HOW TO WRITE POETRY 1 2 3

catch the pops
in a pad
from your pocket
when 
youre at work
on the train
in the drain
SEE them/call them REAL
and
net them without second thinking

later
in the calm
with jazz and squinting
throw grit in the seams
and 
plant flowers where they join
then feed it all to dragons 
and
build truth from their turds

NHS-KU

nhs dumb waste
impossible to counter,
strong wind blows fags out

LOOK AWAY

in

with 6 pack

stretching shop carrier bag

warm beers 

whisky

and

a kinder egg

cos its got a toy in

so 

i sozzle and dream/gulping and pondering

belching between the small shots

when

  ghosts loom

 

  hungry ghosts

  eating alone

  in front

  of the

  blank eye broadcast 2005

 

  monster ghosts rise from red depths

   

  rage hidden - heroic

but i can see it coming!

and

  

i look away

MOON

piss stain moon
glows low gothic 
and yellow mean

moon doesnt fit here 

sat like he's shelved above charcoal chunks of forest
and the horizon rubble line

i carry thirty nine scribbled-on calendars up the hill
in a sober black bag
  
'yesterday 
is 
never 
over' 
i mumble to the moon thats pinned down where children can reach

DANGEROUS

it may sound silly or off

to some 

but

often i realise i have not died

not yet accidentally gasped in to long sleep

thru black celebration and into nowheres peace

and

the chances are i wont tomorrow either

but

i hold the fearlessness of the dead and their armour

and

the nerve of the insane in calm sure paws

in

these

sudden

moments

of realisation and age thatshock me with gentle electric

i

burnt out many times

but

life is endless and relentless and exhausting

its always there until its gone

so 

its all through the looking glass

and

if

i

ever

get it together 

well

i'd probably be dangerous

B MOVIE

it was a cycle
a spiral/heading round and round and then down

i'd lived it in ignorance and rode it blind
inhaling all its hot-spice flavours
blown in on bad winds

i'd hidden in its dull mountains

then
i
was
taught it
on wipeboards in warm rooms in secure facilities

i
learnt it/the coping mechanisms and the physiology
i
nodded all the time
i
imbibed by osmosis the theory and the science

now its here again/trembling on the tight architecture
my back mind
bangs
useless
on the backdoor

technical knowledge 
looses to white noise and the bombs and the triggers
that litter literature and characters
in
my
b movie

DELICIOUS

theres a delicious moment 
that you cant properly taste or keep

it happens on waking 

it happens before you know youre awake

nothing is anything and its comfy and its warm

youre an empty animal of sensation
no
bullshit
no
brain engaged

it doesnt last

then everything comes up off the floor
and from under things and from behind things
in
a
physical whoosh
and
flood of bad heat

youre life is stamped on your space in thick ink
and
it
takes sound hold

and thats it for the day

THING

a bad thing of shapes and barbs 
hollow and strong and reaching
motorised and automatic
has 
hungry carpet hooks 

they latch into 

for
example

1000 awful newspaper headlines 
and stuff my head with their screaming

the bad thing
is a shadow of arms 
silent 
busy

they
magnify slender possible doom into biblical certainty
CREATE disaster from a hiccup
and

for 
example

destroy your perception of your ability to cope
in
whirling discs of accelerating steel
and 
makes you count the dark rainbows in the filings

forever

ANIMAL WORLD (GOODIS)

the 
timeless seconds of ENGAGEMENT
when
talking is the Werd - at work or in company 
and
not enthused but animated
i
become
used-free and lost-found and busy-tired

the instant after
the flood flows - the world is a distant place
and
its animals are busy

they cackle and they battle and they bark and mew

the
timeless seconds of ALONE like anti-buhdda
are
so aware 
so clear-dull
so shining black
i
become lead floating 
my mind 
full of spinning discs

