Wednesday 31 July 2013

LONELY CONVERSATION REHEARSAL


stretched on the sheets before dawn
with the milk float drone intro to the songbirds
or
curled under the quilt way after dusk
with cab doors slamming after drunks stumbling
my
mind runs thru inevitable conversations

playing all roles
keeping outcomes limited and realistic

like 
sick-time work meetings
and
three-pronged drs appointments
and
that thing to bring up about that thing 
thats best to do in the car 
getting that ride
to that place, wednesday
and
work-chat weekend anecdotes

and when its out of me
and happening
in the limelight of grease paint time
it
seems
to
me
like
no one else bothered rehearsing at all



Tuesday 30 July 2013

SICK MAN MOANING


tired as jet lag and walking death
unfed
and not even smoking

damp germs spread down the cure tube
and
irony knocks away at my resilience

all my
aims
dreams
efforts
plans
loves hates and style
are exiled into the distance of extreme exhaustion

i hold onto them like the end of Brazil

and when i try to sleep
an alien growl like an hallucination
wakes
me
only
three
mins
in

all night long



Monday 29 July 2013

MAMMON AND NEWS


mammon bullshit bites us 
and mary laughs
like marx and old economists

sighs for the graphs
going off the charts
and softly camo walks away

fantasy falls from the golf course
from downtown, the city
on to the common man

planes on the stark apron
disembark
blacks in camo

and an old honky
puts a hand
to his cancer heart

a standard milf winks
but
not in swimwear yet

banks fall like fight club
and I smile
like marx might have done

I swig from a bottle
take a record off the pile
drama is home tonight

in these trying times of chaos
of stalking fear
confidence has left the markets naked

the germans breed
another brutal backbeat
of teutonic tub thumping

it can centre any heart
a sweaty marine shoots pool

in a hot iraq shed



Friday 26 July 2013

BEFORE SLEEP


stretched out
with the late sun just sunk
and the birds still busy
telling
each
other about it

limbs electric-alive 
with
unreasonable exertion and draining adrenalin
sleep
is a long way away right now

cat between the curtains
is silent
looking out into the blue dark
and 
it crosses my wandering mind that -

i MUST be the Bestest
i MUST be the Mostest
and
i MUST ride the Highest Mountains in Top Gear

i ask my mind who the hell it thinks it is
but
let it play and tease me
anyway




Thursday 25 July 2013

CINDER WIND


i am Englishman cool in cinder wind 
lurid armless bird beak nodding
in leaf litter on hospital lawn
walking brisk in the hill malaise
cinder wind turn hot 
nervous prickle sweat
and Johnny floorsweep
holds his mop like a flag
like a lance
like victory
outside the toilet
blocked
turd is like an arm

deep in winter heating smell
of hallway
deep upstairs - deep in radiator paint
deep in Last Year
the Kings of Leon Winter
i am English boy
blowing years off in the cinder wind
on the Leukemia farm
where sponsorship child waits on the verge
overweight alone - by the whirl of fast cars
with the same gearbox to share
progress blocked by island trees of wood
always turning right
made by man consumed
and man in circles

island trees of meat - elemental - mental like wood -
theres something about wood . . . 
paper crushed by left hands in yesterdays
blue bus station
a homeless head in hands
sitting where
he came in from rain
and new turf like tiles
squares up to shiny glass
and dust the builders left

the baby grabs my hair
goes for glasses - kisses the mirror cushion
i think of Spain - think of yellow
yellow-
i am English boy - English toy
blown in the cinder wind
talk last year 
last year
last year
'take your coat off/you're staying for the weekend'

lean Leon streets of Bistros and kerbs-
cold and fresh in W1 and Islington
late drink surprised
walk the corners
lost in motion and drink
and parties are mixed blessing
and we text guessing addresses
when its hot and cold
and good and bad
and bottle roll over uneven lino's

and last year held tight fear
gripped little heart and gave a start
at the rock and roll winds
blowing nostalgia
of everyone who was ans wasn't there
like the cinder wind now
blowing cool
on my English shoes





Wednesday 24 July 2013

RED CASTLE, YEARS AGO


Strange days
of insular habit,
direction?
looking for the same buzz. 
Sitting in 
wooden paradise corner 
of meat sandwiches.
Under
the tall windows
of my
wooden epiphany,
I swore – Fucking!
Top hat students
talk too painful for me
of young electric life.
Drinks are cold
and halved
quickly,
I read Lorca.
Old sagging
hulks in greys
buried in the papers
scalps pointing
across the bar.
Bar girls
in orange,
no flutterbys
no more,
are polite
to my shaved head
but keen
to move on.
And the young screamed,
eager
to perpetuate
their bubble
that rang vague bells
in me.

