PM ZONE OUT VIDDY

men like grandad
die in the blood on the beach
in olive drab nascent denim

~

its odd what tv

we watch to relax

he thought

a reconstructed war

his pm zone-out viddy

LOOKING APOCRYPHAL

when your reflection
looks wrong
looks colourised
looks apocryphal
&
looms like a hangover
out the dim glass
action figure perfect
& action figure wrong

you wonder

how was that
ever forged
into something
that worked ?

BLUE LIGHT WEEKEND (A MULTIPLE CHOICE POP)

my 

memories

are vignetted 

with encroaching brown

like 

a; park bench dusk

b; cataract smears

c; a dirty protest

or

d; the smoke damaged

   field trip

   polaroids

   we found in the geography room

   after all the school arson

   that blue light weekend

MORNING REPORT 108

a potted remix
of the past

humps my leg
every morning

before 

i even 

pissed

AUTUMNS DARK LID

in

the
morning parks
liminal hinter

the

golden merkin

of

dewy leaves

confer 

into light & colour

just about 

only just enough

strength to wrangle

wrestle & tangle

with the afternoons 

four o clock dark lid 

SWEET JAM TO SWEETEN

 

seize the jewelled dawn
with whatever hands
the night leaves you

its sweet jam 

to sweeten
the steamrolled bullshit

of another 

flattened 

pancaking day

MIGRAINE HINTERLANDS

the plum trees

mad canopy

e x p l o d e s  

across the northern sky

& the lawns a green 

i have never seen

~

now i sweat blood

only just

this side 

of proverbial

when i try to think 

HIFI INCLUSION

listening
to
excellent music

makes me excellent too

&

i am included now
when my appetites 

had hit the wall

MAGRITTE FIST

now the day is unday

cant-think chunk-blocks

like thick glass walls

& no flow - zenless

cos something bad happened

&

you

are

uncoping / clunky

in

the

wretched immediacy

of

its

magritte fist

EGGSHELL CHILDREN

 

i saved a snail

i saw struggling

on the hot cement 

&

wished
it
was
all the eggshell children
of

the

dangerous

world

but what can a poor boy do

but listen to a rock n roll band ?

TO PARAPHRASE DYLAN THOMAS A BIT

we do go gently 

into 

an anticyclonic gloom

straw grass 

razed to stubble

inside the electric tether

~

meteors & rage 

forked diluted

by bluelight nightlife

& frail deeds 

forgotten drown

in the greenwashed bay

BIG ISSUES

 

make me feel

all

dumb
numb
&

down-low backwoods crazy 

like on the edge of panic

but in a valium bath

SAM BROWNE STYLE (TV FRAG POP)

shoulder bag

 & belted raincoat

tugged snug

 sam browne style

 

about the waist of the spy

MORNING REPORT 105

autumn memories

are layered up in me

like an onion

& the late sun

like knives

will dice it

into an album 

of dusk cafes

& numb commutes

MORNING REPORT 104

& its morning

& already

Time is OFF

the ticking frontier 

the kinetic edge

the tippity-tip 

of the quantum spear 

us in its grey turbulence

play at catch-up

with the millwheel push

faking relevance 

with the construct

of reservations

in the sacred mulch

of our appointment books

MORNING REPORT 103

furious
at
whateverthefuck
on
a
beautiful morning

i swallow it / cough it / spit it

& count sets of five
in math zen
on my fingers

~

& i force-accept 

the yellow-white sun

its indifferent majesty

& unheard scream

its warming jazz

& coincident hug

up there 

in the Great Black Hole

MORNING REPORT 102

 

hard morning 

comes gently

in 

an 

off-white 

scalloped bar of light

swelling 

where the curtains fail the ceiling 

MORNING REPORT 101

waking up
is like

getting 

emailed 

an automated office pdf

& its slow to open

& it shows nothing new

but

is

dense

with

detail

that

overwhelms you

SECONDHAND MDMA

 

vampires must be

struggling these days

from our bad diets

of convenience junk

the antibiotic push

& tricyclic sleep

~

far cry from the rave days

& the easy pickings 

in the hydrated loved-up 

predawn chill & bliss

secondhand mdma

a good buzz 

to take to earth

FROM A SUPERMARKET CAFE

coffee in a cup

&

vernacular pains

researching mushrooms

&

their pros & cons again

funeral home

built consciously 

aloom on a black tarmac rise

ABOUT POST NOMINALS

'hey listen

 i got letters after my name too'

 i say to the room

 of doctors

 & scientists

 & chancers

'ten of them

 if you count
 initialised illnesses

 & i do'

