THE NAKED UN-EMPEROR

how can i shout about
the emperors
new clothes 
these days

when
the
emperor 
isnt an emperor ?

and my clothes 
  arent 
  even 
  Superdry ? 

from youtube

AUTUMNS

SELF PORTRAIT

FOUR POPS

we 
live 
like a row of terraces

invisiby different
till you go inside

look each other in the eye

and
dont
lie

~

its unusual

its night

i am awake inside the opiates
and
i
am
full
of
love

for you all

~

i write without drink

no
one
has
ever
done
a harder thing

ever

~

the footlights now
are
made
of
a
nuclear glow

the actors
confused & desperate
can
only
carry
on

from dudeiwantthat.com

AUTUMN IS THE SEASON OF THE SOUL

here it comes again
autumn - the big dusk
and
it
grabs
summers broken flip-flops
and
throws
them
in
the recycling bin

here it comes again
autumn - ambient soul
with 
its 
sepia nostalgia stink
and
its 
crumbling golden crown

here it comes again
autumn - annual assassination
and
it
fills me up to bursting
with 
memories of almost anything
  almost 
    anything 
      at 
        all

all bitter sweet brush strokes
of fading fire shades
all washed out watercolours
of dew drop dawns

here come the memories again
memories - uncorruptible RAM
of
a
damp damp damp
low cloud night 
striking matches
under streetlights
smokey mono-chrome

here come the memories again - polaroid loops
of
beautiful scheduled death
of
the shedding of copper camo
till
it
is
stark
and
naked
and
bold
and
bravely 
empty
on the 
bike stop 
hill top
where
i would 
park up
take five
and smoke
in the
special
quiet
counting the silver spiderwebs
in
the
broken bones of giants
and
looking out 
at the
great white stripes of mists
that
lay
across
the
bicep bulges of hinterland
making islands of rootless trees 

here come the memories again - strobing pops
of the DLR
of my shakes 
in the standing room only
before 
      i 
       fell
   in
a long gone
  fall

here come the memories again - filtered in overdrive
of
the
too early AM gag jags
when i couldnt stomach anything
anything at all
and
i fed the squirrels
my breakfast muffin
until
bullying magpies came
out 
in 
the
Greenwich hillside park
where i loved the benches
i really LOVED the benches
and i made a vow then
to sit on more park benches

  in peace
  in quiet
  in nothing

on morning-wet autumn park benches

here come the memories again - stink triggered recall
of
dusk in the afternoon
that says to me
  dont worry about it
  give it up 
  its dark now 
  cant you see ?
  give it up till spring
  and 
  sleep like all the frenchmen
  used to do

here come the memories again - carousels of slides
of
the pipes first run
and the click-clicking metal
in
the afternoon bubble
of childhood after school 
all
the
radiators 
filling up
and
gurgling like well springs
in
the
Simon and Garfunkel silence

here come the memories again - line drawings of you
of
the
cold houses dead rads dead chill
and
the
doom that riots round the skirting boards
and 
up on the cobweb coving
so
you
bleed the rads
with special key and a rag
down
on
the
floor
where your childhood used to be


here come the memories again - clockwork sensations 
of
stumbling round Bank
booze loose and looking
for
the home train
the Borough bus
the St Pauls Starbucks
my
collar
up 
to the girls and the damp
and
hiding
in
a
pool hall 3 storeys underground
and
too
there
were 
long decaff evenings
freshly sober and newly muted
still
in
a
Simon and Garfunkle silence
watching people in a dry trance
in
the 
WC1 museum spaces
my coats and scarves
my winter armour
piled like a thrift store
on the backs
of the colourful 
plastic chairs

so boo fucking hoo i say this year
as
autumn comes in
to compost me again
and
i
make a new memory - HD  
by
farting long and mournful
on the 
back step 
4 AM
smoking the last cigarette in the world

and it is answered !
by 
some 
guy
invisible over the back fence
still awake like me
and
coughing wet and awful
on
the words other last cigarette

