SIZEMORES GOT YOUR BACK

you know you are 

movie desensitised
when you watch 

saving private ryan
& when captain hanks 

makes it out the surf

& it all goes quiet
& hanks is all wet
& he looks around
at the red rain 

at the orphan limbs

at a flame thrower 

fuel tank on fire

& three burning men

& you think

get over there hanks
that fire will dry you
& make you peachy warm
go for it 

sizemores got your back

NOSTALGIA 101

its a fragile bubble
thats flown & blown  

down

the

thumb tack travellators

hostile architecture

when septembers lowering light

is

budding & brewing 101 nostalgia 

to 

bloom & boon autumns brutal whimsy

of 

the

sad-happy memory jags waft & blast

FEELING OLD BUT KINDRED

after dark
theres laughter
from over the rec

unhinged in the dark velvet

they must be huffing glue
or nitrous
or something new

bless their stab at freedom

but such dangerous escape

i think

feeling old but kindred

LOST IN THE INSIDE FOG

where wanders
my
great
katsu ?

lost in the inside fog maybe
&
the lie of the western journey

~

soft shoes waiting

in the

work boots shadow

monopoly on the rear-view purview

ECTOPIC JOURNEY WAY, A BULLET POINT POP

 

•  dew on the willow
   under an alta moon

•  led zeppelin
   in a matchbox
   lit my ectopic journey way

•  i touched jimmy once

   in wembley

   with an olive green neoprene sleeve

•  the bass 

   banished 

   my wisdom toothache

•  dew on the picnic benches

   at the black mountain 

   breakfast

   lookout 

   station

UNDER THE DRIPPING TAP, A BULLET POINT POP

 

•  are we post-humans yet ?
  

•  i feel a cosmic guilt . . .

•  lets hear it 

   for all the things undone -

   may their generated urgency fade

•  shopping mall zen & therapy apps

   battle the mad dust in flux

   outside the tv foxhole bubble 

•  would that i could 

   lay a calming balm

   on the cosmic guilt

•  the sodden sponge

   in the sink debris

   catching the dripping taps

   countdown noise

   needs wringing out at midnight

SCREEN BURN FADED

cant recall all of this poem -

i was napping
& its screen burn faded
into dreams
of victorian era 

whisky heists

but it ended like this -

'wild & loose

 on

 the
 lsd spiderweb tangle
 of
 englands roving roads'

its beginning 

forever lost 

to the ether

LIKE I LEFT THE ENGINE RUNNING

the myth of muse

is a side effect 

of all the saliva we swallow

& it sneezes its lexicon-salad

from
inside
even
my
scheduled rest attempts

like i left the engine running 

& this heres the fumes

 

PUBLIC RELATIONS VICTORIOUS

scripted history

chase the bone

media storm is repeating drone

follow follow follow
the black car with flowers

on
the
death
tv

~

generational brainwashing
held strong in the anorak lines

they think
she is
their own
council
estate
granny

wedge a flag in your hoof

stick a fork in it

im done

FERTILE FERTILE GREEN, A HISTORY POP

a long way 

       from the london carlton

ho chi min 

       digs a shitter trench

before the OSS 

       come by his cave for tea

his frailty 

       a plus somehow

       

in the rambunctious & in heat

       fertile fertile green 

       

GARDEN POP (FT AN ORPHANED PARAPHRASED SOUNDBITE)

the weather
hits the dirt
in
a
stupid & heavy beauty

it makes the trees busy
in
the
dumb & idiot glamour
of another gloaming

OPERA IN THE STREETSIDE BUZZ

theres music in things -

fun house saxophone
in the white noise
of the costco fan

top pop medleys
in the motorways
distant traffic thrum

opera inside the streetside buzz

techno when the bogs flushed

& jethro tull there

on the whistling wind

WHERE HOUSES LATER WOULD BE, A CHILDHOOD POP

the park entrance gates 

were rusted open forever
& a rough path of half-bricks 

of rubble & sunken carpet 
led
the
way
down
between backyard side fences
into a dogshit field of dangerous iron

we lobbed dirt like grenades
over the fence into a garage forecourt
at a car there / bonnet up / jacked up
& the man working there / radio on pop

like he wouldnt see us
like he wouldnt know
like we were hidden
like spies on tv

he yelled i know where you live
& we scarpered shouting leg it

into the nothing land
where houses
later
would be

SKETCH POP 108

 

i scribble draw
a biro sun
on museo linen

like
a lizard
on the pillows

when
hot rocks
are his home

BETTER ATTITUDE TOMORROW BILL

i heard
the window cleaner

calling handsfree 

saying 

if i dont come home today
i'm in prison for killing bill -

hes acting like its his OWN jubilee

bill arrived in a rattle of ladders

bill heard this 

bill left in a rattle of ladders

better attitude tomorrow eh bill ?

ROUND ITS UNFINISHED EDGES

over the park
in the childhood lands
a workmans weekday digger
had shifted earth around
the unfinished edges

we climbed 

a fresh dirt hill
& hid there like spies

sneaking peeks over the top
like soldiers in cover

like lee majors

like bruce banner

book em danno 

we said

murder one

bikes stashed

in a dried stream ditch gully

in the wild lands 

of scrub & backfill
round its unfinished edges

NOSTALGIA DEAD ENDED FOR THE STASIS MEAT

 

& 

the air freshener 

in the hall outlet

smells of . . . 

. . . nostalgia

smells of when i smelt that smell

from the hall outlet 

another time 

before

DAYLIGHT CROPPED BY THE YELLOWED HALF-NETS

the nose sweat
from too many
salt & vinegar
potato crisps

reminds me of the pinball machines
of the whos tommy & star trek tng
in the back corner of the public bar

cider pints & marlboro reds

daylight cropped

by the yellowed half-nets

thames mud stink
creeping up to
the marijuana wall