Glorious mission
they have found
in pub sofas
and in
cigarette cuffs.
I remembered,
holding Lorca,
as the light
uncontrollably
angered me
in principal.
I bought
Pound
which
‘no one reads for pleasure’
and a mist came down.
I remember
last night
of beef tins
with stretched handles.
Image;
warm fog
of long walks
damps peripheries
shining grey.
A mist
of accepted regret
of spreading wings
of happenstance.
Ridden hard
for the only quest;
for a better tomorrow
and
kitchen.
Aborted Texaco corners
lost in the Liquor Inn,
hard legs
pounding wrong
streets of Turk nights
Men there
coffee seated
with phones,
smooth lines
waiting
in silent attendance.
Monitoring the ether
from the garden
furniture tables.
Walking where
I only saw before,
under my own train line
of wine
riding a curved bridge
past me.

Monday 22 July 2013

CHEMICAL BROS WERENT DOING THE MAIN STAGE THAT YEAR



i'd go to see 
the
curled ecstasy accidents outside the thump-crunch dance tent 
arms wrapped round their own legs
fetal
on
their
sides
eyes child-scared wide
tortoises tipped and spiked
on the worn grassless ground around the giant tent ropes

i'd look into 
the 
dante-neon mash of banded limbs and glo-hoops 
they were carried free from
see
their
friends
in there that had abandoned them
scientifically absorbed into a wild high rush 
of
a
greater mass and hot primal mob

i'd have sunglasses on in cool summer night
make the shining darkness 
subdued
duller
light my dominican cigar and unscrew the whisky again
and
crackle thru the carpet of empty evian 
weave into the bass heart of the pulsing caterpillar
thunder of torsos sweating 
shirtless
sports-bra'd

i was stoned and stone and cold
lost black ice in a tech-crib of new born innocent fire
i'd stand still as stone drunk drinking and alone
anomalous
a cloud of wet smoke heavy with booze disease
a
tumour 
in
their
rush of love

but
i like
the 
Chemical Brothers
too








Saturday 20 July 2013

BABY INSIGHT



the
world damaged and self tortured souls
who fell
and
who almost folded
and
who voyaged in the murk of the hungry abyss and the storm gutter
and
are standing now
wiser and hotter and benevolent and epic tolerant
and
glow privately 
with 
the light of black knowledge gone

find one
and 
let them hold you
in a 
giving understanding clean clear embrace
so
as
you dont fall off the world
anymore



Friday 19 July 2013

SAFE LAWN EVENING



YOURE HOME

the lawnmowers whine outside says to me
8 pm
weekday
evening
after the airless dead edge has lifted its bear hug
and
air and space to breath 
comes in on a cuddle breeze

YOURE HOME

ITS SAFE

ITS
NOT
YET
LATE

the mowers whine outside seems to say to me

and
its
time
for nothing now

even all the dead bugs are in 
their
right
places




Thursday 18 July 2013

HALLUCINATORY OVER CROSS



the damp fog and thick dirty tide 
of 
daylights waking dream
and
the slow dry chalkboard scream 
of 
helpless night-watches
are
experienced with twisted spirit/dim-thrill resignation 
that
turns medical curse into dull adventure
struggling on and on over toy obstacles
for the soft treasure
under
the
machines rainbow

its

fabricated masquerade of limbic automation 
and 
coffee

punctuated

by
visions of maiming and murder/burning and abuse
real as french existential thrillers

and

the care glow of citrus hands






Tuesday 16 July 2013

FIRST LIGHT ASSAULT


i woke up
wandering

where do old friends go after that last goodbye?

and
i woke up
thinking

weird scenes inside the gold mine . . .

and
i woke up
hearing

super match play/super match play/super match play

and
of course
i woke up
hearing
a blondie song too
but
the
words
and
the
title
escape me now



Monday 15 July 2013

GOLGOTHA WAS A BUMMER


Jesus is with us
in our cigarettes and our whisky
Like he was with
Mary Magdalene when she was frisky
Could he be with
the lazy French who died of summer?
And 
who 
was 
with 
Jesus  
when Golgotha was a bummer?

