Thursday 30 November 2017

NOTE TO SELF - CHOOSE A SONG AND B-SIDE




can i not 
BE 
a song
when i go ?

no burial
no chapel fire

no cryogenic lolly
no forced stone

just a song

cos music
music IS
isnt it ?

and
it
would
be
ok
with
me
to dance in rings when im dead

cos lords knows
i dont move 
too much now

so press my crumbs
into
a
magic circle
of
mountains and valleys 

of birdsong

ice

still water

or
a great wild stampede

and
i
could
spin
then

useful

for someones peace
and invigoration

for someones joy
and inspiration

when i have gone







Image result for ashes into vinyl record

from blog.discogs.com



where they do it - http://www.andvinyly.com/




Wednesday 29 November 2017

NEW YORK MEMORY



hotel steps
midtown

wired

sat on carpet wet from snow

it
soaks
into
my
jeans

and tho i took something to help
its just a memory in my liver now

~

meat 
packing 
district

the playground of kuklinski

and yes
planting a garden
on disused el tracks
is a wonderful idea
but its winter
and its not finished

and
all
there is here for me 
is my hangover

a
sense
of
stressed 
suspension  

and a tease of snow

~

diner
corner table
union square

sport on 100
tv screens

and

sweat and gag and drool
with toxicity and nerves
over
my
grilled cheese
and
gins

i dont want to be anywhere
anywhere at all

but am impatience
to get started

~

its
the airport you see

and the sky
calling for me

flight - 
that thin science
in nowhere time

it
calls
for
me
by name 
and gate

and sucks all and any 
fermented joy
from
the
last 
winter-spring
new york 
day




Image result for jfk airport

from amny.com

Tuesday 28 November 2017

BATSHIT TOWN SALVAGE




suddenly
i am here

in normal bed
aghast at the ordinary

when the last i remember

i was 
in crazy crescent 
batshit town
claiming salvage rights
on all the rocket chopper blades
left
outside
number
16

there was a dark mood
heavy like velvet

i was being watched
by backwards eyes

there was indecision
there was back and forth

and there was doubt
big as a mountain
frozen on the cement

it was a twisted tangle 
of a streetside dream

and
its
all
now
a
black dog
stormhead
on
realities
morning

that dissipates 
like kettle steam

and tonight
at the feet of the day
in normal bed
when all the ordinary
is comfortably done
i
will
be
suddenly absent again

my subconscious
will roam mad

inside the winter seaside
of
my
only
head




Image result for nightmares

from brainwavepowermusic.com

Monday 27 November 2017

THREE WATER POPS



my mirror
is
broken water
in
the
gone
of
the hospital lights

~

the mornings
nevertime
has
the 
daily instructions there in the glass

and
i
feel
like
an
automaton
in
supermarket fancy dress

on a stony beach
with a 99 i cant eat

in english rain

~

and if i used to wear all blue

well
whats
it
to
you ?

i used to pretend
i
was
the
sea





Image result for southend beach

from tripadvisor.co.uk

Friday 24 November 2017

A PICTURE OF A MAN



i would call the help desk
all the time

it was almost
scheduled
i treated it like
a time-out

this and that
i would say
and also
the printer
it doesnt know who i am

a strange IT guy
a strange faced 
tall faced 
long man
would came down

i
mean
his frowns were kind of inside
and
his loping stride way too long

kind of staged
like his mind
was on a catwalk

and his
laptop bag
seemed
borrowed somehow

or downloaded
and 3D printed

just
for
today

or like he was 
a dead meat sim
the helpdesk just grew
in
a
windowsill pot
like cress

~

he was a suited guy
collar open too wide
tie gone wild
50 or so
and
looked almost like
he could be
daniel craigs
older brother
if his parents
had kept him
in the dark
till adolescence

i always got the impression
he might not actually be there
but i didnt ask anyone else
if they could see him

or try to touch him
at all

i dont think
i wanted to know

as long as the printer
it knew who i was again

~

a midlife crisis
or an effort at camoflague
had tattooed 
crisp stars 
up his left neck

and there was 
smudged green
barbed wire
drawn up the right

and
when
he
had
mended
our
printer
he went out to chain smoke
in the bluelight entrance
making
endless
calls
on
a
too big
dead square
blackberry
telephone

