FLY

leave a country for another
so
easy

climb into a machine that shoots itself
into
the
high cold black
for
small cool dinners and microwave hot towels

fall down into a sea scape of orange glitter
and
climb out into a still quiet world
a
shining
sterile
labyrinth
of teleported bags
and 
show another machine
a
likeness
of
your
face

no one says OI! or WOOHOO!
or
shakes your hand 
or
even 
taps you on the shoulder

in recognition of this feat

at
all

HAPPY XMAS NAIL

there is a mark in the plastic floor
in the hospital
on
level
b

a simple imprint of a nail

i remember when the building was new
and
all the doors unlabelled
and
a
fine
layer
of
builders dust covered everything

it was the only blemish

a simple imprint of a nail

(until all the door handles came off
and 
dusty
had to replace them all
before
theyd
let 
him 
retire)

now the building is bashed and used
the
walls stained
with
screams
and
laughter

still i stop and look at the 
simple
imprint
of
a
nail
on the dotty lino of level b

happy xmas nail i mutter
tho
the
nail
is
long
gone

INCOMPLETE LIST

this is an incomplete list of noises 
that are some way comforting 

cars parking in the street
at night
when 
i'm stretched out searching for sleep
the
soft
machine clunk of the drivers door
and
a jimmy-rattle
of
house
keys

whir of washing machine in the kitchen
slowing down and speeding up
at
the
end
of
cycle

music in another room
different
and
distant - muted-clear

a tv in another room
unidentified clipped chatter
of
an
old
pictureless
movie

(maybe just the sound of stuff in other rooms . . .)

milk floats at dawn
their
electric
whine
and
chime
of
bottles
hear it coming from far away down other streets

the shift change siren yelling over the miles
and
fog
horns
out
on
the thames at any time of day

and of course gentle rain on the evening window
or
the trickle-drip
of
rain
out
the gutter after a storm

the hum and chew of summer mowers
just
after
i
got
up
on
some
empty
weekend
morning

XMAS REHAB

year three of xams rehab

used
to
bunker down

moody and alone

scribbling
with
a
long drink of black

used to pace the night streets with scorn
living
room
lights
raw beacons of the stupid happy
were
angry
fuel

used to go to work

used to stretch out in the bath
and
listen
to
my
nothing

now
i
got
a
tree

smells fresh of pine

and
too many places to go

FOR NOW, THANK YOU

attempting 
to
get this
childs broken diorama of a world down 
in 
the 
simple words i know
makes 
them seem inadequate sometimes
as
i
pen
another toilet ditty

the daily death-gasm out the quiet windows
needs
a
new
lexicon to cross the rubicon
but 
a giant vocabulary can alienate before it can impress
and
i'll
stick
to
my
block paving roots in the tangle under the red berry bush

for
now

thank 
you

CHINA MOON

morning moon brother
bright sky eye lover
a
polished
smoke 
stained 
bulb
in the ether
throws
still shadows
of
broken shapes
up the dawn hill heather
trees
twisted
in silhouette 
like
ancient hands
pointing where-ever

somethings
different 
now
moon glows clever
with
a
visitor
cos theres a machine up there
thrown
up
by 
china

BLACK LIMOSINE

well good lord days are big

the stale 11 AM
the rattle of chatter all around
and
because 
it
seems
my
autopilot is permanently disengaged
times daymarch
is
crumpled with creases like an old school report
and
just
as
hard
to read

again i crave drink
and
its
warm kissflood of soft strength
but
its
the 
drinks of the 90s and the 00s i want
not
the 
cold black limosine
booze
horribly
became

KITCHEN RADIO ON . . .

doubt

the BIG doubt

that
all
this
daily earthly stumbling and thinking and doing
is
nothing

at

all

like the pain all the way to death and back
like
the
hot ice knives
of
photo album regret
like
mortal mistakes on the graveyard path

that doubt/that BIG doubt

kill it
with 
the truth of new turds
and
the holy swear rumble
of
rock 
and 
roll

XANADU SANATORIUM

well maybe
i want 
everything over/worked out/crashed/catalogued
or
filed
under Happened
so
i
dont
have
to
think at all
or
worry anymore
but
can
just
sit 
halfway thru the easy downward slide of Endgame
in
a
Xanadu Sanatorium of dead formats
Gun Club LPs
and
my
girlfriends
underwear

a
Xanadu Sanatorium

at
the
End Of The World

INCREDIBLE BULLSHITTING MAN 1; FLEECE NO FLEECE

Now I wake in the bowfarts now its Monday.  Mind scene is Sunday-night squashed-orange apocalypse sun - Sex Pistols Submission plays despite silence.  In scalding shower I’m feeble feel scared feel shakey.  