and it all mixes in with the foghorns
like 
the very last dinosaur cries
out 
on 
the rivers black mass
under peephole stars 
and slow moving planes
slow
blinking
wing tips
blinking
in
time
with
another sleepless trial
where
all
the
hibernating mammals
steal my slumber
obviously
unrepentant

from the guardian

THE WORST DREAM

i 
dreamed 
the sky was newsprint epitaphs
and
i 
was
very normal - a forgettable grey 
              and 
              ashamed

and 
i grew older and blander
and 
i was fading and shrinking
into
unnoticeable
head-down
zipped-up beige

and i tried to yell to my dreamself
no
no
nooooooo

but i didnt hear

from the bugoutbagguide.com

THE GATES OF NIGHT

i write these pops
to 
justify degeneracy
and
my 
  white-good
    on-grid 
       complicity

and
so
i
can
tell
the phantom guard at the gates of night

that
i
did
something today

from home power magazine

MEAT MONEY & OTHER THINGS

    they
cull the badgers
to save the cows
to kill for lunch

 [ i
  suppose
  tb badger mince
  is
  a
  bit gamey ]

    their
    chemical
    warfare
    is
insect genocide
to save cash crops
we leave to rot
    for
    subsidies

 [ no
  money
  in
  bug sandwiches

  not yet 
  anyway - prob wont be long tho . . . ]

    they
    use
child-mined super conductors
 in
  every
   single
    electric
     thing
we clutch in our grubby fists
and prod with greasy fingers
and then dump on their beaches
in a dangerous tangle of secrets
    when 
    we 
    get 
     a 
   shiny new one

    and
    we
shop away misery
and our complicity
with same day delivery
only one click away
    in 
    some 
    golden age 
    of 
    selective plenty

 [ i
  wish
  my
  hands
  were
  cleaner ] 

from geekpop.co.uk

SOFT PAST - HARD FUTURE

electric smoke
  &
personal terminals

robots on mars
  &
patrolling our sky

perpetual terrorism
  &
corporation owned rain

  i
  am
living the sci-fi
  i 
  read 
as a child

its like they used it as a manual

~

dystopia oh dystopia

how 
innocent 
the 
20thC
seems
now

when all the horrors
were
analogue

from cartoonstock.com

FUCKUP POV

 we had scattered under nights black velvet 
 in a fading flash of denim and hi-tops 

  like 

  we 

  shared 

  a 

  hive 

  mind 

 we were hiding from police men 

 and the joyless fiend 

 who called them 

  in 

  the 

  green belt hill fields 

 out

  on 

 the

 empty edge of town 

 i stretched flat in the dark 

  in 

  tall 

  wet 

  grass 

 contraband stuffed in my sock 

 i was on a wild ragged drunk 

  i was in a teflon bubble 

 EVERYTHING 

  worth 

  a 

  mean superior adrenaline cackle 

  from 

  my 

 defence machine 

  fuckup POV  

 and 

  trapped in a hollow 

  under the swing of lights 

  flat 

  out 

  on the hills green open palm 

  i 

  remembered 

  seeing 

  the rabbits that live here 

  when 

 i 

 was 

  a 

  child 

 running the weekend away 

  with rope 

  and a stick 

 the rabbits sat here 

  arranged on the slope 

  at dawn and at dusk 

 . . . this thought grabbed me by the armour . . . 

 and i became sorry 

  i was not an animal 

 not a sun bear 

  not a treecat 

  not a hillside rabbit 

 arranged on the slope 

  at dawn and at dusk 

 no home but a hole and the weather 

  no law but instinct and hunger  

 arranged on the slope 

  at dawn and at dusk 

 and when the police mens searching torches swung away 

  and when the car doors slammed shut in the quiet 

  and when the car droned downhill off and away 

 i 

  stood 

  up 

  half reborn and weirdly calmed 

  and 

  walked 

  home 

  damp 

  alone 

  and 

  twice as high 

  without 

  any manic cackles to stifle 

  in 

  an 

  unexpected lucid peace 

  a sudden state of grace 

 i 

  would 

  soon 

  forget 

by gelitin, 2005, in artesina, italian alps