IMPOSSIBLE ROSES, TWO POPLINGS

ease of the past

impossible roses now

tho music doesnt blink 

~

summers falling plums 

tattoo jazz phrases

atop the tool shed roof

OWN YOUR MIRACLE WITH A POTATO

yeah theres
eight billion of us

but theres fuck all else
going on
in the massive black universe

we are some kind of special
own your miracle
& act like it

no black star
ever painted its pets

on cereal box card

with a potato

YOU HAVE THREE HOURS

is

the propagation
of lensflare
in mainstream movies

like heavy metal riffs
in dish liquid ads

& mohawks on the catwalk

proof
of

freaks

winning

via permeation

or losing

via appropriation . . ?

you have three hours

no conferring

please show your working out
extra credit for sketches

NIGHT BREW

 

i feel a pungent

weed-on-the-wind 

kind of loss

& 

seven miles 

of california longing 

when i remember like a power surge

the recurring dreams i have not dreamed 

for the longest time 

~

its a sadness-gasm

its 13 by big star

its accelerator yen

& my limbic system force-stops the day

& frees up room in the panic of fomo

& the hope of hope

for the old maps

of the night-brewed never-was

A PARKSIDE FRAGPOP

the wind

wild with room

madly shakes 

the antenna trees

& out the sun slides

in a hiatus of birds

gifting dull shadows

pop art clarity again 

~

perennial memories include -

c&a ski jackets

&

a homemade bow

clouds like chefs hats

in

the stoned dome of sky 

NINETIES SNAPSHOT POP

 

on the estates dawn-yellow hem

the unwrapped cellophane

of fresh cigarettes

was tugged like a wind sock

in the commute-o-clock breeze

its rip strip

a silver tendril

friction clinging

to the hand-me-down fingers

of my bus fare palm

& the mezcal hangovers

were their very own drug

back in the radiohead days

that called my work boots lucid

& the flats great golden bales

EASTWOOD & BEAR POPS

BEAR POP

like we might

on hikes

or holiday

a bear sits 

by the lake

EASTWOOD POP

tall clint

keeps his elbows in

& lets

his big hands hang

 

A DIMINISHED TRIAD

 

1

a night moment 

the day kept -

i never met anyone
who looked ugly 

in the trumpeting & flickering

of driftwood firelight

2

obedient steel
homogenised
on the permalink blacktop

ferrys our shopping core around

3

night harvest

cool jazz coda

the unplumb mornings

jazz to limp

AN UNPLUGGED VIEW

sitting

in my waiting pose

or
attempting sleep

rolled like a prawn
or

standing & rocking

doing one awkward tai chi
or
beached & nothinged 

with the tv 

tuned to anything

anything at all
or 

afternoon painting
with my icy claws

& if i remember to

i imagine my scene
as if off from a distance

like i am looking in the window

& it is both less & more
of a shit show
that i expected

but i see a peace & quiet there

i miss
when
i am
plugged in

STEPPENWOLF ON MY MIND

& 

the things become other things

once you clocked in

& neck deep

in the balls 

of the ruined net curtains

its mad max 

& steppenwolf

on my mind

BAROQUE DAYS

a filigree personality 

& paper chain conscience

 

kitchen safe space

stairwell limbo

& the bottle shop dreamer

is orating

prose like rusty water

propped steaming

on a rococo pike railhead

now concrete cloud banks

& white brutalist sun . . .

baroque days - a mobius scarf

hang tight

hang five

hang it all

ABOUT A DOCTORS APPOINTMENT

in the drs office
i attempt to

properly absorb her words

but i realise 10 mins in  

i am only intent

on looking 

like i am listening

nodding & lip pursing & going hmmm 

& now all i am thinking
is about this pretence

i am trapped inside of

& that breaks a cold sweat

& i wonder too 

if shes twigged

my accidental pantomime 

or is she on 

rote autopilot

& worrying about her washing

out on the line & limp in the grey

JOY OR MIGRAINE, A BOTOX QUESTION

what

crucial nuance extrapolation
will
the
babies not timely learn

from
that
one everyday expression
mum

&

dad
do

all the clock round 

no

matter

the migraine or joy

FRUIT & SOUL

 

i
am
trying here

for a full heart offload
with crisp stereo imaging

& a lengthy warm decay

cant shoehorn that
into some
dusty old pentameter

without

killing off

its gnarly fruit & soul

TEFLON DUMP

 

i
am
sad
about
sickness & death
& i miss my friend

said the writer
in
a
plain language jag

clean as a teflon dump

& no blooms or buds needed 

on the darkness branches

to ratify & beautify 

her inevitable fall of bones

 

ABOUT A GARDEN

from our chairs on

the cracked patio we laid

we watch the starlings
flit & flash

on the feeder
in the sun
& in the daisies
on the buttercup lawn
where the hose lays
warming its snakish coils
in plastic slumber

& both the cats 

tuck away their legs

& observe in neatest peace

 

