HE WROTE IN HIS JOURNAL

 

heavy air

smells of years

'a gleam on a grave'

he wrote in his journal

red lining flashed

in the sepia wind

dinted

metal

dulled

hes dead now

& yes / why not ?

maybe his headstone does shine

photo by NeONBRAND on Unsplash

LUNCH NEXT DOOR

 

  the 

old man next door

plans his grandkids 

easy peasy lunch

tipolatas & beans 

he says grinning

tipolatas & beans 

i would describe him 

in this moment 

as actually gleeful

harmless but for his vote

his deaf ears

casual racism

&

dog in a living room cage

photo by Justin Jason on Unsplash

THE GOODNIGHT GODS

the dusk hides . . .

no - it resides

there behind the waving tree line

a lemon sky bruised 

with a hendrix haze

its now i would pray -

  if i prayed 

to the goodnight gods - 

  thats what i call them

  their shadow clouds curling

       like

     japanese 

      waves 

photo by Fabricio Merino on Unsplash

SWING

 

  i
  gloz
  the
glass screen stories
 

  faux-rome falls
  in my periphery

  ( sigh etc )

then i lose myself again

  all AROUND
    & IN

kandinskys changing swing

photo by Amanna Avena on Unsplash

WARM WITH MONO

  the singer 

  is 

mumbling in the cracklings

warm with mono

  in 

another worlds
winter cabin

bear out there

on the stew-pot porch

photo by Federico Di Dio photography on Unsplash

STRUGGLE PUPS VOL 20

  the 

  myriad menagerie

  of 

  struggle pups

  silently call

  in 

hopeful telepathy

  to

netflix & the lottery


~

  food bank

  clothes bank 

damage-control left for later

theres no later

~

    

  & 

  they keep on keeping on

 

  flesh nubs

  semi-conscious

  in 

  the 

  confusion bowl

shame in the laundry basket

names in the game

photo by Pablo García Saldaña on Unsplash

GOD POP, AN UNPRAYER

our
father
does
'art'
in
heaven

hollow be thy name

some things get done

on earth & in Devon . . .

~

hit refresh

    refresh

    refresh

    pause & play 

    pause & play 

    & 

watch your buffer circle spin

play Earth* / dont watch Seven

hollow be thy name

photo by Diana Vargas on Unsplash

*Earth 2, Special Low Frequency Version, Sub Pop Records 1993

MORE OR LESS

 

meat ritual
on the rolling rock

under
a
moon
eye

for three score & ten

more or less

photo by Adi Ulici on Unsplash

FREE THEN I SUPPOSE

we

lay

in 

the corn lake
under the sun king
horizon a memory
waiting on the dark

~

we

went

down 

the farmer lanes

& the train spurs
to the corner pubs

felt like Stand By Me on drugs


~

& high & young

& haystack scratched
every blink 

became a 

matrix glitch

a festival-eye 

insomnia re-render


~

& cold glasses
& muddy boots
&
the pool table naked under stars

free as we could be 

for then

i suppose 

photo by Georgi Kyurpanov on Unsplash

COTSWOLD OF THE SOUL

 

  its 

  a 

cotswold of the soul

  out here - 

    

    in

    an 

 englishmans 

 back garden

green menagerie 

~

  neighbours 

 mongrel drek

 barked harsh

 over & behind

    the

 tumble fence 

 slat wobble

is egos caveat id

photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

YOU CAN CHECK OUT ANY TIME YOU LIKE ...

