soft haze

the hospital tower block is small before the sun

kids yelp out a hatchback going boom boom past
free and young and new and smiling under baseball brims

a TVR with one of those paint jobs
shimmers seven shades in the high glare

i jot an inky smudge reminder 
on my summer brown paw

reminder to survive



Saturday 22 December 2012

PULPY


well, up later than usual
modest place east of town
8 AM
read my detective novel in hot bath drawn from tank in the attic
heated overnight
cigarette smoke mixing with steam.

on green rusting washing pole
cord long gone to coil in the winter border
sits a white dove lit glowing by the low sun,
looks soft,
no hint
of his noisy oils
in the creamy feathers
he ruffles and smooths again.  long shadow of his beak stretching along his back.
he
is
framed in the window perfectly like
in-laws on the mantelpiece.

well, at the back door i light another cigarette 
i wear a damp towel pulled tight
in the draft.  quiet/ one man mends his shed roof
bent over behind
the bare trees
higher than fences 
hitting nails in threes.

on the bent aerials monochrome magpies impossibly bright against
the heavy grey storm clouds
nod and twitch and pace
smaller birds scattered
lost like seeds till shoots sprout
showing themselves again 
in spring.

well, i'm not in west texas anymore . . . are these birds omens i wonder?
this year’s nearly done with me.  its mistakes and endurance and drool tailing off
like dawn mist on the choppy lakes where the 
small boats creak
waiting.

well, i decide to decide the birds are omens.  why not?
and i stretch out
on the old bench picking at the weathered peel
and
looking at the churches.


Friday 21 December 2012

GRAFFITI



wring out my
tiny heart
in short pomes
-time pop pop-pops
like an
     impromptu dawn-fuck surprise

catch elemental and tiny unthings with a fine nib
     as technaical architecture

     hold them
     keep them
like photos or a mirror
to read as proof
that
     I Was Here



Thursday 20 December 2012

RAAAAAA!



go RAAA! at them

at them all . . . 

everyone go RAAA! at all of them

in the offices 
and at conferences
and at the doctors 
and to the police

go RAAA! at politicians and judging judges

man must go RAAA!

at last!

at all the lies

and

all

the 

shit



Wednesday 19 December 2012

DRUNK IN MY EAR




riding a night train thats too bright for the black estuary dark

i cant see the imported yaks 
or the silver lakes 
or the sagging cables looping

can only see mirror me
fractured and smeared and counting stops
and
the
smudges of passengers thumbing phones
or
talking about their evenings/been out in the london mass

'i’m drinking piss
like it’s a
beer stain!'

cries out a drunk
too close
to me



Tuesday 18 December 2012

AFTERTHOUGHT WORLD



those things never said - my abundant afterthoughts
are
never
lost only forever lodged 

stillborn comebacks and special clarifications 
spin inside on a carousel

they
are
BEAUTIFUL 
but un-aired they rot and ferment and torment
the
interior
carousel

i am TALKING to people/TRYING to be a people
making afterthoughts be happen thoughts
in
the
out-there world

tho i'm an old backwards FUCKENWOLFE i'm learning that
its
still
BEAUTIFUL
to
decay in colours
on the carousel







Monday 17 December 2012

PARTY, PART 22



and out the the oil-liquid sheen of wobbled glass
i see a man 
meet a night lady
in 
the 
blink
of a condom 

they
walk
six feet apart
to a cash point in a red brick wall

women
club drunk
in tight pale denim blotched like snake skin
round the corner
with a tall man hung with bags
all talking loud and lazy 
saying things ending in YOU

the night lady keeps a wide birth from the cash man
and
points the way ahead of her

and no one
looks up here
at me
the black shape in a hotel window
chewing my pen
and drinking my
drink
dodging truths and smiles



Sunday 16 December 2012

NAKED


some one wise once said to me
that 

EVERY ONE LOOKS SWEET NAKED

its
stuck
with
me

we are sweet-vulnerable in our animal skins
and
confidence
and
coyness
and
hiding behind pillows
are all the BOMB



Saturday 15 December 2012

AT 38



i am a stranger to myself
tired and drawn and stubbly and old-
my age ENORMOUS!

i've landed suddenly in my future.

big thin alien hands
clutch
the
maintenance meccanno of the soft machine.

working again
in the hospital.  
all my clothes are too big now.

he’s looking at me from behind deep glass
in
the
dark
light
of
a service lift mirror.

HELLO YOU i am saying.



Friday 14 December 2012

FILE A REPORT


'write!'
'. . . can't . . .'
'file a report, damn you!  you a writer, or some ugly regular joe?'
'. . . writer.'
'can't hear you.'
'WRITER!'
'good, now file a report.'
'about what?  i'm so tired, cant think straight, head like a  sandbag . . .'
'about anything.  
the way you cook just to use that good bbq sauce, 
the Illy tins you keep keeping and filling with tat and long pencils, 
the flowers waiting under the ground for their moment in the sun.  you're the writer.'
'and you are?'
'your Supervisor, Agent. now file a report!'
'now?'
'NOW!'
' . . . but . . . its hard sometimes . . . i . . . need rest.'
'rest later.'
'ok. what were those things you said?'
'they're old now. come one.'
'like, mmmm, the smudge of mornings when dawns under the duvet?'
'good. more.'
'smudge of morning when the dawns under the duvet
and 

hundred vans move like toy lego
in the unformed fantasy
of a dull child
trapped inside a living room
hiding
half chewed fish fingers under the sofa frills?'
'something like that.'
'and the sky is a grey back
and imagination dies
and only hot dinner and the night lights after dark
bring
comfort
to a town struck dumb as a friday night in alone 
pondering
dwelling
worrying
of
the LIFE outside LIVING in busy bars 
and spilled in shouts and bonds onto takeaway streets
while
hearing the washing machine gurgle and whir
and
make up
more
wet cloying chores.'
'that'll do. file it Soldier. that'll do.'




Thursday 13 December 2012

CONTROVERSIAL BEATLES



when 
they were good
they were very very good
but
when
they were bad they were RINGO



Wednesday 12 December 2012

ITS CARD FLAT


winters late dawn is golden blue
like over a frozen santa toyland

frost
clings
heavily 
on spiders half-thought webs like tinsel

the leaving night is a black smudge
and
i
turn
to see what the dawns got - its like a pic from a card
from 

christmas greeting card 

and just as flat

theres a drawn sliver of fingernail moon 
and one dab of star thats a planet
no holy men
just a parade of vans
and a flat cut-out silhouette of black lung trees

later going home the sun is on the other side
and it falls and bleeds
keeping
almost still
and
playing with the rips in the clouds




Tuesday 11 December 2012

MUDDLE EAST



subcontinent region is exotic 
of 
smells and sun and tropical green

news 
only 
shows 
dry desert streets 
pitted with bullets smashes and crumble shops
where
women
run between rusted car barricades

I'M VICARIOUS shouts a newsman 

under god under war/oil under the sand/old paris of the east
infrastructure blown
by 
remote drones and the Hummvee tip of the spear

backyard generators are
cooled
with
bucket waves of chucked water

Blackwater and black market riot with loot

no one says civil war

i’m stabbing out a last fag
choosing cool jazz music to hear stretched out
in my dry bed
to 
blow
the arguments and armaments of men
from
my
soft western head