Jesus is with us
as we wear her head as a hat
Like he is with
the hero dressed as a bat
Could he be with
the Manson and the other Mad?
Who 
was 
with 
Jesus
when his carpentry was so bad?

Jesus is with us
in our airwaves and our personal flair
Like he is with
our logos and the black mans death row stare
Could he be with his
countrymen who dis him as a dog?
Was 
Jesus with Jesus
when 
he 
was 
nailed to a log?

Jesus is with us
as we waste our time 
Like he is with
the needy who need a sign
Could he be there
while you surf for snuff?
Who 
was 
with 
Jesus when Jesus had had enough?

Jesus is with the
midnight atheist unapproachable
Like he is with the
touching priests untouchable
Could he be with
advertisers who clutter cable?
Was Jesus with Mary
giving 
birth
in the stable?

Jesus is with us
tear gassing for the man
Like he is with the
demonstrators tear gassed to the ground
Could Jesus be with OJ
on the phone driving the Bronco?
Was 
Jesus 
with 
us
in the eighties making all the electro?
  
Jesus is with us
as we bomb his land for money
Like he’s with us
when we hold his hand on Sunday
Could he be with the
million children dying hungry?
Who 
was 
with 
him
stuck on a short fence calling mummy?

Jesus is with us
as we advertise for free
and in our
lottery cravings
Like he’s with us
in our late night perversions
and
with our stolen savings
Could he be with the 
killer’s father when the father made his wife a mother?
Who 
was 
with 
Jesus
on his wooden shape when Golgotha was a bummer?






DAWN ON DOORS



Friday 12 July 2013

KIMONO


bought a kimono
for her to wear as a dressing gown when shes here
and
then i will wear it
as a dressing gown 
when shes not here
and
it will smell of her
and 
then she comes here and will wear it as a dressing gown
and
it will smell of me
and
she will make it smell of her again
for
me
to
wear

kimono





Thursday 11 July 2013

OUR BREATH IS NOT NEW



our discoveries stand in old old footsteps
stamped
into ice

and
our
breath is not new - it came out in clouds
before
the old horned lizards
cracked
their
eggs
and mammals were made as slaves from dew and stardust

our old
breath is with arrogant and sick from invisible cables
that
tie
our mother and confuse her bees

and now 
we make particles cheat their rules
and
catch them on a concrete wall of xray film in paris
BEFORE
they 
leave 
sweden




Wednesday 10 July 2013

HOUSE OVER THE SIDE FENCE


house over the side fence
i know they have
a
big
mercedes
but their garden chatter is coarse as dockers
and
always about fags

and i know they dug up their patio
but
i've
yet
to hear them replace it
and their lawn is tiny
and 
takes
more moaning than mowing to cut

they bbq cheaply
i only ever hear them say burger

it sounds awful over there
but
i
can't
bring myself to tip toe up
and
look





KITCHEN WALL


5.20 AM 

Monday 8 July 2013

A AND E MONDAY


     Insomnia.  A cloud over my brows.  I wake with the alarm but I am already awake.  Or close to it.  Insomnia is an unreliable witness.  I carry my dreams into the shower with my eyes still closed.
Monday morning.  I fiddle with oil in the garage and go inside the house again for whatever I forgot.  Then lock the door with paranoid deliberation.  The cat is at the front window on the sill looking up at me with yellow eyes and I touch the glass where his nose mists the glass and the world flashes white and goes red and then black.  I am on my back on stained block paving, glasses tumbled into my lap, thick blood running into my eye.
     I ran my head into the sharp corner of the open garage door.  Where the metal folds meet and the rains flaked the paint into pointy rust. 
Insomnia.  A cloud over my brows and sludge in my limbs. 
I check my glasses for damage and I put my glasses back on and I drip blood to the front door and dab my head with a red towel.  In the mirror the gash starts on my eyebrow and goes up from there.  It looks a foot long and deep as a deep-sea canyon and red as volcano lava.
I get out my first aid and tape white gauze over the damage.  I work in the hospital so I figure I go to work like I was anyway and go into A and E first.  Let a pro probe the gore.
At work I make a coffee in the office and leave a note for my boss and walk over to A and E slowly, clocking in on the way. 
It is not busy and the sunlight thru the tall windows makes it welcoming.  Two smiling Filipino children in blue take my details.  They list my wound as superficial tho I tell them it feels more than that to me.  They hand me a form to fill out in red ink even tho it says use black.
I wobble up against some metal chairs and fill out the form slowly.  Handwriting increasingly childlike.  I hand it to a blond woman with a warm smile thru a vertical space in the glass and I go to sit and wait.

