UNADVERTISED EYES

look around 
with green 
advertised 
eyes

see
all the shiny things
and
think
you need them

on ebay
tv
the fickle city streets
of
hipsters
cool drunks
accidents
and
moving billboards

shoes and hats 
and trousers just like that

or
look with unadvertised eyes
in your cupboards
and
life
and all you crave sits there already
underused
and
you
can
be done
with shopping

MINI SUMMATION POP

buckowski bought german

gold comes from space

rulers are blind and corrupt

thats 
it

Machine

Machine, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

grrr

Bear

Bear, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

grrrr

HOME IS

home is

where 
the toast burns
and the beanies hang
and the cat sits

home is

where
the suns sets
and the chair creeks
and the familys been

home is

where 
memories live
and the bed waits
and the toys live

home is

where 
the quiet is
and the passport says
and the door locks

home is

THE STORY OF TOAST

Store room level D and the pharmacy guy is in my way.  Unsqueezed spot bulging on the corner of his thin mean lips.  Thin and mean like his tie.

No one knows why he dresses so formally.  Idiot.

Its early and breakfast is rolling out to the patients that can eat it.  The ward is full of the smell of burnt toast.
I'm leaning on the wall waiting by the small kitchen stuffed with domestic staff in teal tops.  I look in.

THAT TOAST SMELLS AWESOME i'm saying REALLY AWESOME, REALLY REALLY AWESOME.

A teenage domestic with bright foal eyes and the haircut of an older woman.  An older woman in 1960, all big with a huge sweeping fringe like a giant yellow wave.
No blue hairnet for her.

YOU WANT SOME? she's saying in a voice bright and bursting with eagerness.  Keen to please.

YES PLEASE.

The pharmacy guy is off.  Mouth tight.  People shake their heads mumbling that he never talks to anyone, chip on his shoulder, who's he think he is?

I nod.  IDIOT!  I say.
I go in the store and sit on the kick stool and thumb at my phone.  Actually get bars up here on D.

Toast.  

Every morning the place is full of the burnt funk filling my head with images of melting butter like wet buttercups and sharp crunchy black corners.

Every morning.  But to actually get some.  Well!

In it comes wrapped in napkins.  

ROS IS COMING.  DONT LET ROS KNOW.  KEEP I HIDDEN FROM ROS. SHE'S A WELL, SHE'S A . . . BITCH and the word doesn't sit right on her young tongue.

Ros is a white haired sister.  All business and intolerance but always with a smile for me because i always say yes.

She's asking about fluid tubing and if i can get Y connectors independent of the sets and i dont say yes because i know i can't.  I say i'll look into it.  Then she's on about the other Trusts shes working in and how stuff runs better there.

My toast is in napkins behind a box of sterile water on a shelf.

And when she is gone i eat it but its only yellow and not brown or black and all the butter has melted in leaving it limp and its cold.
Plus it unforgivably not cut into triangles!  Just two soft yellow oblongs.

I thought everyone knew triangles taste better.

INBOX SPIRAL

the reply 
to my 
submissions 
came the 
next day/
suspiciously quick

of course 
it was 
a rejection/polite rain on my new-courier babies

the whirl 
in my mind 
was fast and tight/this rejection DOMINATED ALL
no matter
other
acceptances 

suddenly everything was pointless

suddenly it was the fault of consumer capitalism

suddenly my life 
was doomed
was foolish
and
must change

world 
now black and red 
and 
without 
ANY hope 
or dreams 
AT ALL

but deep in this grim spin 
i realised 
there was
no question 
of STOPPING/no doubt the words would continue

and 
the storm in an A cup 
broke 
its 
waves 
uselessly on indifferent resolute rock

RADIO ONE

i
enjoy 
the
visceral
loathing
i feel
listening 
to
sycophantic
squealing
personality
dj's 

so
the
work
radio
is turned 
DOWN
and not quite 
OFF

Fur

Fur, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

MAD TOWN

what 
if 
now 
i sobered up

there
is
little
truth
or
clarity

to be
seen
in the 
early AM
on
the mad streets
of
straight town
?