like 
he was an
anomaly
fresh thru
the
mandela gateway

and needed beaming up
right away

before his presence
collapsed 
all the worlds 
forever




Image result for very big mobile phone

from newsweek.com

Thursday 23 November 2017

HAT ON HEAD HUG




i wake up in a coffee shop
plastic like a picture menu

the
day
ahead
like
a
runway
on 
some backwoods drugdrop airfield

the familiar potholes
are four winters old

and i can make it
i can make it still

into a low holding pattern

if theres no crosswind
or too much ice

but i need the right shoes
definitely need the right shoes

something 
with 
an elastic waistband too

and a hat for a head hug

its like having a head hug 
all day long
when you got 
a soft hat on





Image result for POT HOLES

from madeiraislandnews.com

Wednesday 22 November 2017

THE COURAGE OF THE FLEA



young man on a silver crutch
leans
up
against
shoeszones laminated blue plastic facade

cocky as a tom cat
greeting
i cant see who

like the worlds his oyster
like the suns out 
like its los angeles
like hes steve freaking mcqueen
with a car accident knee

when all it is is londons cement floptide

but
theres
a
streetside
fog
here
that smells like life smells
that smells like childhood smells

smells like story books 
and adventure tv
where every kid has a torch
in their backpack
and a reason to use it too

and if you shut your eyes
there is almost no armour
there
at
all
and you can almost
see the stars you are
see the clockeye walls
see the courage of the flea

and hes probably ok
whoever the hell he is
mr hopalong by the shoezone
he is facing the day
with his head up
in
another
uk
morning
divided for conquer
and identical to itself

the morning is 
just another 
polaroid vignette
shining
darkly
in
a
market stall puddle

and we are all running
like flood alert rats are running
with 
the courage of the flea
thats
uncommented
unnoticed
every newspaper day

and the headline bile
is autogenerated offshore
and i wonder of the bees
the courage of the bees

and what shall we be
when they
lay
down
their
stripes forever
in one last pollen dusk

and
will
i
be
old
and
gnarly
one day
and tell a grandniece or two
how
i
saw
bees
coming and going that summer
from
the
hive
under
my back step

how i saw them come home
on the magnet lines
when the sun fell
in that long gone summer
when
i
still drank
still ran 
with the courage
of the flea

and i file 
more nothing-almost-something now
into another binary crevice
in
the
dirt online

i write and file
under the frozen birdshit faces
of all those statues
of all those dead men
mounted on dead horses
on
all
those
mighty
plinths 
high
above the fag butt gutters
where plastic bags
fly like art
on groundwind

i write and file posey
in the grime of the mirror world
we made in our unthought image

its pandoras echo chamber
built of wire and fools gold

so i write and file soft reports
disposable and unrushed
like
li po
and
buckowski 
setting fire to their folded posey
by
the
river
sharing a bottle
in their shirtsleeves
watching
the
drains
overspill

li po buckowski  
lazy enough
to
wait
wait
wait

and wonder
how is it people get worked up
enough
to war

or a backstab hashtag

but fail
to see
the courage of the flea
the leaving of the bee

and theyre blindsided easily
by the 
shoezones blue laminated facade
and
they
dig
deeper
into
the
broadband riverways
dense with
fragile ships
flying flags
of
new shoes
and
photoshopped abs






Image result for bad polaroid

from library--of--babel.blogspot.co.uk

Tuesday 21 November 2017

ANTS DISRUPTED



mon AM
and
theres
fog
come
down
on the f-town barricades

and it hides us
and trees point up
and i feel the 

           e       o u
heavy &  n   b   l     s
               u 

arcade fire nostalgia

that
is
autumns emptying

autumn -
an enema artist
painting
in all the shades of brown

~

and all the 
quilted 
regular 
assassinated 
street joes
are
ants
disrupted

by the pilot lights of old mystery 
the still flickering half happened 
Could Have Beens but Never Was

~

and
this autumns fag butts 
become
last autumns fag butts 
become
all autumns fags butts
in
a
spun bunched ball of sad brown gold
tugging 
on 
all 
the 
hearts
left
swinging outside of summer ribs

~

and sometimes a real light will glow

a traffic light
like an envy moon 
or a greggs bakery window
misted with cooking

and
then
some ants disrupted
will
have
some living target 
to head their meat toward

~

autumn -

its teaching us how to die

if
we
would
only look
and 
walk and learn 
in its bronze rot
and
read aloud 
from its falling yellow library
of
almost
almost
mulch
wet now before the dry grave

~

cos the fogs come down
on f-towns barricades
and the worlds
become only
phonebox big

it rings with remembrance
where you thought to forget 

its memories calling
them that were impossible 
in the cooked drull of summer
and
them that were invisible
in the perfumed hilarity 
of 
that gone and trivial 
lamb bang spring




Image result for ants disorganised

from qt.com