CAMO GRANNY

my old neighbour
over the way
is wearing a brown spectrum 

again today

& is nearly invisible
against the house bricks
beige & ochre shades

also her white hair blends in

with 

the
front windows 

peppered veil 

of net curtain

FINDING WINTER THERE

these annual
pitstops
come round
like we
fell asleep
in the
afternoon
sunroom
& woke up
finding
dark thats there
like a wall is there
&
then winter too

SPIDER STROKE SCRAWL

the sadness
of the dream *

follows me

into the morning
like
a
rucksack
dense with old diaries

listing

missed opportunities

in

spider stroke scrawl

*
the old lady lost

among moving shopfronts

& the delayed deliveries 

arriving decades late

LEE MARVINS SHOES

the director
asked the widow
if she 

wanted 

something
of the actors
from any

of his films

the shoes 

she said
from that 

corridor scene
that spoke

of will & intent

in a menacing
metronome echo

SPECTRAL OPERAS DOUBTFUL CREATURES

doubtful
creatures
spawn
in
the
kaleidoscope
inside
the
half-dream
eyelids

they perform
their nonsense
plays there

acting like
i know who they are

SHRINKING BUFFER SHRANK ALL THE WAY

shrinking buffer

shrank all the way

& here it is

difficult difficult lemon difficult

its a square block

huge as a god
& too well machined
for my gömböc portal

~

the calendars look so homey

on the fridge doors

& workplace walls

dont they ?

but they chop you 

into meat cubes

stabbed with marker

the train kept rolling you see

while we laughed
the numbers away

AGE POP

well
i never been
this old before

i said out loud
staring down the barrel of it

my heroes dead
&
enemies in charge

ENAMEL CAMPING MUG

it was muggy 

& smelt of gutter nettles
the air heavy 

with empty threats 

of a storm that wouldnt come
like fists in your face 

after last orders
the accompanying feet 

not able to ground a hook
& i am reminded 

of all the festivals long ago
the slippery bacon 

in processed rolls
after a morning zoot 

as a mild primer
& night-chilled white pinot 

in an enamel camping mug
infinite techno 

in the head shop haze
& a rock tune-up 

somewhere over a dusty low rise
but this was 

homebase carpark
streatery food truck 

firing up for lunch

CEMETERY DRINKING 2

there is a special peace

it is a crowded emptiness

they are filed under rock

~

& no disrespect was meant
to the soil town ghosts 

( i like how theyre done with waiting )

but a bottle 

& a bench in there
was night out enough for me

& wet work done

dead soldiers waited 

in the flower bin

for the dawn & dew

NO IDEA ABOUT SUPPER EITHER

the motorhead sketcher
exuding a patience he lacks
& roasting for a lightning rail
says

less haste
more speed

to his dealer
whos having a mare
in the afternoon kitchen

hes waiting for the plumber
or for the plumber to ring back

is the plumber meant to ring ?
or is the plumber on his way ?

& theres no hot water
& hes picking up the kid at 3

& no idea about supper either

CEMETERY DRINKING 1

 

the council locked 

the cemetery gates 

around about 5 o clock

& like everything else

it was easier 

to get in

than get out

& no dead soldiers

left behind

SHIPS OF WATER

built of water
they sail on air

a soft armada
blue miles away

colour of cotton
out a bathroom bin

transmitting mystery
with somewhere else to be

FLOAT DOWNRIVER REMEMBERING

i down my meat tools
& dont try so much

when the weather is happening

great bruised shoulders
of rain rolling in
painting scifi skyscapes

&
thickening up the air

i zone out / feel small
& float downriver
remembering
the chupa chups & jolt cola
from 7 eleven at midnight
& 

dodging the fare

on the misery line home

BATTERED GURN OF FACE

after another death trial
ends with dawn port noise
&
after draining waste
out of the carbon loaf

then youre there
like an open sandwich

obvious as breakfast

wallet open & meat agog

for the day to dance
all over in railroad boots

blakey stamped backwards by bedtime
one hundredfold
on your battered gurn of face

  

 

CATCHING A WEAK THERMAL

i sat down with my notes
to write about modern england
& see if its england still

i was going to start with the trains
& the fat metaphor potential there

but i slid into reminiscing
about hair gel & untethered pop

~

this is how i fail as a poet -

i am so firehosed by the yesterdays 

i will catch a weak thermal to anywhere

& this is how i succeed as a poet -

by answering the trades entrance bell

& catching weak thermals to anywhere

NOT TLDR

the
virtue 

signalling 

terf 

rino
triggers
the
neckbeard 

gatekeepers 

fomo

all bare dtm afaic

&

well buttmad

dont newbies 

leek hack

&
yeet out 

mad bants 

no mo ? 

js . . .

INXS KICK PLAYING

 

& from out there
i hear a train

station skipping

in its backfence furrow

down where hatchbacks

wreck themselves now

in the name of weekend joy 

its hiss-whine-hoot

is a throwback comfort

to when stations had staff

& 

i would go southend

in the hair gel days

with the misfit crew

inxs kick playing

in my bbc radio head