HOSPITAL MORNING

the cleaner bitches loudly 
says her team cant start 
someone is in a load of trouble tomorrow 
just wait till i get my hands on him 
where are the hell did he put those keys 
ignoring her phone ringing 
barges out for a fag 
saying can't be doing with this

men in green from the council 
cut the tree up 
fell on the emergency generator five days ago 
got the other willow to deal with 
leaning at a dangerous angle over the gas store

by the mental health block 
decontamination trailer rumbles 
men in all in one white suits 
mill about with fire crews 
while blue lights flash

ambulance driver gets red faced 
tells a lorry driver not to park here 
its a blue light entrance only 
lorry driver mumbles 
ignores him 
kicking parcels round his van swearing

surgeon roars rath 
cos the stylets are too short 
why aren't there any of the longer stylets 
he cant work like this 
the woman at fault is now flying to majorca 
everyone is walking on egg shells

tv news crew quizzes chief exec 
failing trust and preventable deaths 
shes saying she cant speak for before her time 
lots of changes have been made 
shes proud of how everyone has all pulled together

the hub declares we are on red alert

i
put
the kettle on
and
browse ebay 
chewing gum

PAST PORN

the 
garage was abandoned 
the 
concrete slab walls fallen in 
and 
the 
roof was just holding on

the 
torn blue pages were dry from exposure 
and 
the 
pics water stained 

on building sites 
in the evening 
when the men have gone 
and 
we lurked and vandalised
bikes left lying on their sides by cement mixers 
the 
pages were well thumbed 
and 
the 
creases full with orange brick dust

in 
lucky friends binders 
for encyclopedias 
and 
on 
that guys coffee table
that 
weird guy
who
died
who
had
parents too liberal

now secret porn charm gone
on
interweb
cold
screen

RAMPAGING CHAOS BEHIND THICK GLASS

exhaustions anxious opiate 
is
blinkered zencalm
and
quiet
lurking horrorfilm unease
in
a
toobright toogloomy 
world
of 
slow slog
and
muffled toweldamp claustrophobia
where 
mudmarching days
are
reread paperback pages
of
forgottenwho names
and
obscure and inexplicable action

KNACKERED CUTLERY MONKEY

buddy
bruv
boss
mr

friend lover
son brother

rock
flake
fake
and wonder

child or moody oldster

i been all these
and more

like

boozehound
shithawk 
scruffy fuck

no surprise i'm tired
and thinking death BETTER 
be
an
a nice
old
folks home
with good chairs
and
one
name

POP OF OIL

tethered to 
the world
with
citrus fibre
habit
tv
and
an urgent quill

soft bean
on
blackgold eden

METAPHYSICAL MAIL

despite moving from dark barren hinterlands 

into 

the 

tinted light 

of a mysterious shore

my 

postal address 

has 

remained 

the same

THE STARS HAVE DIRTY ARSES

the human condition
has 
spreading damp on the back porch
behind
its
brushed aluminium facade

EDL

FAAHHHCK he says every third word 
fist
holds
a popped tin of Strongbow 10 AM

the St George flag tied round his shoulders
is dirty
cheap
creased

his eyes are watery and dull

FAAHHHCK he says

i assume theres some football on today in town
but
no

he's EDL

i don't think he's qualified to deal with
complicated
problems
of
integration

MINI PLOP

shaving head

cat sitting 
in the sink

cut head

Tiles

Tiles, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

London Hoodies

London Hoodies, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

GIRL AT PRETZEL COUNTER

JESUS!

make up like a garish mask of
god knows what

real horroshow - reminded of the joker
or
michael jackson

no ink left in your laserjet now

is this you everyday?
or
you
covering
up
friday nights barcadi binge

CALL INTERNATIONAL RESCUE

posture for points
you new kings
and courtiers

draw your lines behind yourselves
and fling others across them
then
blur
them
and
scuff
them
with your gold shoes
and 
dance with your capital and polls
around their short ends

WHAT DO YOU WANT!

3 AM

hello 3 AM - i say 

3 AM says nothing

like it woke me for bad news 
its scared to tell

like its my enemy 
and me his
and this is the silence before negotiation

like its my friend
and quiet is ok

hello 3 AM - i say

3 AM says nothing
and
it sounds like an absence

everynight 

3 AM - i say - you always make me want to piss

3 AM says nothing
like we both know there is more

catlookscamera

catlookscamera, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

IMGP3073

IMGP3073, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

brunchfast

DEBRIS MORNING

astronauts fingernails

frozen spinning piss
and
chemical-treated turds

i woke today - felt like nothing on earth

PREINTERWEB PUB HILL BENCHES

well i was only going out for beers and shots
and
no offence
to the luxurious charms of the bigger lady
but
the half dozen abandoned porn mags
left on the pub hill bench 199? folded open to the stars
were
unflattering in angle lighting and gynecological detail
and
crudely
titled
Fat and Slack

IMGP7922

IMGP7922, a photo by ford dagenham on Flickr.

SMELL A ROSE

time is a thief
stealing months/making numbers too big
invisible 
and 
building
black walls dense with graffiti 
inside 
your wallet/mind and strange home

but 
he could be soft fiction/new clay
a sandbox of bare feet
with
the
pegged wooden edges
all
falling down
turning the green lawn yellow