GAMEPLAY FOOTAGE NOT

poems from the bed
instagram'd on the bog

this not actual gameplay footage

its a poem

a backward walking piss 
in the whiplash midnight wind

&
a forced tear in the misty mire

from riverswithoutboundaries.com

SUPERMARKET AS MUSEUM, OBSERVATIONS

doing our tick-tock time
in the universal double-click mine

beige blims & the backpack herd
are moon pulled & wind blown
ad compelled & credit shelled

before gift shop cost shock
& 
canteen disappointment


~


i am in the car park 
window cracked
waiting on rain & relief
eyes on lookout
for the cigarette police
& 
the meat world medicine man



~



coffee meet carbs
i say

i am criminally under-glitzed 
in the semantic last days

fiztrovias a memory
red castles a dream
midnight missing me 

they put suicide nets now
round the factory waists

you need a clearer sign ?

& tho our ferdinand
is likely legion  
& remains unclear
he must be in the firmware
bombs in the spam

from lovemoney.com

CONSUMERIST HEART STRINGS

was in ikea heading to checkout
  before getting the meatballs

when an 80p reject-shelf small steel pot 
  of dubious usefulness 
    tugged at my heart strings

it tugged at my heart strings
  like the 
   charity shop 
    own-brand 
     last-one 
      doorstop-hare
  tugged at our heart strings

he was worn / he was frayed
& 
no discount was allowed

    so we left him
but then couldnt leave him
    & we bought him

he holds the back door ajar now

for
the
foxes
to
follow
the
cats
in

steel pot gone awol 

SUPERMARKET CAFE OBS

supermarket cafe
  &
i am kinda hiding 
  &
i am kinda disguised
  &
i take my place at the window

  & 
the museum feeling creeps in
like dusk creeps in
  in 
  winters 
  turgid 
  pm
  fail

  & summers under-rug dust is free
to cataract the daytime tv


~


they follow their kipple carts
out down the hatchback rows

trapped in fashion
    &
the madness of ads

new bucket

old water

happy new year

bogofs

keeping

revolution

at bay

& like i said before
i am so full with memories
i am bursting like a child

from telegraph.com.uk

A BOHEMIA, AN 80s/90s POPLING

arty parents & a knocked-thru bedroom 

exposed rsj pillars / space & ambience 

c64 games piled like rubble

was after school at whatshisnames house

well it felt some bohemia to me


~


tall trees for shade out the front

big open windows / wide deep sills 

he sat there as i left

he was looking up the street

waiting & unrushed & home

leg swinging in the air
  
sun out / nostalgia breeze / 5pm


~


was like a speilberg scene
     like tv
  like it should be

well i had to get out of there
     i couldnt put my finger on it
  
& anyway his play was directionless

just another place 
     i wasnt invited back to 
  thats gone all rosy-past now


~


& ten or so years on
  whatshisname is managing the odd-bins 
 in the new shiny mall

& when i buy all the mescal off his shelves
  theres a flicker of something
 when he sees the name on my switch card

but eye contact
  was a minefield
 for everyone
  in those days

skunk weed you know
  & the ecstasy overhang


~


thats the sort of stuff i remember now

my feeble tendrils
building castles 
from all the cushions

to rest on & dream on & reflect on

i am a pocket black mirror 
for my own soul eye gaze

from drinksupermarket.com

RERUNS & WRITTEN RESIDUE

always 
i am
explaining
myself

fictitiously
like practice

to gone friends from out the past
&
to next months never / maybe meets


~


if only my mind could RACE
id be done by now

but 
its 
some kind of swamp in there
some kind of slo-mo mordor

all spiked retinoids
&
between-station underwater tv 


~


i must clarify again
those corner hook-ups
the cracked cement & moss banks

&
i
got
to
dwell on

the shouted almost chat
from the dub weekenders

i am rerun central
meat tube hdd only


~


i feel 
it is ALL 
still happening to me

linear time
is 
only outside
my
untanned leather


~


so 
i
go read new poetry

go on the old toilet

trying
to dump
the ALL out

& fill up the space
with 
someone elses 
written residue

for a change
& to breath

from eobdtool.co.uk

GUEST POST, WHAT KIND OF MIRROR by Ron Heckert

What kind of mirror is this anyway?

