WEARING COPPER JACKETS

the drs surgery
on-hold music
triggers a heavy sadness

&
all
the
other many morning times
i had to call & wait
rattle off
from out me
into 

the telephone firmament

wearing copper jackets
in the bumpstock milieu
&
waving their sad flags of sickness

HAPPY APPLE BLOSSOM

how
can
i
enjoy

the happy apple blossom

when
i
cant
see

any happy bees

SPECIALISTS IN THIS ONLINE

the sky is like a set 

of twelve assorted greys

built up & blended

with burnt willow & vine

& it glows
the grey glows

~

dirty heaven is a powder puff

sat above englands broken nose

dirty heaven is exhaust stained

like listed city piles 

heaven needs a soft rubbing action

with low pressure fine powder

theres specialists in this online

i can find for you

VAN MANS VAN DOOR SLAM

the morning is quiet
but for the mad birds
meat techno

the cars make their noises

in the crater 

in the road

& the van mans 

van door slam

triggers 

anxious

dogs

NICER PRONG, AN ELECTION POP

'they wouldnt let us have the vote

if they thought it would change anything'

mark twain

the nicer prong
of
disaster capitalisms
desperate pincers

pats
itself
on 

its

turncoat
back

MONDAY MONDAY

we watch the 

binmen

me & the 

cat

him with suspicion 

& fading alarm

me with old-man 

relief

WELL I CANT READ ITS MIND

a hair on the bed
just one inch away
from my morning eye

is curled into a question mark
shining silver in the slant of the sun

its tagged itself

on the end of my dreams

asking maybe What Now ?
or suggesting . . . 

. . . well i cant read it mind

~

it casts a shadow
like a dark river
that
winds

down 

the

cotton canyon cliffs

& there i launch a small boat

& escape

from interrogation

FOIL TOPPED GLASS, A SCHOOL POP

dropped off

      for morning break

from the dairy

      down the road

in red & rattling

      plastic crates

with farm dirt 

      on the bottles rim

& snail trails 

      round their base

was  full fat  sun warm  awful  milk

      

YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE ABOUT

his beautiful diadem
was brass not gold

in his cousins eyes

his time-lock steel safe
was a biscuit tin

in his cousins eyes

& i tell you
never second guess
the play you threw
unfinished
into the fireplace

you knew what you were about

FRENCH LESSON TAKE-AWAY, A SCHOOL POP

ivan lendll addidas footprints
left trails of grey miniscus
on the scuff of the dull school floor

white fred perry polos
with a short striped tie
badly tied & tucked
under
a
black
wool
v

in the soggy dog smell
of the windowless classroom
on a heavy downpour morning

~

the above

is my french lesson take-away

voulez vous de beurre ?

IN AN EARFLAP HAT

in an interview
in a covered
sink estate walk thru

they asked him
if he had any
hopes for the future

we can only hope to keep
the robots at bay

he said
sat on the concrete
puffing a zoot
in an earflap hat

WHERE NEON TURNS TO WOOD, A RHYME POP-FRAG

the mornings
need a caretaker

the gone days
need curation

my small words
are diy bouquets

not everything
is a question

~

but the answers my friend
are up around the bend

past arts appropriation creases
down where the neon turns to wood

SCARED ENOUGH PT2

they got us
  scared enough

to vote for
  a straw man border

when the blind men
  have cometh

with tunnel vision
  to the stars

SCARED ENOUGH PT1

they got us 

  scared enough

to judge

  the size of boats

& monitor 

  our sick neighbours

for the 

  slightest signs of health

SAD AS A PHOTOGRAPH

the morning is scratched on glass
&
has an acid poignancy

sad as a photograph
of a child
in the sun

~

sellotape marks like rust
on its scissor-wonk edges

fountain pen cursive
a circa on its back

DAYLIGHTS BUBBLEGUM STRETCH

i have learned
  to
change channels
    in
the weird trip
      of
daylights bubblegum stretch

& advice for the illness
      that comes on
          like pop-up ads

gets filed under spam
      with the tinnitus
          buzz & ring

MOSTLY BULLDOZED NOW

& the hills
i would have died on
are
mostly bulldozed now

&
bent in the light bulb light

my articulated arguments
               gone uv brittle

are shattered into sea spray

               invisible

in

the
bognor regis mist

& 

any hills left standing
i struggle to hike at all

CHECKOUT AS GUEST

 

i love 

the innocent poverty

of animals

&

the moon

'check out as guest'

is

the

closest

i

get

to them

HAVE YOU A PHOTO OF THEM ?

random points of light
pulled together
in a chemical sheen

are a precious fillip
& nostalgia fuel
for running a dark jag on

& its tacked there handy
in the homey clot
of your refrigerator door

ready for when detectives
knock with nothing & ask
'have you a photo of them ?'