News says helicopter need 44 hours maintenance for 1 hour flying crashes 31 marines are over.  News says law to prison uncharged people pushed forward. 

Tie new Caterpillas up tight I belch breakfast egg.  Too tired I yawn terrible tears.  It is St Timothy’s Day had bad guts bible says drink wine not water.

Lift at Bear Corner now in back of boss Julies blue Corolla.  Janine up front hands folding over handbag holding fags.  So tired I’m seeing tracers stripe over fresh turned fields.  Dirty lazy cloud lays low. 

Go by Eastern Garage;

HOW COMES HE SELLS THEM PORSCHES SO CHEAP? Julie says as if no one knows.

I DON’T KNOW Janine says half-deaf doesnt hear.  Always saying I DON’T KNOW in cars then looks shifty.

Cushion-cloud like dihydrocodeine cuddling me makes irritation impossible.

COS THEY’RE SECOND HAND, BEEN THRASHED HIGH MILEAGE, AND PARTS AND INSURANCE COST A MINT I say.

Boss Julie gone blank Janine nodding looks shifty.

Office scene is waking computers whir then stutter.  Blank monitors blink then strobe.  Bad lights blur then glare.  I feel all 4 AM. 

New guy starts.  Looks like thin Asian Lenny Henry.  Announcing hes Muslim but dont pray or anything.  Says dont worry about bacon or nothing.  Says got 8 cars driveway full.  Nightmare getting out he says. 

CALL ME ASH NICKNAME COS I USED TO SMOKE SO MUCH,  STILL SMOKE BUT DON’T WANT KIDS TO SEE, SET AN EXAMPLE THAT’S WHY I WORK, DONT NEED TO, LOADED ME, FROM WRITING SONGS, ROYALTIES IN MY WIFES NAME, SET AN EXAMPLE, GAVE UP WAS EASY BUT I GET THEM SO CHEAP, ANYONE WANT SOME?  

Lists 8 cars.  Ones silver limited edition Mercedes SL.  No one knowing what to say.

Boss Julie taking him to Personnel get him a pass and that.  Boss Julie not crying eyes clear.  Desperate for distraction got some.

Buzz is; 8 cars?  Consensus is; judgement reserved.

HARD BEING NEW ISN’T IT THO?  LOOK AT THE STATE OF THOSE TEA TOWELS, ALWAYS FORGET TO TAKE THEM HOME AND WASH THEM.  I’LL PUT THEM IN MY BAG NOW Janine says.

Everyone goes mumsy goes THE LITTLE ‘UN about a  grandkid acted up.  Everyone clasping coffee cups nodding and nudging.  Faded ink faxes flow out fax ignored.  Everyone goes OOOH everyone goes AAAH.  Its like the blandest dream I ever had.

LUCOZADE SO EARLY? Richard says.

I LOVE THE SMELL OF GLUCOSE IN THE MORNING I say.

Rolls his eyes at the women shuffles off clutches papers and PDA.

Vicky’s coming in 8 minutes late.  Hangs up small bag and small coat spraying perfume up small tunic.  Tells me got some horror scenes stuck in her head she cant shift she says. 

WHAT FILM WAS THAT? I say.

I DON’T KNOW DO I? 

DESCENT?

NO!

THE ORIGINAL RING?

NO!

ERASER HEAD?

SHUT UP!

WIZARD OF OZ?  I CAN’T WATCH THAT EVER AGAIN.

SHUT UP FORD YOU DICK! 

CHILL OUT GINGER BOY.

WHY THEY ALWAYS TALKING ABOUT GRANDKIDS?  I’M OFF TO SEE MY MUM GET SOME MONEY she says.

Julie supervisor coming in for small flat-bed trolley sighs hello.  Had corn rows at interview gone now.  Eyes like Cameron Diaz still there.

GOT TO GO BACK TO MY CAR.  FORD, GOT AN NHS FLEECE FOR YOU IN THE BACK IF YOU WANT IT she says.

OK.  NEED A HAND? I say.