MULTITUDES AWAY

under the bridge

concrete pyramids

stacked out in grids
climb up
the motorway berm

where we sheltered once

from the afternoon rain

with bicycles & snacks

& backpacks & anoraks

school fools

multitudes away

ABOUT A TSHIRT

'daddys
 got his
 big boy
 knickers on'

rages the twisted dude in the awful film

but thats no matter

anyway as

i am absorbed
by this tshirt 

i dug out

from long ago & musty stasis

its on my lap now

& i finger its guts

it is hard-packed 

with drinking ghosts 

& smells of the silt

of an old depression

COCOON

what kind
of cocoon
is this

i ask

where you cant think
cant even dare to think

of all
the things
you cannot anymore do

~

then

in the sagging gusset
of the afternoons bluff

night is here

MORNING MADRIGAL

the 

autumn morning sun 

like

by an artists marker

highlights whitely 

the rounded plastic

of 

all the waiting bins 

& the cut-out shape of crows

tolerate our machine parade

from the slanted ridge tiles

of the bungalows

across the way 

ABOUT WRITERS RESIN

i sweated 

raw plasma

writing that

thick like syrup 

like spruce sap

hefty globules of it

my glucose of the soul

~

anyone else 

need to change

their writing shirt

when the morning writing is done ?

ABOUT A WARNING

it is impossible
to give
this warning in time

despite my efforts
to build
the appropriate machine

from deck chairs
& duct tape
& qualcast parts

but here it is anyway
for what its worth

so listen up kids -

be very careful
where you are born

PHONE ATTACK

the ringing phone
& the alarm of it
hot up the spine

is a cold sweat flashback

to the days of brunch rum 

& apocalyptic nerves

~

its on the tv tho

just a phone 

on the tv show

& the relief of it

like a great fart
of volcanic steam

~

my hiccupped psyche 

needs a long minute 

to buffer & reseat  

on these sofa cushions 

of assumed maturity
in the adultscapes weird dream 

ABOUT THE MOVIES

i saw somewhere or read somewhere

some writer or herbert or art junkie

said they find movies
too passive an experience

& i thought you dick you dick
oooh little high horse johnny
cant stoop to the prole food ?

~

but then i am watching a movie
& every movie i watched since
i feel the passivity & it itches

& the movie is now only
roiling wallpaper
inside 

a chinese 

black friday 

oblong

BELEIVE

i believe in

the sweet effort 

of packed lunches

commitment in tupperware

small so small

but ready

in the stretching space of stars

RIDING LIKE THAT

imagine
youre
a spider

& you spun your web 

  wide & taut & centered
in the reaching upsweep 

  of a red deers antlers

& riding like that
  with dew & mist
in the tumble-roll glens
  of galloway forest park

dinner waiting on the wind

& all the stars out at night

OFFCUT POSEY No 303

my bones feel hollow 

like a birds bones

& seem filled only

with high mountain air

well sometimes
i dont recognise 

that fool up the tree

braced there with his tinnys

escaping the rote of it

& walking home

in the seashell tinkle

of the predawn milk float glass

WITH TARTAN INSIDE

i used to call
the old guys
the shuffling phalanx of the lost

their bugle call
i assumed 

was a long & mournful fart

& they go

no more
for morning papers now

~

beige zipwear

with tartan inside

in donation bags by the door

africa jokes

about summer tans

gone from them for evermore 

SEASONAL POPTART

heres autumn
& johnny goes up the lawn

like an aeroplane
with his arms out

over the rolled gold waves

natures beautiful litter
fragile
small
& crunch

OFFCUT POSEY No 10

the absolute morning of the workplace

the medieval rack of it -

its keys & cups 

& trucks & cogs
corralled just so

bright but dull too 

& loaded with overthought precision

only just this side of chaos

yes even the dust -

especially the dust 

~

its too much world
&
pooh sticks race
under the trouble bridge
in 

a 

pink floyd of the mind

OFFCUT POSEY No 380

my weathered, no - rustic
goblin 

hardware

receives a sad push notification

&
cries
a single
hollywood tear

SUMMERS END PT2

in the dearth of purpose

of summers end

the sun sets wild & orange
on the rippled aluminium

of warehouses

& showrooms

& incognito cannabis farms

& workers in autumn shorts
with clipboard hands

& pda pockets
rush a smoke or a vape

on the loading bays concrete aprons

of chevrons & cracks

& shadows too long

surely too long

for half past four

in the afternoon

i pull the blinds

in the vacant unit

& curl up in my clothes
on the office furniture

resting

between heists

OFFCUT POSEY No 9

now today

dont make me

use my brain

it is a deserted breakroom

i

slowly

back

out

of

SUMMERS END PT1

in the car -

coffee & 

cannabis &

watching the also-rans run around

& the water colour sky 

bleeds sunburst 

in great washes 

of god-light

over the livid bruise 

of rain clouds

& the flat slate stack 

layer caked inbetween

another retail park afternoon

appetites to sate 

at summers end

ONE VEIL OR ANOTHER

like

an

alien

&

taxonomic ivy

blooming subtly 

up

the

stains & masonry

of 

your amalgam memory 

age 

grows

a 

special perspective

that i find impossible 

to competently impart

something about 

the importance of coincidence

the myth of confidence

& the ley lines of the soul

or is that just me ?

anyway
time takes one veil or another

off for dry cleaning
if youre doing it right 

& watching too

SILLY SAUSAGES

wearing green plastic shoes
we got from the garden shop
&
listening to neil youngs 

hysterical southern man guitar
i
collect the shit the drs asked for

on the provided plastic stick

& it reminded me
of hanging out
with shotgun jim
& all the dead framed
in pictures on his walls

such silly sausages arent they ?

he used to say

clasp knife in one hand

silver egg in the other

silly silly sausages