VOIGHT-KAMPFF

life -

it’s a test

to provoke 

an emotional response

LEFT KNICKERS

she left her underwear

in a charming puddle on the bedroom floor

underneath

yesterdays thrown trousers

big and small/delicate and strong

and

i

did

nothing

except carefully wash and awkwardly fold

despite the latent smut in my mind

i had too much respect

gratitude

and

awe

100 FRONTS

the digital green/grey infantry wall

deployed 

on 100 fronts

is

called

democracies human coast

but

its

a soft machine border washed by crazy rip tides

and

ever changing kings shout at different surf

theres 

fires there

and

slick horses

walk by shining in the oil flames

infantry wall - armed in the grey area

OLD PHOTOS

the 1940s are small pictures shedding skin in shades of brown  

old names

printed on the back in faded fountain pen ink

with strange printed E's and G's

they stand posed like a line of brown toads

in cricket clothes

with big ears

and hawk noses

in carpet trousers pulled up to here

their old stories of dream bungalow estates 

ramble on to West End homos

and 

they

live by catalogues of slacks and brown plastic attachments

the survivors are smaller than their pictures

their eyes have developed a wet twinkle with time

soon they will lie under blue tarpaulin in tin boxes

and

take a dumb-porter ride

past my office

where 

i 

eat 

toast

and think - i want to buy new brown trainers 

            for them 

            to be burnt in

THE MYSTERY WERDS

must

press those indicator buttons

on

that plastic technology and Communicate

with

a lady clearly of obvious worth

must speak the Mystery Werds with sweat wet hands

it

is

essential

to

be

UNDERSTOOD

let it

be no ones 

fault

if

we

slide

into

separate stories

one sweet moment is enough fuel to see me thru 

SCREAMING BOY

Lamp lights policemans lined face saying DOES LEGO STAND FOR LET LEGO ROCK?  I am saying NO dream copper thinking Lego’s an acronym.    

Dark dream before early alarm I wash it away.  In the shower spray sparkles.  Dial it hotter then more hotter held safe inside dancing drops. 

TV Paxman saying DO YOU AGREE CONDOMS HELP PREVENT THE SPREAD OF AIDS?  Blair does.  Soon to be Catholic will meet the pope.  Expression too reasonable makes his evil your fault.  Paxman saying WHEN YOU MEET THE POPE WILL YOU TELL HIM?  Blair saying BLAH BLAH BLAH hands wide eyes wide like it’s childish to ask. 

It is St Colman of Cloynes Day was poet laureate of Ireland back when being a scald meant something.

     Bus empty because so early I am sitting in middle of back seat.  Feel like a king.  Dead foxes left by farmers as warning rot on A road verges.  Burnt out blue Focus by the petrol station sells caravans now.  Van men smoke on phones hunched over the wheel teenagers ride silent shotgun.  Couple of clouds over the Thames glow pink in the grey.

     7.30 AM canteen miserable woman puts cheap bacon on white slices bearded IT consultant hair gelled in a dinosaur crest saying MY DAYS! as she butters it he belly laughs WHY NOT MORE FAT?  Married to statuesque black woman adopted her kids watches Disney Pixar movies on his laptop between meetings he says LATERS strolls up to Finance with milk.  He has my Come And See DVD.  Don’t want it back.

Builders in torn hoodies and hi-vis on hot mobiles queue for full English’s charm smiles out the cooking crone.  Building £8 million multi-storey opposite A&E.  Unspecified amount to be deducted from wages for staff to park.  Everyone talks about it saying I AINT PAYING, I AINT PARKING THERE.  

Nothing to read I am watching the world out the tall tinted window.  Buses coming in swinging round going out.   Nurses in hats hurry from cabs and husbands cars.  Sandwich going down sweet HP sauce mixing with melting butter all clear yellow and wet brown.  Builders spread The Sun out and lean in. 

I feel a sense of community under canteens high ceilings and hollow tinny chatter hospital day just starting.  I shake it off.

