THERES A CEILING FAN IN A PALE WOODED RECESS

again

the dr wont help

and

i limp away from the clinic

joints

only

half

on

fire

but whats that anyway

in light of what the sunshines seen ?

and cos of course theres

no cabs

on this 

small thin land

its commuter o clock

school run time

and i limp on

joints

only

half

on

fire

~

i go in a cafe

i get coffee

i sit deep inside

the morning radio chatter

and

the extractor hum

happily a nothing

a no one

new in here

~

and so then this guy comes in

hes jolly as a sand boy

i not seen him for 15 20 25 years

not seen him

since the mall days 

of 199biscuit o clock

he worked for free

on a care in the community scheme

we sold white goods

flatpack bookcases

luggage

and id lose half the morning

saying no geoff

not there geoff

over here geoff

while geoff laughed an infectious laugh

and tickled all the girls

till he was

told to stop

~

he sits a table away now

clapping like a seal

waiting on fresh fish

hes tapping on the waitresses forearm

like its bongos

he gets sausage and beans

tea and toast

with a crisp new tenner

and

laughs to himself

funny secrets

only he knows

shiny elbows on the table

new trainers crossed underneath

i pull my hat lower

what would happen if i said

hey geoff

long time no see ?

i dont tho

fuck no

~

i write him down instead

and

it

calms

the

needles in my fingers

and 

the 

spikes in my head pan

and

dims the colours 

sands down the shine

and all this cafe . . .

its like a vessel

and

seems somehow underwater

~

its full length window

has a high street view

of

all

the

skinny jeggings

and

gelled waves

everyone with an oblong

in their hand

out on the fucktown pavement

and i know horribly that

all their orifices 

are only clothes away

and i cant tell

if im in the aquarium

or they are

~

and theres a drone in here

like

from

heavy

ships

screws

far far above

and the ceiling fan

in a pale wooded recess

turns inevitable and obvious 

turns dignified and modest

keeping

the

morning

machine

together

from khgfabrics.com

DARK DREAMS AND DUSK THAT CALLS YOU OUT

my

dreams

are

funerals where the dead mourn too

my

dreams

orbit

the heart of sickness

like stealth satellites

they monitor numbers stations

broadcasting blind

on

a

carpet

stain

moon 

~

and theres a castle

in the hinterlands there

i

built

it

from

soft bricks of flesh

( imagine a lego brick

  but soft to the touch

  and layered with 

  pale veined skin )

the castle in the hinterlands there

its uninvaded 

its cold turkey

its a plucked goose tower

vibrating

in

the

rain

and  

every

drop

has

its designated landing zone

a ledge to swell on

and a sky to reflect

~

and the castle windows are holes now

where 

we

used

to

where we used to

~

and well

dusk has some balls 

dont it ?

doing what it does

everyday

telling us 

what

we

dont

want to hear

its over

it says

its over again

so lay yourself down again

and worry again

that you done enough

or havent

( havent )

~

and i fall 

without moving

into

prescribed

sleep

into

undirected

theatre

into the castle there

its walls lined

with

the

detachable organs

of

another

nights

mad surrender

~

and i can only be grateful

when it lets me return

in one piece 

back to

dusks

upside down

morning

from rpgdrivethru.com

WAITING ON ANOTHER ELVIS DAWN

that cut grass smell
is
a
sip from yesterdays rainbow

and
next door
they
all
gone
out

taking their racket elsewhere

and all our doors and windows
are
open

and the peace is palpable

an elephant on the lawn

~

time was
summer nights
falling sun
felt like magic

or magics shadow

it was like watching a cats tail
sliding away
thru the door

and it left the hint of a spell
on the warm cement
to
drink
to

and
id
drink
to 
it

spilling my brain all over the black

waiting  
on
another
crystal dawn

that wasnt so much magic
as a reward

or red cross relief

and
there
was
elvis
on the radio

singing like he did
like he still does

elvis in 1973 from picmonkey.com

RIDE

its a psychotic ride

ordinary murder

in the bushcraft vacuum

and theres

amazing views

amazing views

on

this

death trip

thru

natures indifferent glance

and

out cements hard backside

and the night is the arse of the day

if the day is a payday loan

deep in the plastic heart

of neon darkness

its

the most naked

that

wear

the most expensive

under

a sun made from bubble wrap

in the bingo ballroom

and the old gods 

gave way to nothing

to our nothing

at all

and we all shout

death is for losers

knocking on that very door

pic from bbc.co.uk

PROB SAID IT ALL BEFORE BUT

1. OUTSIDE THE BOOZE MACHINE

youre in love

if

that

FM

MOR

that used to be

lazy

offensive

chaff

for the losers

outside the booze machine

now makes simple sense

cos youre in the club now

and like a child

grasping the 1 2 3s 

you

learnt 

the 

code

2. WOULDNT ASK WOULDNT LISTEN

if a younger me 

(dying in denim every day) 

