HOMELESS BIOGRAPHY 3

to
die on train tracks   

lost in graffiti sidings

unable to adjust

to
too-late 

tiny flat 

salvation 

 

from tumblr.com

SCREENSAVER

the sky is an
endless
and
ripped
picture
of birds and clouds and planes
tacked
over
our Truman hubris hanging heads
like
a
screen saver
to
keep
the
fraud

from burning thru

from tboake.com

HOMELESS BIOGRAPHY 2

homeless
come
from 
stuggling farms country silence
to
army deep-end postings
to
londons cul-de-sac parks
nursing 
busted limbs with brown beer
between
fist fights for found empties
and
screaming rows over stolen fivers
and
staking out with brotherless claws
warm dry night territories 
under tourist bridges
rumbling with commuter trains 
to 
[surprise]
learn chess in hospital rehab
and
travel the world with wealthy indians
playing
at
competition level 

from amazon.com

HOMELESS BIOGRAPHY 1

homeless shoot homebrew undrugs 
into 
thumbtak tattoo arteries 

tracks
expand
like
chalk quarries uncovered industrial veins

homeless
only 
as concerned as we are with kettle limescale 

then
grow doves wings 
in 
grocers doorways

 

 from amazon.com

SPRING COCK

the spring air
holds
a
taste somehow
of
all
the
seasons
on
its
quiet
backdoor breath 
and
in
the
sounds of birds

still tho
the
world
is
a
cock in my ear
dry-fingering
any
tender
hole
in the funeral of monday morning

from dreamatico.com

SMALL LIGHT WITH A COLD GLOW

to be absent from work
for
an
extended period
is to be at once mysterious and forgotten
and
any
return
to
anything
but 
instantly re-established status quo
for
instance
shorter hours and a lighter work load
results
in
strange silences and half-looks
across
the
department
even
tho
procedure has been followed
without
favour

 

 from pixxgood.com

TREE POME PIC

damn your surveyor 
and
compromised foundations !
you fence me in
and
cut back my arms
when
i
only
reach
for
the sun
to
grow
and
to
shade you
 

TURPINS CAVE, POEMS VERY MUCH MARKED

PUSH 15

PUSH 15 BLOWS YOUR TILES OFF SIDEWAYS

PUSH 15 EXPOSES THE PLUMBING

MORE MOON

earths exiled soul
some
drunk
writer called it

i
call
it
a
sad beige button
holding
the
universe
shut

 

from the telegraph.co.uk

 

TESCO

tesco 8 AM
the
cafe
slowly fills
with
pale denim men
needing toast
tired
with
the 50% off rail
where
everything
is
small
or
for
kids going skiing

well i've walked into rituals here
systems
and
routine
of
'help for heroes hoodies'
and
supermarket levis

big
windows
let in the estuary light
but
theyre
frosted
to hide the elevated section
of
the
A132

from yelp.co.uk

POINTS (exploded sub-haiku)

this is a point in time

i
am
a
point
in
space

not v specific, i know

but
its
a
start 

 

from thecreatorsproject.vice.com

ONCE I KNEW TWO SOLDIERS

ex-soldiers 
on
fucktowns ear-bite streets
work
temp contracts
in
the
malls dusty backways
demobbed and dumb
tight
with
steroids and shruken tempers
fighting off duty cops
on 
a 
drinking night
in
the
light
of
a
MacDonalds window
locked up now
on
Dartmoor
painted too real 
from wars smudged palette 
of 
greys 
and 
red

from www.worldwar1postcards.com

DONT WE KNOW ?

dont we know 
we're 
all 
cold 
together
on
the
bottle
shop
corner 
burning
for
a
hit of Love or fix of Ideas
under the same round moon 
that 
seems to MEAN something
with
its
gangster stare sneaking and creeping
street low
behind terraces 
or
high and mocking in silver clouds 
looking down at us
adding
up
pitiful
dollar-pounds
in
front
of
sick
blue
tv
chattering repition like dim dawn birds
in
the label language 
of 
cement concrete and city clay ?

moon over denmark from www. kimmatthiesen.dk

IMAGINE NO PHIL COLLINS

3 PM

nowhere town

stale like bird-table breadcrumbs

gets

by

on new Morrisons

and

extra lanes on the A Road

and

endless drs visits

where

we

whine

about

our standard decay

and

John Lennon sings idealism from the receptions radio

sounding

in the 21^st C

like

quaint wallpaper or unremarkable rain

and

everyone here to hear it

has

bigger sicker fish to fry

crumple people

too numb

to dream

but

when

next

Phil Collins sucks the soul from a Detroit classic

 

thats

when

Johns song

shines

the

most

 from thedrum.com

FAR FROM THE GRABBING CROWD (SATURDAY NIGHT)

8 pm drive-thru

is

an

oasis in the industrial night

and

we’re queuing together for our supper

and

we make our noises

and

our sounds

and

they matter

and

are our song

and

this small car

we

bought together

plays

Radio 2 and Queen

and

drives us back home

to

stroke the old and dusty cat

who’s

tears have dried

into

crust on his nose

and

we

eat

our

fried chicken from its boxes

home

alone

on

the

sitting room rug

far

from

the grabbing crowd

 from brand.eating.com