Tom ex-police bigot sitting six tables down opens the Mail waits to retire.  Same post as me he does little.  Parades around in three-piece when he got a free Mason do after work.  Leaving I nod to him.  He is surprised.  MORNING to Jim MAU with carrier bag and coffee.  Still in DMs like when I knew him in 92. 

In the office women over 40 bought these glass coasters you can put pictures in.  Bought off the book man leaves books and other bits on the side in offices collects them and money in an envelope week later.  Pass him in the corridors pulling a plastic trolley looks knackered nothing ironed.  They print pictures of a pale vampire boy from a movie.  They concentrate seal his face in glass talk about their dogs and grandchildren called Brandon. 

I am sipping hot coffee out a brown stained Covidien mug salt of the earth I am telling myself not easily led drones.  Janines nephew I call Carboy is walking about playing Mine Sweeper on a PDA makes cars noises like tyre squeals and handbrake squeaks eats crisps his collar up tattoos out. 

I COULD HAVE THAT PASTY FAGGOT he says. 

HES PRETTY they chorus expressions motherly indulgent.

DON’T YOU SAY NOTHING ABOUT EDWARD! Janine says to me. 

     I sigh say MORNING look to work.  Theres bags for MI unit come in.  No one else goes down there.  NOT ON MY ROTA everyone says WHY SHOULD I DO IT.  This attitude prevails.  I been there before with Shirley Rose.  We explore.  We been on the roof.  I wedged the door open.  She laughed.  DON’T WANT TO BE THE PEOPLE GOT STUCK ON THE ROOF I say YOU EVEN GOT A PHONE ON YOU?

     I’LL TAKE THESE I say GET THEM OUT THE WAY.

     THANK YOU Janine says snaps little scissors.  Julie the boss on diet of water and one biscuit dead lighted eyes looks like she never heard of the MI nods. 

     Janine does a dance swings her hips.  Another Edward pic on Google images.  I am feeling irritation.

     PRINT THAT ONE FOR ME.  WANT THAT ONE.  Childishly.

     WHAT YOU DOING?  Julie says is dazed.  Left out but doesn’t get up.  Not seen the films not read the books.  Got HR appointment later meeting union rep first.

     The MI unit half a mile down Level A corridor run by different Trust.  We supply stuff for blood tests.  24 ply gauze and 21g needles and plasters and 6ml purple top blood bottles and Transpore tape bang my knee in plastic bag.  The marked-up Meccano we do can’t help head problems.  Belhus ward.  Top floor.  Secure ward. 

     MORNING to Cancer Rob maternity porter waits to retire over-tanned orange chest exposed out his tunic says MORNING back in measured clipped voice.   

Skinhead porter with goatee and tattoos never smiles drives yellow Bradshaw Electric Vehicle tows breakfast carts past me standing out the way CHEERS MATE.  Theatre orderlies slowly roll early patients in from main lifts.

     Link corridor to MIU always empty.  Worn wooden floor is split low sunlight diffuses thru filthy frosted plastic wall.  Silence.  Rusty penny perched on the wooden handrail where I left it last time down here with Shirley Rose when that guy got out.

     Enter MIU proper everything changes.  Abstract art painted on pastel walls.  Chill muzak plays low.  Square sofas sit empty.  No one down here at all.  I am in a lift go four floors up floors announced by polite female voice. 

     Level D old couple composed in coats sit on pastel chairs clutch hands and small bags.  Look at the same nothing bit of floor together.  Look up at me I nod.  No staff no smiles.

     Primal screaming comes from behind the locked door.  Hairs on the back of my neck rise.  Never heard anything like it.  A scream at the emptiness of Wednesday morning.  A screaming to let it all out.  It doesn’t stop.  Old couple look at the same bit of nothing floor.  Wednesday morning nothing he’s not putting up with it.

     Belhus ward.  Top floor.  Secure ward. 

