GLOVE#2 IT CAME FROM THE EARTH

MEET ON THE LEDGE

theres this song
i only remember

. . . meet on the ledge . . .

its the loneliest goodbye
as
a
beautiful appointment

i picture a rocky shelf
its kind of been there all along
but we just didnt know

like a nature reserve built on landfill
thats outside streetside tunnel vision

or like when tarzan visited the elephants graveyard on tv
you just need to know the right vines
to
push
aside

i picture people appearing in ones and twos there
a neglected light shining now from inside them

maybe some hold hands now
as things fall away
and theres dignity  
quiet  
subdued sun
everything aok everything right
torn holes filled
as if with fertile loamy soil
and no doubt
at all
at last

a warmth long missing is revelation
that fits like bath shrunk 501s

and theres a rack of wings there
to choose from

in wonderful shades
of
dulux
grey  

fairport convention, meet on the ledge, from youtube

MONOTONOUS ANIMALS

theres lorries on the sky road
monotonous animals
three deep
crawling up the cement whirls
outside the supermarkets widescreen window

the windows glass is covered
in peeling and translucent white
it
paints
the
traffic
into
a visible white noise

i get a feeling they can never stop
these pale ghosts of themselves

and these wars these days
they roll together these days 
dont they ?
into
one
great guess-who mass
the short bombing on purpose
inside the spreading margins

i am the man in the future
the child could not see
but i wouldnt surprise him
camo trousers
a dirty hat
black plastic tech with no moving pieces 
in the meat of my shaved paws
the
air
stacked with information
around my empty supermarket cafeteria plates

indeed the child may be pleased . . .

we are locked in the freedom prison
i think in astoundedment

and i write myself a note
to be that clever again

and on the
supermarket
sale rail
all the polo shirts are in small
theyre
begging
in 
a 
modesty parade

from korenvs.co.il

THE WONDERFUL OUTSIDE

A TREE LARK AND A SKY FINCH

TALKING TO ARTHUR NEXT DOOR

we start with a greeting
hes doing whatever he does
on his drive full of cars

football shirt on
or not shirt at all

today its no shirt at all

i am taking out rubbish
i probably dump it
in the wrong bin

and we ask each other 
if we are ok
and i will tentatively 
approach the fence
keeping my options open

he will tell me something
about
the
weather / family / hospital visits

i will say something similar
which he will not notice

next he might tell me
something i told him 
three months ago

but today its something almost new
its about the guy opposite today
who rides up and down the street
in electric mobility scooters
with his brothers
of an evening 
now its lighter later

theyre men he says
theyre liable

i am laughing and tell him hes jealous

he will only notice 
that i disagreed
and his head will not compute
and
he 
will
escalate vaguely

the way stuff is today
i dont like it he says
dimly self aware 
he has nothing 
specific to say

this is going nowhere
so i ask him about 
all the cars on the drive

my son-in-laws he says
they got parking charges now
in his street

i ask wheres that then ?

oh where he lives
he says in surprise

i think blimeyjesus 

the way stuff is today . . .
he is saying 

i diffuse him
before he brings up
the team of blockpavers
from months ago
who he assumes 
are bulgarian
and that carjacked van
they had nothing to do with

i diffuse him
with a broad sweeping statement
of the nature of progress
its inherent temporariness 
our fickle interpretation 

and as i am loosing him
and as he doesnt listen to me anyway
i say
the more things change 
the more they stay the same

a saying i mull over often

and he likes that
it has a ring to it
it sounds clever

and we sign off
with a joke
about supper
the kettle
afternoon naps

we both go in
and i dont have
to look at
his great hairy corfu brown belly
and his struggling childs eyes
anymore
or
those
small
growths
in his armpit
that look like
the legs of a tiny octopus
climbing
out
of
his
flesh

from siteadvisor.com

ALL CLEAR AND POST

behind the glass
a woman in leather
runs from
alien and believable gods

move she says to herself move
she must answer the ringing phone
all our lives depend on it

this side of the glass
my unopened post sits there 
like a wrapped gift
would
sit
there - blunt and solid
with something of the mistake about it