Car park stuffed with hatchbacks slopes downhill.  Looks like toy town to me.  A nurse is nervous veers onto verge.  Parked walks away looks behind.  I pull pink files out of pink Golf boot.  Theres pink Kickers in there.  Fresh air is good blue of ghosts up there.  Gives me her fleece JULIE S written in it.

NEVER WORN IT FORD she says.

YOU LIKE PINK?  YOU GOT PINK BOOTS IN YOUR PINK BOOT.

FAVOURITE COLOUR FORD she says.

Office scene is I write Ford in felt-tip now says Ford/Julie.  Our names together feels intimate.  In it I am bona fide.  NHS it says with our Trust underneath.

OOOH LOOK AT THE BLUE EYED BOY Janine says.

Shirley Rose and me down ITU is a pre-fab.  Floor creaks bent over bumps.  I take trach-care off shelves seriously sort it right.  Keep active keep awake.  Cant believe how big a day is.

FUCKING MESS SHIRLEY ROSE, STORE ROOMS A HOLE I say.

I KNOW FORD Shirley Rose says laughs loud.

Knackered relative stayed the night coming in.  Bags under bleary eyes dont know where he is.  Sharon ward manager might be Egyptian finds him frowns fierce at us.

GOT TO WATCH WHERE YOU SWEAR FORD Shirley Rose says.

GOT TO WATCH YOUR LAUGHING, THEY CAN HEAR YOU OVER IN POST GRAD I say. 

Shirley Rose laughing.

ITU housekeeper twitchy eye coming in tells us they’ll need more 60ml cath-tip syringes to last the week she says.  Tells us they got a man in a bed crashed into suicide died jumping off A13 bridge.  Selfish they say.  Obviously not thinking straight was he i say.

Lunch is corned beef in brown baps.  Crossword book out CAVALIER and CORNISH I say.  Cram fuel in watch coffee cool mesmerised by steam.  Tense and trapped I go outside smoking alone count birds on broken conifer.  New guy Ash gone up Admin Block lunch with his wife works in legal.

EIGHT CARS! everyone says ROYALTIES? SONGS?.

PM scene is up Level D shift stock out big trolley to small flat-bed go in the renal ward unpack.  Machines bing and chime bright and calm.  Clear away empty boxes nurses leave everywhere.  Deftly catergorise catheter drawer.  Nurse getting ear re-pierced drips red blood laughter and squeals. 

Warm on wards new bona fide fleece out in corridor in big trolley.  Finished I go back its fucking bloody gone.  Made me feel bona fide.

Mattress collection dude wears a fleece is yards away.  Not seen him in a fleece before.  Bona fide.  I stare him evils by Osteoporosis.  Watch for guilt.  See no sign.  Feel like a cunt.

Office scene is boss Julie acts surprised to find fleeces boxed under her desk.  Me and Ash try them on.  I write DO NOT STEAL in back of mine.  Everyone wanting new one now tutting.

HOW DID SHE NOT KNOW THEY WERE THERE? 

I ASKED FOR ONE MONTHS AGO! 

Making me feel bona fide. 

Home scene is I pen pithy prose raw and rushed then shattered I shower then 6 PM shout SHITS at faces failing on quiz show then re-run Simpsons WE OBEY THE LAWS OF THERMO-DYNAMICS IN THIS HOUSE Homer says. 

Dinner is soup then waffles out the toaster eggs on them brown sauce.  Now I pour large brandy ice cracks under amber.  On sofa on TV J Bourne slides apart Motorola I used to have he drops it.  Old films are old but am amazed at how old new films are.  

Tired to tears.  Ice cracks under amber.

ARSE END OF NOTTINGHAM 199?