BLATANT OBLIQUENESS

theres
a 

madness
in
the
look
of
things

~

the detail or not 

the blatant . . . obliqueness

& the space 

   just-so

out from the wall

ABOUT A CLASSIC POSE

well i dont
but want to

salute the smokers
lighting up

backs bent
cupped hands

heads down
outside b&m

& that first billow
steam train size

of chugged fumes
eddy tugged

spirals wraith like
on the grey-white wind

ABOUT PAINTERS OVERALLS

 

i

cremated

blue overalls

on consecrated ground

hoping

to find them 

ready & clean & waiting

on a reserved celestial hook

because
i
worry
about
how
naked heaven must be

if we dont even
have our bodies to wear

LIGHTER MOMENT / MOVIE SCENE

 

smiling & swaying

on the bench seat 

in the ambulance box

they both bloom 

& surprised by it

& sobered by it

they go with it

& let their lightness free

spinal board 

empty now 

at their feet

BODY HOGAKU DREAM

i
had

a
dream
about
my
anus
being like the opening
of a drawstring bag

puckered loose rim

& a meaty cord

like an umbilical

~

then

i 

am

at a sailing school
&

today is non-jamming hitches

ELECTRIC GHOSTS

with the proverbial

pork chops charring

on the iron 

of the metaphorical skillet

it all becomes clear
how 

it 

has 

all
dungeoned me & mazed me

with its turbulence

& electric ghosts

tho the doctor
has fancier words

TWELVE O CLOCK HIGH

time wraps around noon

like a racecar drifting

& i lean into it
into the tip of time

stereo up

windows down

twelve o clock high

~

& the sunlight

round beechcombe

flashes on the wrecks

in the park

that dared once reach 

for a kingdom

& that podium champagne

MORNING IN THE GARDEN HAIKU x 2

shadows on the fence

& one hundred shades of green

hot bowels waking

~

birds whistle & quip

the cat explores the clover

coffee stokes it all

PHONE BOX KUNG FU

brain drugs

on an aok day

when every pissy niche

of the medicine cage

is reusable canvas 

is a win for pharmaceuticals

& the stolid monolith way 

THE REGULAR SWOPPING

aging
is

the regular swopping out

of supermarket brands

on 

the 

same high street corner

where that cub hut was
& the glue deaths were

in your 

extremes
of youth

ROCK CIRCLE

bowie in a space suit

& a nine year old slash

visit

iggy
on
the
psych
ward

bagmen & fixers

kept out & left

skating at the seams

no star dazzle

to woo loose

the treatment rules

ABOUT A BEACH MORNING

grey haze burns off
morning slow

toy boat tries for fun
in a sandy rivulet

& the air it feels 

... unready

~

dressed for noon

mind on lunch

i wait there for the sync

in the evacuation of it

grey haze lifting

morning slow

BUYER PAYS THE POSTAGE

my dried leather

is oiled soft

& 

i am not thirsty

like i was before

&

the bluebird 

got out my chest 

& 

flies there

in the middle of the air

for me & all to see

cool i think / bring it

~

the bluebird 

packed his cage

back into its box

& filled out the slip

for ease of returning

buyer pays the postage

thatll be me / happy to

NATURE POEM OFFCUT FRAGPOP

 

still does sunlight  

punch like bullets

thru the forests 

tightest tendril weave

onto the smallest

mightiest mammals

there so unencumbered 

in a wildflower niche 

THIS IS YOUR LIFE

the past posts pics
of places & people

every panopticon dawn

straight into my brains rusted pan

just like somebody dropped

that red tv show scrapbook

& it lays open on the floor

by my white plastic dosettes

~

then i am compelled

to always run thru
what i can remember

of the person

or the place

there exposed

like i got 

an hud readout
on my cyborg retina

& always i think

i have detailed files

like arnie said 

in that sequel

CANING WAS TRAINING

all the caning was training

for the hard second half

the training & caning made


regrets impossible
&
hindsight forever a lie

MEDICINE WOODS

 

mornings dont feel like 

mornings used to

& night doesnt feel like 

night should

in 

the 

seventeenth generation mimeograph 

of insomnia & sickness 

in the thick of the medicine woods

FUNAMBULISTS IN THE DARK

 

if you think
you are not

walking a tightrope
every normal day

its because
you never
look down

FRAGPOP DUMP

#113

madness is

that breeze
on your face

open bathroom window 2.30 AM

dissolution
coming out the grout


#109

pale organs
ride the day cart

to ebony dusk
& its ivory lights


#101

when you have finished
with your assumptions

let me tell you
i was once
almost
a real boy