 

the birds are shrill
&
the sunshine hurts

ive checked out
of the news dome

dodging the fear parade


warships off
regretful cornwalls sand

photo by Thomas Park on Unsplash

GODFORSAKEN TAPS

nights as ellipsis
a time out

notching over
the gaudy days
unfinished everythings

paintchips & over brushes
half tidied box city plans

those godforsaken taps

defragging success 

into history files

to-do lists

into the laterbase

photo by Anandan Anandan on Unsplash

MEMORY 101

 

the after-rain fug punch 

  

hot cooking kitchen metal

mid-morning diesel exhaust 
  

the melt burner of cookie wax

  

late afternoon pavement 

    pushing summer heat 

a cigarette on the wind

memory 101

journey

up

the

smells

down in the winds

photo by Agustin Gunawan on Unsplash

EGG ROPE

  home 

has a red door
  & 

the warmth behind it

owes nothing to the sun

memory senses unglue me

out the electric wall

  &

in the bent sky bow

on the dent of the day bed

   do it

in the fruit of the veins
&
the egg rope of the sea

Photo by Mitchell Luo on Unsplash

DREAM GOBLINS WANT ME HIGH

  in a dream 

  a 

  goblin 

handed me a cocaine ball
on a chupa-chup stick

     wrapped 

in a clear & brittle 

            plastic wrap

  was good 

  for one

  hearty 

  gum rub

~

  & 

all that scared the buzzard cloud away

  was me
  marking territory

  with the waste waterfall

 of an epic 

    & 

 stinksome 

wonder thunder piss

Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash

THE STRANGE PHILANTHROPY OF AUTOPSY FUN

 

tattoo

blood & sweat & tears

 on my
holy moly
perineum

 laser etch

redux commandments

up my ladder ribs

 & 

ink a yellow hazmat wrangle

over my heart bone

    to

    give 

 the autopsy dr

 a break from the drek

 in their draining lab

 & the jewel

 in the crown ?

 

a toe tag tickle-tattooed

on the sole of one dry foot

    that

   simply

    says

   Tyrell

Photo by Spencer on Unsplash

FILING REPORTS - SOME KIND OF CV

EXPERIENCE

recipe for a competent report -

  writing
  is 

sculpture-like

but must mind-find & make 

    Own Rock

from the quarry 

of the hesitant-calling past

  &

  tvs new flat tube

  

HOBBIES


  one day 

  i want to wash my face
  in
  a
  parisian history sink

& file a report

WHERE DO YOU 

SEE YOURSELF

IN FIVE YEARS

toy town

interzone 

early learning centre

bug powder

weird interaction

judgement free

&

a nearly hint of an almost frown

on my open-book abandoned face

still filing reports

with pizza on standing-order

picture window of a tree

confusion a given

with hugs on hand

Photo by Thibault Penin on Unsplash

FORTY SEVEN

i shall not divulge my age

suffice to say 

i badly hurt my thumb while reading

i shall not divulge my age

suffice to say 

playing with a pound shop bubble wand 

on the weekday lawn 

gave me sufficient pause

i shall not divulge my age

suffice to say 

i become worryingly bothered 

with the realisation 

that i no longer own a ball of any kind

i miss the feel 

of a tennis balls weft 

that had previously 

been natural as summer sadness

i shall not divulge my age

its enough to say i sleep on it
& know that another day older 

& before dawn
i shall shop online 

for a tube of that 

nostalgic globular comfort

Photo by Kevin Mueller on Unsplash

MAYBE ITS GAS

 

    i am 

sitting on great poetry

    & 

i know it

but i cant 

    get up

    get up
    get up 

i got a title tho - Maybe Its Gas

Photo by Giorgio Trovato on Unsplash

A GIL SCOTT HERON MONDAY

its
noon
one
two two two o clock

time to rest heavy

shift / run stop

gil scott heron

did not become

anyone

he did not mean to be

beer & unlined paper

~

monday
is 

all

carefully

counted

territorial pissings

& i lose myself
& i hide myself  

  

in fantasy
in horror

thru mind-eye & ear resonation

gil scott heron

is the closest 

voice of reason 

he has

& always feels like running

photo by micha richter from the vinylfactory

THREE HAIKU & A BIRD 5

BY A STREAM 1


tendrils - octopus ?

going mad on my own watch . . .

   set up
 by a stream






BY A STREAM 2


set up by a stream

    the past is anchored to here

  camp bed 

     & 

   woobie






BY A STREAM 3


    read Hunger again

one hundred packed lunches

    water reclining

photo Rocket Wren from the Dagenham Archive