the bar is all black paint bricked up windows low ceilings/visiting a friend working a long bar shift/i hunch on a choice bar stool/watch myself sink iced cider in the dirty  mirror/ok so its starts well enough/place fills up with students for happy hour and the big match/drinking out cheap pitchers and smoke superkings from ten packs out the machine by the toilets/square cellophane torn on the table in ale puddles/my friend well she can only slip me a freebie or two/tequila cos no one ever orders it/gold jose/neat and warm/there are goals on the new plasma and cheers and groans/i go to piss and coming back i find a huge guy on my stool/dreads to his back pockets bulging with whatever/think oh well but he gets up/saving it for you dude he rumbles/well my friend got some pull here/i nod/take up the drinks/cold glass and a drinking crowd - i am a cipher/the crowd changes/students drain out after shyly scoring tiny weed bags from yardies/saying man too much/way too much/man/well the yardies they filled up one dark side of the place like ghosts/bunkered in booths in army fatigues/low growls/mean laughter bounces harsh off the cement walls/i sink the drinks/cold glass to my kissing lips/mumble to strangers/visiting her there i say/you know her? yeah - i am a marked cipher/my friend well shes busy shes blonde shes popular shes respected/i go and throw up deliberately/splashing booze out on the ceramic void/making room/well time marches invisible/i decide to eat nuts/well i end up on a table of smoking women/heels and leather/wide poured skin/red nails/big handbags on laps/their phones ring/they wobble out the door/they disappear/theyre back in half an hour or so/not long i'm not sure but not long/they return with fistfuls of notes/buy rounds for the table/well i'm in on a few rounds/some jose shots i dump in the cider/and when i go throw up again my chair is saved with a huge handbag for me/i  try to buy a round/i think/i am sure i tried to buy a round/i'm told no dearie/want some fun dearie? i'm back at the bar/well i'm holding it together for twelve hours now/place almost empty/echoes/some lights on like god found us/well my friend is chatting to the owner/we're waiting on a cab i'm told/you ok i'm asked? i'm head down on the bar/hear her say to the boss hes ok honest/me head down on the bar/well wheres the cab? a straggler in denim/garrulous wide boy talk/tries to shift a can of tennets super for eight quid/i shake my head into his speil/well we got out into the predawn air of pitch black and sad fog/blurred  streetlights like drunk angels lipstick smeared form kissing the lords arse . . . slide across the back seat of some cab/well my face is on the rough fabric of a thousand areses/my friend talking with the driver/endless and seamless global small talk/driver well the driver has a high pitched german voice/just like some cliche nazi from some cliche film/well i'm grinning and thinking war criminal/well when we're dropped off and paid up and he's driven off i shout warcriminalnazi into the street/well my friend is shocked/that voice i'm saying/that voice! hahahaha/my friend she says it was a woman from rotterdam would i please not shout nazi out in her street at dawn/well i have a rolling rock in front of the tv/she has supermarket spaghetti out a tin on toast/i go sleep in the spare room/on the floor on old sofa cushions surrounded by bikes and hoovers and steps and local papers

DREAM

the ziggy stardust album!

i am saying this with uncharacteristic enthusiasm

play them all the
ziggy stardust album
no one dies listening to that!

i think i have a breakthru medical technique
and
bellow
it
out
to
top
drs in the admin block
and
i
can
see their eyes light up
as
my
idea
sinks in

we can save everybody!

no matter that last time i heard it
i
cried
for
the whole
forty odd minutes

i didnt die!

TRUE XMAS TALE

so the door isnt letting me go clock in, i cut thru xray where a bluedress is checking the red drawers on the crash cart and come out by the Costa.
and when i come back thru the stubborn door a four foot plastic snowman stands there with the paint on his hat and scarf worn off, all shiny round the edges.
he wasnt there SECONDS ago. 
i eye him.  an urge to smash his plastic face rising.
i go make coffee.  i smoke.  colleagues come in.
THERES A SNOWMAN they say WHERE DID HE COME FROM?
i say BY THE CAFE?  I KNOW.  JUST APPEARED.
NO, UP BY THE BOGS.
i'm in the corridor looking up to the corner with suspicion. there he is.  right at the end, looking at a liquid fire extinguisher.
innocent and sinister.
closer.
we work. its busy.  endless stream of unwashed fleece clad drivers file in till the packages make a messy mountain.
i'm deep in paperwork and ink stamps when a bluedress stops by, asks for a light, says WHOSE SNOWMAN IS THAT?  IS IT THE PORTERS?
i say DUNNO and give her a lighter i wont see again.
i wheel pallets in and out, organising, choosing an order and there is the snowman outside the door to the porters lodge where the smell of cooking kippers is overpowering.
hes halfway up the corridor.  
closer.  
pale and old, rejected.  
innocent and sinister.  
closer.
and in the afternoon when the flow has subsided and i'm in a soft chair in the office across the way with a bar of fruit and nut and another cup of coffee talking about that driver who looks like Uncle Bulgaria who wears a Masonic ring on his knuckle and has no sense of humour, i notice a dirty white outline peeping round the fake pine door frame.
JESUS i say WHO KEEPS MOVING THAT THING?
i'm up out the soft seat and am staring him out close up.  
his smile is a faded moulded mockery of seasonal joy, his eyes wont meet mine where ever i stand.
JESUS i say.
at some point he's gone.  i worked the last push, got stuff ready for lock up, pile papers under the teddy bear in some else in-tray and he's gone.
not even in the alcove full with a tangle of condemned trolleys and chairs.
i go to clock out by reception where sad relatives sip coffees outside Costa and hide their worries in over priced baguettes and over sized muffins and guys on drip stands shuffle around in pyjamas reading the Mail.  
door behaves and i wrap up in grubby cycle clothes in the changing room by pharmacy.  
SEE YA SEE YA SEE YA SEE chorus my departure.  i'm heading to the stairwell by the office where the bike is locked to the metal handrail by abandoned contractors sheeting and an ancient wooden ladder tied with frayed yellow rope.
of course there he is.  snowman.  innocent and sinister and right in front of the fire exit.
i get out of there.
if hes there tomorrow, i WILL smash his plastic face in.

