RAIN ON MY WINDOW

THINGS ON THE WING

BOOKS

the paperbacks
in the queue

hold their breath

theyre meditating
before hands

time is spider leg lines
in their bent broken spines

and i dreamed
the trees outside
were
the
cheap 
gold
of a glam rock jumpsuit

~

the pages of a hardback
thrown
open
onto
the thick clover lawn

turn unsure in the wind

 h e s i t a t e

then
wave to the marching clouds
between the conversation of birds

~

in the sentry silence
of the patio pots 
theres rain spots
on ampersands now
and 
on
chapter ones cliff hanger ending

from killicomainlibrary.wordpress.com

BUCKOWSKIS FRIEND

met a woman
100 years ago it seems
who knew buckowski
way back
in the 20th centurys 
paperback analogue

she wore huge LA sunglasses
in the murky raining london night

i heard her read
her husband too
his prose 
was production line
hers at least
had neon and light

i was on the wagon
the booze fumes inside
a jag on my nerves
i was outside often
smoking
on the triangle wedge there 
worn wooden benches
knee high ashtrays

the traffic divided at my feet
like i was a rock in the tide

she was drunk
when she left
with her daughter
her daughters smile
if it was her daughter
was eight miles wide 
her husband
was a tall dry bough 
jesus i thought
dead man walking

i spoke out to them
something about
their poetry reading
some complimentary something
that i dragged out
for the occasion

i was stood in the rain
potted plants empty glass
kerb stone apex
cutting londons flow
like the bow 
of a great concrete liner

their replies were mumbled
uncertain and drunk

they were caught up 
in their daughters 
headlong wake
and
they walked awkwardly away
into the rain and the murk
in LA sunglasses
looking around
kind of suspicious
and
blind as moles

well screw you too i thought
i met kerouac anyway
down in the stairwell
of a brixton church
we shared a herbal smoke
so there

SICK NOTE MANTRAS

1. CATS AND OLD MEN

dont
write
the
whole day off yet

i say to myself
every cracked curtain morning
feeling like a ferrous metal

this is my sick note mantra
i speak it out loud
to the sheets and floating dust
feeling like the saline water
in tescos wafer thin ham

and the cat is there
his paws and claws
in my cheek in my lip
his big round eyes
saying ME ME NOW ME ( IAOW )

and out on the street 
the old guys
in beige again 
go out for papers 8 am
they're like clockwork again
like national service
half crowns in their hatbands
mumbling daily mail headlines
out by the gatepost

dont write the whole day off yet
i say to myself

give its chill beginning
a sunshine chance

the pillow will be here still later on
i make a pm date with it in my mind

i might feel
a little better might'n i anyway
a little less like a polluted moon
after some coffee

my pills

and
some 
juice


2. POSSIBILITIES

and 
theres 
a 
chance 
isn't there

that i might write something
in a shadow of gold leaf
on a gutter hubcap
if i unfold from out of bed
an upward cutlery ape  
in the supermarket zoo

and 
theres
a 
chance 
isn't there

that someone who may not be born yet
may see it may read it one odd day
on a museum piece server 
under a leaking tin can megacity dome

and they might halfway feel something
and they might catch a glimpse of something
and maybe then write something themselves

something better 
without tricks on loan

in whatever biowired plastic AI dream
we
have
left under the mercury clouds
for
them


3. SHADOW OF GOLD LEAF ON A GUTTER HUBCAP ?

we all live 
in the spaces
above our shoes
the windsails pulled down
trimmed into the next seasons
tryhard catwalk conceptions

the catalogue lie of polyester folds

hides our animal ghost
our hot breath relegated  
in the toothless tv land
of our reluctant white plaque minds

and out there in the day in the world
the carpet the cement 
the macadam and tile
steel and glass
are exile
from
the
meat
of forest earth

from the mail online

CARS

     danger strapped  in metal mules
  lame creeping  cripple crawling  in petrol clogs
    on a ten lane black top  of trodden tar 
       in a  sluggish gutter 
         an  aimless breakwater eb
      jammed  only floating forward
        like the  woolwich ferry
     in a panic heavy  thick syrup  dream

      unclean ungreen  road grime buffed
       and waxed  into a  weekend watery sheen

     in legion  and dementia
         cookie cutter  copycat hatchbacks
        drive into dusks  polluted magenta

           counting  heart attacks
             and euphemisms
            like a  golf score
       everyone  hopefully broadcasting
        like a plea  like a converts prayer
         that they have  a baby on board
                 or a  dog
   or a  limited edition  bobble head  darth vader

from telegraph.co.uk

MORE. PRETTY. FLOWERS.

PRETTY. FLOWERS.