     I buzz the buzzer look thru the glass slit.  Inner door rattles open big black man in white fists full of keys looks at me confused.  He’s opening outer door I am holding up bags he’s nodding reaching.  Screaming way louder now.  The old couple looking at him recognition registers.  He doesn’t know what to say.

What a scream!  What relentless yelling!  I am uncomfortable.  So loud.  So primal.  So horribly free.  I am exposed.  I am intruding on something.  In the middle of some else’s pain.  I am cold all over.

The old couple say together THAT’S HIM, THAT’S OUR BOY.  HERE TO SEE HIM.  They mean the screaming boy.  He’s their boy.  Soft winter sun washing colour from us all.  Their boy.  They know his scream. 

Nodding black guy says I’LL LET THEM KNOW.  Flicks me a look disappears behind locks and doors scream muffles only slightly. 

     Slowly leaving down empty stairs.  Scream echoes inside me.  Haste and smiles have no place here.  Wednesday morning never felt so useless.  Porter carting a cage of Coke and crisps and Kit Kats sees my shock. 

In the link corridor soft sun filters thru filth.  Far away hospital bustle is light at the end of the tunnel.  A scream couldn’t make more sense.  I walk in a dream.  Break a cold sweat.  Go outside.

     Low winter sun coming at me sideways like some glowing knowing eye.  Smoking shelter out back of theatres theres a woman in blue scrubs.  I recognise her but she’s had a haircut talks to a cleaner looks likes a bulldog.  I am nodding stand alone on the fire path weeds poke thru concrete shapes. 

I am rolling a cigarette.  I am squinting upwards so see only sky.  The scream echoes inside me.  His parents rumpled beige anoraks sepia photographs inside me.  Air is still between ward blocks.  Grey clouds hurtle along faraway.

Cleaner is saying she watched Something About Mary with her fella he didn’t like it then went home and she walked her dog taped over it with Scary Movie tonight he’s cooking.  Their eyes look dead Superking smoke spirals in still air.  Sirens wailing up the A road.

I feel desperate.  I feel mad.  I inhale deep.  Screaming never made more sense.  Screaming makes total sense.  This is all going on.  This talk.  This sky.  Back in there that was all going on.  Screaming going on.  Quiet parents quiet faces waiting going on. 

Outside the office I telling Janine what I heard it had no power couldn’t make her see.  Julie the boss gone to appointments.

Mobile bleeps in my pocket with a text.  Rarely get a signal in here.  Roll a fag go out by mortuary call her back.  I’m listening about her diet.  She can feel the fat disappear tingling off her thighs in TV evenings.  I’m telling her about screaming boy.

YOU OK JOHNNY? she says.

WANT TO GO HOME HIT THE SCOTCH IN DIM LIGHT AND SILENCE.  WHERE DO WE GET THE USELESS STRENGTH TO PERPETUATE?  I say.

JOHNNY IT’LL BE OK, HAVE SOME DINNER OK?  I CALL YOU TONIGHT she says.  

Back in the office there’s new glass coasters everywhere.  

TINY VROOOOM 2

from the 
insisting hiss of white noise 
before dawn
when the cats own and prowl black and white crescents
no 
milk floats to break the hectic static 
with electric hums and organic rattle of glass bottles
anymore

to the
winter afternoon cartoon gloom of englands grey jumper 
smothers the day to early death
holds the town down
in some stuffy forever waiting room 
overheated with Readers Digests

i have 
breathed deep to dodge and dive the accelerator panic bombardment
of
the
Complex Web of Intricate World
desperate
for daylight hugs to hold me tight and back to safe ground

i have
an urge to Create that crumbles under its own weight
a Battle - fought with small pens between moving films
and
i remember 
a small hand that nested light and brief 
in
mine
and lit all with its tiny vroooom 

it anchored me
reaching clear thru the loose abstract clouds
where all is only PARTS . . . 
and
dawns weak smudge and nights awful death
and
daylights stale 
eternal
middle
became suddenly so long ago

SCRAWL

shiny expensive hospital equipment

delivered by drivers smelling of shit or detergent

wrapped safely in layers of air pockets

and 

extensive fascinating cardboard formations

is

almost instantly disfigured and tainted

with electricians tacky approval stickers

and

the

paranoid permanent marker scrawl

of

the

wards name

FUCK YOU

Fuck North my solid Ignorance & Fuck original stark intro left for emotional later that

 thick-tread fingers fear to stroke - even think.