And another day became another day.

I am writing this for posterity, to look back on in future times, better times hopefully, but worse isn’t wholly unlikely.

This space ship to Mars just keeps on travelling. 

There is an end to this journey, eventually, but whatever. 

On this day here I was/am/be, bored and uneasy, in my little spacetime travelling pod.

I drink a hard seltzer or two. 

I smoke a bit of pot.

I find myself at this daily; a drink, or two, or three; a hit, or two, or four. 

I play video games in VR. 

I play guitar. 

I talk to my co-inhabitants. 

I rotate, from station to station every half hour or so.

I look at awful facebook videos of awful people being awful.

What kind of a mirror is this, anyway?

I walk in circles.

I talk in half thoughts.

I smoke cigarettes and I KNOW it’s gross and may give me cancer.

I think boring thoughts in a stream.

I pause to pee in a stream.

The stream is not a brook, but it babbles as much as my prostate will allow.

My mind babbles too, constantly.

What kind of mirror is this, anyway?

It’s all I got.

This fool was alive, once.

from media.vam.ac.uk

THE LAST WOMBLE

the last womble

collects buzzwords & cliche

on the universal common

his efforts are buried now

with the fast plastic

in a landfill potters field


~


his upcyclings been hijacked

gentrified in a brass hipster rain

he identifies as council worker

but cant get the ppe 

union representation or pension


~


put pennies

in his starbucks cup

hes in the pdsa doorway

waiting on a tetanus shot

& canine
high time
analgesics

from tanysrr.com

MIC DROP & FIN

on benefits ?

shoot the effing lot of em !

send em home !

he says

i am on benefits

i say

& very mostly at home 

but out at a bbq with twunts today

for some awful reason

well . . . not . . . 

you know what i mean tho

he says unsure

i dont fit the mold you see

i have an illness

i say

& a working wife

this bbq is bloated

with tabloid fed

carb tards

you should be ashamed 

of your effing self !

he says 

feeling on surer grounds

for some reason now

well the thing is you see

i say stepping up

at a bbq we are leaving

i AM ashamed sometimes 

but i dont believe 

i should have to be

THATS my problem

i leave

too ill

to engage

further

mic drop & fin

from universalcreditsufferer.com

MORNING FLASH POPS

teeth coated thick
head stutter buffering

one hundred ideas fight for form
in the overlapped unachievable venn

i been awake 4 minutes-

existential crisis on the downlow 
is heavy breakfast

the day is right there
obvious but unknowable

resigned & sighing & demanding


~


moon surface heat rash
dirty white cats grey feet

i water the clay at 6 AM

hazmat in a shopping bag
for back step photoshoot

i am so full of memories
i am like a bursting child


~


at school

well i was shocked
at how keen the kids were

teacher asks a question
& these short arms shoot up
with a loud gulp of sucked air
& these arms are supported by the other arm
wrapped past the armpit to the back shoulder

they were DESPERATE 
in one hundred ways
waving those meat flags

well i knew then
i was outside 

from tex.stachexchange.com

READ BY NIGHT & SHTUM

another poem
lost to the darkness

lost in the long
mindside hiccup
before sleep

when the pens were too far
& the hands too weak

only the night knows it now

moon audience enough
& 
he/she is always back for more


~


too much of what
i
think 
up
to
say

well 
it bores me shitless before i say it

keep shtum lad
keep shtum

& this ?

this -

well 
its plucking feathers
out the hurricane

CAR PARK OBS

the flats
are built 
like steps

climbing 
into
low bruised storm cloud
collected & brimming

location 
location 
location

train station a retail park away


~


i may have sat here too long
but that merc in front of me

well its tow bracket
looks like
its giving me the finger

i find nothing 
to disprove this

vandalism on my mind

from en.wikipedia.org