( i had been compulsive and unthinking
  i was like hank 
  behind the glass 
  shot
  and 
  recovering
  buying minerals in bed from ebay
  in the night time tv gloop and glow )

the packages - they are like paper rocks 
strange samples on the kitchen tablecloth

a weird geology they demand attention

there could be ANYTHING inside couldnt there ?
and ignoring my knowledge
i 
savour
this 
manufactured mystery
for  l o n g  moments
sipping coffee number one

and the time ran then
it steamrolled over cold fear and the wired dread 
of these 
          falling / failing
                            faux
                              empire
                                 days
and over noons stagnation 
and all its attendant nothings
and i heard a tactile tick tock
and i felt a small vroooom
like a machine had started up
behind the days flat scenery
and the nameless Effort
    the orphan Art
    i
    had
squeezed out  bled out
forced and coaxed out

    ( the writingslob emitted curdle again )

    well now it Shone Easily - had no Hard Questions

and the day felt like a day then
an easy marker  a nice place
instead of another unsane blur
where only the edges make sense
like
crisp green leaves eaten into skeletons
by the long gone beasts of dawn

and when the cat steps up onto the bed
it is with a perfect sense of things

and shadows pass by the window
like of course they can and should

shadows of harmless other people
doing harmless other people things

and 
i 
feel
like
i
won an award - i can hear doves too
their repeating coo
like an All Clear siren today

the woman behind the glass
picks up the ringing phone

and she knows theres no rainbow 
you can see it in her eyes

and 
her
outstretched hand on the callbox window
is
a flat No  a spread Stop
in 
defiance

at circumstance 
at authoritarian retaliation
at
the
big
black
truck
running
her down . . .

the corner at wells and lake from matrix.wikia.com

ORWELL WOULD BURST

'it is quite easy to appear modern

while in reality being the biggest damnfool ever born'

charles bukowski

our own personal electric eye 
is always on
always there
like a trainee at work is there

new  shiny  keen

a sponge for knowledge
for short cuts and tricks

and
after your job

~

i remember a different world
a world plugged in

and then unplugged for lightning
bedtime
and
caution

a world before phones

going to school

summer  new trousers hemmed  cut grass
the paws and nose of a friendly retriever
under the gate on the corner 

my first house key in my pocket

with
a
plastic
mouse

~

now brand new tech is here
its in there with our fluff and crumbs
shiny wrappers and heavy change
        
        and
        its

 c o n n e c t e d 
        
        to 

 e v e r y t h i n g 
        
        by 

 i n v i s i b l e 

       sci fi 
        
     in
          the
      air

thru walls and windows and cement
our shopping lists and reminders
our love texts and high scores

go into orbit

to
china peru

and venus

~

controlled magics
dark blackside

everyday miracles 
function creep

our invited stalker
our Hub and Control

as if by order
we keep it close by our boiled balls

~

looks forward and back
looks up  
films inside our pocket
snaps our feet

files our minutia detritus

not never no anymore
can we been
unseen

in 
any 
of
the 
dark corners

doing secrets with our body and minds

from shwebook.com

I SNOB

         its

          easy

           isnt

             it 

   to sit in a burger pit

 in a weird mall morning 

       like limbos own waiting annex

     and 

 judge the flaccid clientele there

    in market tops and nowhere trousers  

       while eating 

     the same grease as them

             and

 me with no job to go to either

         only pad and a pen 

      to draw a line between

                  my self-induced 

             higher purpose

   of writing-slob delusion

      and their assumed 

              salted earth

     stone-clad grief hole

           well

            i

             cant

              help 

               but 

 imagine the uninspired misery

   and stubborn catechisms

 of modern povertys tv-dull minds

        stinking

         like 

     unseasoned hamburger 

  in their laminated 

    galley kitchen arena

        and 

 any pledge i make

   to look with kinder eyes

        into their potted grey rainbow

          may

           last

 14 seconds

         as 

        disgust and sadness

 gives empathy and charity 

     a good slop out

  in the dredged canals and prison troughs

           of 

          my

    feedback loop 

     ego jag

           brain pan

pic from daveandjames.com

STREETSIDE GUMBO

    i am
streetside 

strolling under the skys boots

i see a hedge
i think thats green
see cement
think that used to be a hedge

and who are these people
out
in the naked day ?
i think shouldnt they be working 
and the streets my vacant river ?