WANT TO GO HOME

work is endless
phone rings like a fire alarm
and
i
go
smoke
out by the ambulances
and
see
a
sun low as trees at just quarter to one

winter

busy

and of course i'd rather be at home
watching
the
low sun sink and burn from a garden recliner
home ground coffee in my hand
filing slow outdoorsy reports
till
the
grey fluff of cloud between the blues
and
above
the
rooftops
goes
pink
like the cotton wool
girls use to dab make up away in the evening
before
they
dress in childlike pyjamas
and fold their legs underneath them
to watch any tv
grey pink clouds
left
on
the floor
by the bathroom bin

GIVE IT A NAME

give your dread a name
tame
it
make it a pet
when it next rises out the floorboards
of
any
normal
day
clutching your weakness in its animal fists

give 
it 
a 
name
like the people do with posh perfumes and aftershaves
midnight plum
or
boris and natasha

get to know its breath 
observe its habits
its evil play

and
then
watch
it
leave

SAD KIDS

want to find 
every
school
or
college
kid
with those downcast hiding eyes
and few friends
and pointed-in feet
all overdressed and overdone the best they can
but
with those stooped shoulders
that
just
cant
carry it off
and
all silent at home 
and in class
who
pack
defeat
with
their books in the morning
and 
tell them 
firmly and with proof
that
it
WILL
get better . . .

except
maybe
for
them 
it wont

NO NAMES

no names
but some people
use
colleagues
like
a
late
night
radio
audience
or
confessional
and talk out their social cv
and
family
medical history
like
we
all
tuned
in
to
now

EASY TOURIST

its not so much that i want to travel
more
just
fly
to the cities of the world
in
the coma hum of planes
and
smell
the
air
of
a
different timezone
out 
in 
the 
airport cab rank night
and
then 
later
to
breakfast on a broad avenue
or
forgotten square
before
checking
connections
and
taking my bag and any notes i made
to
the
next
modern tropolis
on
the
list

INNOCENT INDESTRUCTIBLE SWEETITUDE

thank
fuck
for
the kids
with bubble snot noses
eating
paint
on
a
craft
afternoon
and
their
nannies who
sing
their
names out loud
in
community centres
spending 
their
days
on
the carpet
and
floor

thank fuck for them i think
and
their
innocent indestructible sweetitude

they are out there in the World
and knowing it
gives me strength
in
the
bland and murderous
middle
of
the
stale
weekday

PARKPATH WORLD TO THE CAFE

all i hear is 
my
discount
trainers
making soft taps
on
the split tarmac

early PM

brown leaves tumblefloat on ghostwind

the A road
is a
hum
more imagined than heard 
like
the future
or
like 
approaching progress
invisible
beyond
browngreen horizons

and 
when the phone
in
my 
pocket
buzzes its muted rumble
the
parkpath world to the cafe 
suddenly 
appears 
a
relic
from
a
longgone time

REMINDED

dont remember much about
my
trips
to
holland

canals
untipped waitresses
the room opposite the clock tower

but
the
houses
over by the park
look
dutch to me
in
the
tall slant
of
their roofs

like the allotments cowering under the tall cranes
with
their
rotting
ground fruit
and 
askew water butts
rusting and brown
remind
me
of 
a 
war
i wasnt in