Fuck Nuclear hangovers that kill dogs on concrete Southbank hurry; click-screen hands

 & tight joggers Ipod me.

And Fuck Smoke thats delicious & killing me blackly through Tuesday lips in election

 hinterlands on fat fools blind prie-dieu.

Fuck You arrogant Sun Paper think busy world is looking to You yelling self-importance

 on cheap folded page of Bingo & Tits.

Fuck camera loose women that wear plastic inside; parading Burgess proportion of dumb

 milliard children in Realities sick kitchen marriage.

Fuck Hollywood false dreams sold sold sold, always new, to misled blockbusterers

 disposable meaningless then fun after years; dated stoner parodys in the CAT midnight.

Fuck this Sofa I am stuck to; think paralytic remembrance - Honest Genius always…

And Fuck Past never washed; shines now brilliance of someones elses quicksilver

 memory clean of Laysdown beasts & sick beach flu.

Fuck You Imperial Coke fizzes on nightstand audible brightly out-of-reach by square

 Jap separates & bottle top herd.

Fuck Your Smiles of Cope stretched in the timpani wind, no screams in mental ward,

 sympathy up Belhus between resigned parents & black man key locked doors.

Fuck happy-sad Memories rankling in corridors smells; Fuck You leaving them there to

 lurk me - I was hungover then; ranked (killing dogs).

Fuck You Monsters that peddle Terrific Tat; cannot look away to save ourselves in tele

 glow Everynight…escape in fast blink miniature peace dreams.

Fuck Borgia Streets of rare-chance pavement; kissing step nights of wine detail night air,

 drunk cars softly walk pass.

And Fuck Jobs attended in mild surprise, cruelly patiently, to seethe rejiged in the

 evening song with beer & fist-broken hash.

Fuck Sane Gratitude that smacks me down from hot-mind contact contact contact: Fuck

 the devils thin line red-brown smeared provisional murk.

Fuck Lithium train rode home for Christmas; warm from sweet hand visits at gigs sat leg-

 numb on beer slopped table in row of student strangers, broken rockers.

Fuck torture-dark Days repeating grey estuary curse curse curse; turning over in my head 

 laid over edge of ramshackle bed, ashtray’d chest schismatic. 

Fuck Red Helix moments exposed & disclosed; Fuck sick surging barren relief when I 

 have nothing…Fuck optimists who lead us all to hell like blind cunts.

Fuck the Ganges; All big rivers; Natures tutelary roadmap of brutal Monster beasts &

 secret ugly fish wont stand nor sail nor swim boat nor raft.

Fuck You Manager-Lawyer where idealists once thunk the blood of duelling Ideas;

 killing in cause & purpose mandated old school.

Fuck Fire - dull in my Glass Eye.

Fuck Towns & Cities I walk on soft haired legs hurting my paces hungry; road wind face

 camera records passing bustle & mad horror.

Fuck Bush; Ignorant Faux-Tex playing Daddy Cock-Cock.

Fuck Lost Shit; bridges cold wind under early stars where Someones nose shone red;  

 faux-meek in fur bundles & knitted mitten paws.

Fuck Campfire lit Someone of nightdark beauty; natures Real intention in warm shadow

 forest nights of splashed wax & bourbon-on-Thames.