theres old men in beige sepia
like dressed for the dirt of the grave
i am in shades of prison greys
a smudge of newsprint / a social comment
vague
and
changeable
about
it
all

theres an alley
i think wheres my alley ?
i got block paving
the rain runs from
and a lush triangle of yard

and the sky is like its a hole now
fallen open above me
unsafe like a danehole
and
i worry now
that 
i might grow wings

the ground is locked
all entrances disguised
with
root vegetable distractions
the daft unbearable light of flowers
and
immovable solid moods

from yellowad.co.uk

  

DEATH AND A HELPING HAND

MOVIE FACES

TV HASNT SLEPT SINCE 8/10/1997

my tv 
never says 
goodnight 
to me
any more

clicking it OFF mid show - 

  atlanta cops weird newspeak
  wrong aspect richard widmark 
  hitlers eternal adventures

( specifically ;
  how albert speer designed ruins 
  into the reichs new buildings
  so the 1000 year rule
  could decay in scheduled beauty )

-  i feel guilty relief 
like i kicked out a heavy talker
after a night drinking on my sofa
to wait for his cab in the street

and when i stretch out in the repeating dark
i know hes someplace out there somewhere 
bending the cabbies ear
twenty to the dozen

and when i try to
                  fall 
                     safely
into
the
natural nothing
battling the bright white noise of absence 
and the ufo lights in my eyes
i
know 
half the world 
               or 
              more
is still ON out there
making waves and taking names

from youtube.com

BUK RULES

in the submission rules
for a little mag
it said 

 ' no bukowski style

   im drinking
   im writing
   its great

   sort of stuff 
   thank you '

maybe i get what they mean
and i cant drink anymore anyway
but i hear a snobbish drift
and pleas for rhymes about daisies

those small eclusions
hold essentials markers
of 
truth
creation
escape

and 
the screaming
at the thin end of it all

that theyve never heard
and wouldnt even know
if it blew out their arseholes
during their broadsheet sunday brunch

by buk from poetryfoundation.org

BUKOWSKI CALLED THEM GLASS PEOPLE (TV AND THE RUG)

bukowski 
called 
them 
glass people 

( private helicopter over golden paris )

i 
say
theyre
sealed-in 
stop-outs
corporate shills deep in a lying jag

( fantasy rebellion of a runaway beach bride )

they transmit simple code
in purchased dots of light
emoting in the plywood spaces  
somehow forever themselves 

( antique motorcycle in a £15 million mews )

their forever blue glow
shadows the living room rug
into a colourised moonscape
where the crumbs
rear like mountains 
and cat hair 
frets like wire in the wind

( dandy hipsters catwalk gentrified pavement )

the colourised moonscape
is terraformed frequently 
sucked up and gone by the free trial handhelds
moon 
unit 
snout

( cool nerds city square flash mob ) 

california invented the idea of lifestyle
some one said on tv the other day
he
was
a
glass
person
a sealed-in stop-out
being clever for treats

( western mysticism successfully exported )

and the gardener isnt coming
cos it rained out there today
all the things are heavy and wet
and i am relieved like a god is relieved
when all the bloody sacrifice stops 

i been up forever anyway
up on the living room rug forever

( fat builders dance-off with the cut-offs )

i hear iggy pop when i try to sleep

welcoming his chinese rug
or 
belinda carlisles heaven delusion

( all the good bits of a film 
  action turns to love / morality dead on halfway )

theres a man out the front window
in striped joggers 
a colourless shapeless top
hes walking a small dog 
invisible behind the wall
and the red berry bush 
busy with counterfeit bees
and hes stopped 
and hes staring up intently
and when he walks on 
he has to stop again
look back again
up again
the small dog worrying a taut lead
invisible behind the wall
and the red berry bush 
busy with counterfeit bees

( a horse runs thru nostalgic potted domestic history )

i go to look when hes gone
go out there 
look over and up
i see only roof tiles 
the metal ribs of the tv sky
and a grey heft of dishwater space

( people do their shopping
  with more / less money than you )

now movie stars
stars of the silver screen
the old school king cool
well theyre bonafide legends 
marketed that way 

good for selling watches
and tiny bottles of smell

( the modern polymath drives an electric blue hatchback )

i miss steve mcqueen 
and his square monaco
like penny-back-bottles
i miss larry olivier 
plugging polaroids
like a hang nail
i played with 
in the insomnia loom

( shop here says the ad
  we will let you leave with some change in your hip pocket )

tell larry i got the camera 
i say to the cat 
next time you talk to the dead
and apologise to steve
i
cant
afford
a
monaco
in these tight lean ebay days

from youtube.com