 

SKY AND LENS FLARE

GARDEN CATS

PLANE LOOKS LIKE A BLURRY NEGATIVE

a plane
up there
glides thru
misty cloud
up there
like its 
a huge cross
in a 
huge box 
on a 
huge form
sliding by 
like advertising
up there
like a 
hardsell 
suggestion

the plane 
is creeping 
me out
up there
like its 
a ghost
up there
a ghost
from long ago
and i have 
stood still
down here
and we are 
already done

there is a 
uniform layer 
of dust 
and fluff 
and lint
all over 
all my 
clothes
like i have 
stood still
down here
since long
long ago

i feel 
hollowed
down here
battery 
struggling 
leaking
and rust 
is dripping

from
down
there

down
there

where the 
toilet goes

from thinkstock / news.bbc.co.uk

SPRING NOISE

well those lawn mowers
can only whine or be silent
and when those lawn mowers are silent
they lay like fed alligators
or like unwound clockwork
waiting to whine again

waiting to chop turf into paste again
into school sportsday smells again

( memories of melting macadam
  steel chair legs sinking
  into the black crust
  while the country dancing is on  
  and at the end of our street
  a cloud of ladybirds
  blocks out the thunderstorm sun )

or they tick and tick dont they
when theyre finished
and theyre left in the shade
when theyre finished
going tick and tick arent they
metal cooling off exertion
away from the sun

i like them best like this i think
its like behind the intermission curtain
of a poundshop steampunk puppetshow

or it could be morse code couldnt it
the tick ticking could be morse code
and they could be saying
finished now back in the shed please

~

birds automatically broadcast
incredibly full of themselves
voluntarily in a cage
built of immediate chatter

like kids in a schoolyard
suddenly here
filling the air
an unfiltered yelling machine
with 100 moving legs

then theyre gone
theyre gone again
theyre herded off in a blink
gone again in the time 
it takes me
to take a piss

~

i breath deep
i stretch out on the bed
i attempt to ground myself
like the sheets are earth
in a west country meadow

i am a witness on a budget
quiet in the face 
of a quadraphonic world

the curtains are cracked
for a slice 
of white sun
for a glimpse 
of green 
turned silver

but is too bright now
but i know too
that it will also 
be gone 
too soon

godiva mower 1920s / from oldlawnmowerclub.co.uk

ONE MORE PLASTIC EVERYTHING

i
windowshop
online

searching for the One Thing
that will Change My Life

for Better / for Good / Forever

my One More Plastic Everything

it WILL fill that spiritual
                  western
                  deficit
with flowers 
with sunshine
with Effortless Ageless Cool

i
will
know
it
when i see it / and it will know me

just One More Plastic Everything

from miles.and.more.com

CATS SOFT COAT

tumeric
ground three days ago

distant peat

moss dried
after summer rain

a cleaned and living warmth

residue of perfume
        of handcream

trapped garden air

unavoidable hint of practical litter
and
somehow tar

home definitely home
and
a musk of long slow slumber

how to describe his smell
nose deep
in the cats soft coat ?

( maybe even 
  electricity
  subdued
  by his 
  power station 
  heartbeat )

GOOD KIP AT THE END OF THE WORLD

so all the cows
eat all the corn
that we could eat
so we can eat them

( prob served up on a toilet lid these days
  or on a fucking roofing tile )

and all the cars
roll our carbon frames
15 feet to the cornershops
for canned carbs
and chemical clumps
in happy plastic coats

( we go thru sweet treats
  like a worm thru soil )

and all this time
the
old
nukes
pile
up
uncounted and loose
their software 100 years old

shall we even pull children anymore
from the dread of our balls ?

and if our world ended
well it would be out of the way then
and
unveiled we could cry ourselves dry
and loot in peace and nostalgia
and
sleep
some
deep animal sleep 
at 
long
last

( our priorities
  harshly realigned )

from egumeny.com

C - O - N NUMBER 1

SPRINGS SPRUNG

SKULLBONE STRAIGHTJACKET

SKULLBONE

we go mad
in our own tree
mad in our own
skullbone straightjacket

mostly invisibly 
of course

googling trepanation
on the sly 



ARGUING TREE

and arguing
with the voices
and the faces 
in the bark
and the knots
we become exasperated
looted and lost

still we jump down
in time for tea
and roll out
our useless recycling
on a thursday night

only now
maybe we have kept 
an old bird nest
maybe on our head
maybe as a hat
as a reminder
and protection



WHAT WAS SAID

noeliberalism

and disaster capitalism

the tree said

are trapped gas . . .

best play jazz to the wind
to the leaves
to the wood and water

everything
is
upside
down
out there 

and kept that way
by amazon opec and viacom

dont look 
but pray for the youth

the tree said

that they 
might be
builders

from philschatz.com