Fuck Things roach like; summer smells more warm nights pint-sloshed on kebab kerbs

 of familiar journey; booze shaggy legs & harsh comedy shouts echoing.

Fuck You vicarious living on ‘fetamine slabs or the swaying stool; sheilds up holding

 Tennets in drinking fists where dark laughs bark flat.

Fuck You walking nose in-the-air on haunches of solid gold…Fuck You solid routine

 hide in rigid century fear metronomic.

Fuck You thought wonder locations in War night & all foundering aground under the

 same hazy moon of the Hoon.

Fuck You real living Destruction & Destraction; alone on gravel busy buses pass lit &

 dirty packed with evening wretches nameless in public travel.

Fuck You; Harbinger of low panic & Fuck phone texts - rude tech. shouts rumble the

 floorboards of square drink nights.

Fuck You hip ecstasy nerds helpless by the tent ropes, pixel eyed delicate drugged needy

 youth demolished under glo-tube canopy, brain-fagged.

And Fuck My Caboodle; drunken disaster of eyes in black coat…Fuck these cracked

 streets rolling under rubber logo’d souls.

Fuck Malls; Massive brick bastards landed & contrived towers of no Babel, free speech

 denied in Corporate highstreet cache; roof’d pushers now in from the rain.

Fuck You; traffic thick lines of dashboard plastic headaches & Real cigarettes honour

 smoking…

Fuck Fenchurch misery trains; left dry under brightlights twice counting 12 floors in

 tower blocks; lemon Westenders sober in dull Saturday night glow.

And Fuck Strange Bosses; drove to hot daytime tear shouts from exhaustion & bland

 stresses overpower my small mind like steel Rams of Apocalypse.

And Fuck Anywhere Towns that live in memory painted by time & light forever…

Fuck this Town of flat shadow floating in old blue marsh of weak-chested foam yoof 

 driving hot low hatches; dead children on the Swan road.

Fuck You Great People of flashing silver names alive forever, crippled tokens in fall…

And Fuck American pavement; sidewalk of Imperial Liberty grunts ‘dude’ & drives East

 in dangerous God Right gory.

And Fuck Russia; huge impacted Power behind Stalin curtain of imported neon still

 corrupt & killing Red Hammers wait in satellite corruption…

And Fuck Incisor Fluff from New Towels! filling drying mouth! eyelids flutter panic -

 too close! tucked and rolled on soft…wont go! & then my screams…

Fuck Mephistopheles & dark children that climb backs on Edifice Night puking &

 pissing my stumbling way home.

And Fuck smack, crack, misty opium running the veins of our monk statement overfun 

 pushed pushed pushed - 30s Berlin...

And Fuck You alarm clock bus & breakfast, trousers wearing thin & enormous dark

 forces silence me - bunker down in a foul hole grateful for the pre-cast sun.

Fuck You broken ghouls withering on grey beds; plastic government Death paid for;

 one day you did walk the shop streets with us.

And Fuck Art; Tate Fart - selfpat on the back brain in soft misery of death & the obvious

 - I dont care whats in your wank-mind.

Fuck Tools that build Tools that build Machines to free Us - God Cobalt Made - to a new

 cage of forgotten silicon death blades…

And Fuck bed & soft trousers; home of swollen belly & sullen dreams & spillages

 damping these night sheets redder.

Fuck You Spectrum of Light that shows variety of hate clear on shades of face-traffic;

 damaged pitted by New Industry winds & shark stolen cliffs.

And Fuck my smuggle-watch of lies; Time dying…Yowl! & Fuck blue flicker portals of

 the street keyhole Damned.

Fuck You grey fading souls ticking over crossword last breaths; brains heated by sugar

 soft bodies no one will hold again…

Fuck You dirt road I walked in salt air before man-hutch buildings moved into forgotten

 wharf; blocking their own view & putting awards on signs.

Fuck the tip stink I threw possessions in; spreading myself/truth into the glamour of the

 earth; dust to dust landfill to landfill….