met the older me 

(alive in elastic comfort)

be like

hash sparks 

clashing with 

the codeine blues

he wouldnt ask 

and

he wouldnt listen

to any wisdom 

id fake out

of my back pocket

i couldnt expect him too

i remember his box

but i like to think

he would at least say

nice trainers

and

exactly 15% of your records are cool

before he was quickly

on his way

3. THE BEIGE BRIGADE

theres a man in pale beige

60 odd

a polo shirt 80s striped 

wash faded

into

the

colour of the moon

he lifts a daily mail

out the stand

like its a birth right

he gives each page

exactly the same 

amount of time and attention

over eggs and bacon and tea

in the tesco cafe level 1

he looks up periodically

with suspicion

with superiority

laced with classic hp and fear

and i hope 

when he gets back 

to his greasy armchair

waiting in his terrace hole

his

wife

will

tell him to belt up 

and

put

that

shit

rag

down

4. TO BE A BEAST

got sweat shop rags on

coffee in a forever bucket

wondering 

about  

function creep

endor

and

operation paperclip

and later therell be meat

metallic

from 

screams and steroids

but its good

to be a beast

eating a beast

and i toe the line

and i toe the rag

and if i done everything i could

then everythings done me too

5. ENTROPY ?

i feel flat

and disarranged  

as a kids

fridge door scrawl

all

my

thoughts squeezed out

into

a

single

speech

bubble

that

says

?

in wobbly crayon

 

from the telegraph.co.uk

LOFT FINDS SOLD

THE KING OF CATS

POEM IN A POEM

i read
always have

like a good little spod

secret torches at night
as a kid

bad eyes

allowed the lamp on now
as i am 44 

(43..? 45..? 8..?)

only when the white noise lets me
of course

i hide and dream and live and steal
in
books 

theyre the simplest magic

a surrender of the soul

and
when i pause and look up
its
with
surprise
that the room is exactly the same

tho somethings changed...
its me that changed

changed by books
the simplest magic

a surrender of the soul

in one of these pauses
when i was 
undrugged serene
all magical like

i wrote down -

dr 
says
my metabolism
is
in
hibernation
from
the
autumn beginnings
of
a
culture winter

and i wonder now what i meant

cos it doesnt sound good

and
what on earth
i been reading
that
simple magic day

surrendering my soul

photo by joel robison from brainpickings.org

LISTEN TO YOUR BODY

they all say

listen to your body
itll tell you what it needs

and they all say this
with a kind of wise nod
i hope i never imitate

if
i
really
listened to my body
tell me what it needs

i would be on the toilet
asleep eating carbs

~

so i take
what my body says
with a pinch of salt
wise cynicism 
and a heavy veto

and i listen to the wind
and i worry about the rain
and i keep the cellar door open

writing things
loving things
mocking things
with empathy and kindness
and the meanness of a clown

in northern europe 1984

watching
classic
sci fi
with
a
childs wonder
and
the hindsight
of a god

from uk.ign.com

WAS IT YOU BUCKOWSKI ?

buckowski
buckowski
buckowski

you rotten dog

was it you i read
when you said

youre surrounded by assassinated people ?

well
theyre still here

unable to notice 
the ordinary madness
of
this
impossible paradise
as
we
throw out tomorrow
with
the bath water rain

from gtaforums.com

I SHUT MY EYES

1. HAIKU

i shut my eyes closed

everythings there
and
i

become unbroken



2. TITLE

and i write

generation plastic and the touchscreen gene

and
leave it there
leave it for later
leave it for

someone else to finish
another day away

leave it for 
when the ending
is
made
clear
with the forced order of hindsight
we
ground-bound cutlery monkeys
cant
help
but
impose



3. QUESTIONS ABOUT THE TREE OF LIFE

i shut my eyes
and
before coma happens
theres a flash -

sheet lightning outlining a tree

now is that
my eye veins
lit
by
explosions mindside ?

or a glimpse
of
the tree of life ?

is that where it is ?

inside ?

in the between place
where
waking is not yet sleep ?

rooted
into
a
netherworlds
hinterland ?

and as i drift deeper

i sadly remember

i
saw
no
fruit

from istockphoto.comI SHUT MY EYES