I sip my coffee with low lids.  The paper cup looking hyper real in the clear sterile air.  My hands shine with detail I seldom notice.  The bright morning fills me up like a dream.  Insomnia.  It’s Another Place. 
The coffee doesn’t clear the cloud over my brows but it sharpens my eyes crisper. 
A young man in a coat too warm for the day drags a big backpack behind him muttering to himself asking for a cigarette from anyone.  Mine are in my bag in the office so I tell him sorry.  He flicks his lighter till a Filipino child in blue tells him not to.  Tells him there is medical oxygen stored in this facility.  He mutters on to himself about his 8.25 appointment.  It is 7.20 now.
In front of me a small woman in pale clothes has puffy red eyes and visits the ladies to come back with her pale cardigan inside out.  Just seen the tickets sticking out she says, at least it made me laugh.   
A council estate dolly with big hair and clumps of gold comes in on crutches with tattooed feet.  Her face the picture of suffering.  Her mother has hair that looks patchy but just needs her white roots done.
I have no phone signal.  I slide down in the seat, the metal too shiny and slippery tho no one else is struggling to stay upright.  I feel distant like I’m up in the crows nest.  Insomnia.  A cloud.  And now a head injury.  The perfect storm.
It fills up.  Fills up with plump mothers with full hands and quiet injured children.  Fills up with slender teenage girls sniffing tears and uncomfortable fathers who’d rather be at work but do their best.  Fills up with blond women who come and go behind the desk.  Pleased with their importance and jealous of desk space smiles either warm or cold but all their heads held high. 
I pace the tile.  I walk outside but the smoking man is there muttering.  Still no phone signal.  I ask at the desk if there is an internal phone I can use to call my boss.  The woman with the warm smile dials for me and hand the phone thru the vertical gap in the glass.  I have a brief conversation.  I am called a doughnut and worse.
Insomnia.  My legs ache like I done the iron man.  No sleep till after midnight when I never breathed properly anyway, my apnoea yet to be treated.  I was awake by three and only dozed before the 5.30 alarm.  And when I dozed I dreamt of bags of important ID lost on rafts and of nurses who demand red carrots, not white parsnips in angry/kind voices.
Insomnia.  I’d be anxious if the cloud wasn’t so thick and the world an old picture fading in pastel on a far away wall.
I am called in by a dr who says 'isn’t it' at the end of all his sentences.  He compliments my dressing and the cleanliness of the wound.  He fingers my wound and makes it bleed and checks I haven’t thrown up or fainted or am seeing double. 
He fastens a simple dressing on my forehead and says a nurse will come and decide how best to dress it, isn’t it.
I sit on the bed in the room alone and feel I could be anywhere waiting for anything and I hear a clock ticking loudly behind me but I don’t turn to look.
A cleaner I recognise from smoking out the back by the country lane comes in with a checklist and a silver pen.  I recognise her too because she looks like Frankensteins monsters daughter.  All her features seem mismatched and her brow is low and huge.  Her shoulders are wide and she moves like a wrestler on those trainers with curved souls that are meant to be good for you.
A nurse comes in and says she is called Dee.  I believe you I say and she takes her time deciding how to dress the wound.  I see she has numbers written on the palm of her hand and wears expensive shiny glasses. 
She decides on some glue but doesn’t have any and when she does come back she can’t get the dressing to stick so leaves to find a larger one.  Eventually it’s done.  Or rather very much over done as the dressing feels huge.  The dr comes in and gives me print-out on head injuries.  He advises me to go home and rest, isn’t it.
I leave and smoke walking back to the office checking for texts and taking calls in the sun on the fire path behind the MHU.
In the office it’s busy and relived to be going home I joke with delivery drivers about domestic violence.  I haven't hit a woman for ages I say.  
I leave some homemade brownies in the office fridge and go home. 

I sit in the garden on the old bench in the shade and look out at the garden.  It’s full with greens.  Yellow greens and red green and brown greens.  I feel like Tom Thumb or like I am in a small church garden in a model village or inside a snow globe but one that’s all about summer and instead of snow there is blossom floating and strange white fluff.  Insomnia – trippy.  Too trippy out here for me.  
I slowly smoke then I head in to stretch out on the bed with the windows open and a cool breeze to fall asleep straight away exactly like the print-out says I shouldn’t.