And Fuck You noble elephants lazy tigers & monkeys with big eyes beaten & eaten in  

 Africas rich-poor bush stew.

Fuck midnight runners & booze hound smokers shaking glass & cigarettes in the stars

 undertow fearing the morning/nothing & solid downcomes.

Fuck Universe massive empty Mocker of Coincidence; doting our silicone party with

 Carbon Rain & atheist pain.

Fuck the Carbon Based Hive & treacherous balance of scale & running temperature;

 reality for jelly box minds to Fuck in.

And Fuck New York Saigon & Chadwell Plug; concrete plinth of thuggery lurking west

 of the small story where she wont/dont sing no more.

Fuck You Vampires Dragons Fairies who swap teeth for change at the gardens end &

 night-fire caves ancient slumber & rain-dark sky mystery of electric cool.

Fuck human finger dirt smears on shiny brass & Fuck pale scrawn of youth in cheap 

 logo’d suits clean & crappy going for ten Benson & red Breezers.

Fuck You monkey’d beach I cannot enjoy & Fuck untidy partys turn into sneering

 whisky rage of hot encompassing terror-horror.

Fuck bags pockets & Things that need transportin across sane mapp’d carnage; dragg’d

 over on rail & foot; Fuck holding up my head…

Fuck You hungry Dog of Hindsight waiting on the porch eyes like sad bowls,

 sweetheart…

And Fuck spooky sweat that stains nicotine walls red from the opposition pillows of last

 night…

And Fuck confused chromosomes that twist sex beyond clothes & thick paint & sanguine

 clubs.

Fuck You last free Mustangs under the sky on wild Volvo legs unbroken…

And Fuck great Albatross; land-shy sky-myth of ages & ambiguous luck tie yourself 

 around lost/saved soul neck.

Fuck You icy wastes last unowned lands that tail & tip our flat globe; deaths adventure

 where iron snaps like old twigs.

Fuck Sin City Belgium & Hitlers attack dogs barking Europes birth of Stalins handed

 buffer of lost culture wretches…Career of Evil.

Fuck You Warrior Badges deckchair stripes of warfeild worn by shellshocked & boxes

 half-full shoveled in the practical grief of Wars cold dawn.

And Fuck You Skynuts; fall for fun embracing dangers tin wings riding huge silk home.

Fuck You innocent kids on the sun verge marveling at rare Roz helloing pedaling in

 pitch blue & wired into the Grid.

Fuck Gloss Models of Manufacture special only in this spectrum pushing falsehood on

 fragile minds only dreaming.

Fuck You frozen eggs of demon seed playing Tiny Matter Master in morass of Matter

 Scatter & shaved cutlery monkeys self-allergic.

Fuck You Tech. helping the self-diagnosing greedy not the starving dirty needy…

Fuck Oh Gradual Apocalypse coming in slices & Fuck our birth creation soft helpless

 launched on a path darkening.

Fuck You God conversed with silent ideas written on the shaved planet tethered by

 blacktop chimneys belching in Your blue skies.

Fuck Us on Earths tepid crust suicide bombing the corrugated rag streets Democracy

 thrill new on thin oil-crust Land.

Fuck You Death-Calling Worms & Fuck Land Sharks that milk our way to the streetless

 oblivion of later...

Fuck Headlines that Tell Us Tell Us Tell Us yesterdays hysteria in black & white that 

 dont stain our fingers with News Blood anymore.

Fuck this Days forenoon curve boredom of desperate life; trying ‘till anger from

 disappointment is All.

Fuck hoping belching unthinking fat-growing skin-stretching soap-needing tech. fed uber 

 masses tele bypass.

Fuck Alfresco Tossers eating in Londons Gasoline midnight…

And Fuck You Reader gone all DVD in 21^st century landfill…

And Fuck Me Fucking Pote in the late sunshine hungry for cool dark to waste me…