LAMPS TRIMMED & BURNING

some
of
us
always pull lamp duty
on the cold windowsill

clamps left on
the
glued wood topper
of
the venetian blinds

ABOUT PIERCE BROSNAN

in an experimental jet boat
on & under 

the surface of the thames

you chase down an assassin

& you roll it

& in a halo of bubbles & white water

of course

thats 

when you straighten your tie knot

ABOUT DAMASCUS

age & its rising descent

play at profundity today

like a road to damascus moment

if damascus is the corner shop

& the moment 

a rest at the corner

on a low brick wall

under strung cables 

buzzing from signals 

caught from the sky

WEAK TEA VISION

it is an overcast
& room temperature day

a day that tried for more
& turned out like weak tea

there is a sense of something 

forgotten / lost / gone

& a feeling of something

missed / wrong / skewed 

& then there comes a moment 

when i think / feel / know 

that if i turned round now
my grandparents would be there
 
a reassuring perfection

of themselves

maybe even hand in hand

in beige & smiling

ABOUT FLAGS

when 

i 

saw 

them

i called my red flags
wine overflow

& necessary blood

& green flags
just more ego juice
for the hero gravy

FAR FROM THE TUCKSHOP QUEUE

us kids numbed & agog

who unzipped their coats 
to catch the blow & sail

of parkside autumn wind

are accidentally now adults

in a rush of penumbra

& the jumping blur of it

far from the tuckshop queue

GARDENERS VAN

 

time has become . . . tactile

like a sensory toy

in a drs wating room

patinaed with irremovable gunk

~

& next door - the gardener

his van is evident

in the patent street

NEVER HAVE GONE

theres a tape in me
that plays back 

old friends voices

with such timing 

that its like

they never
have gone 

~

this conjured backing

is flowers that bloom

out the stomped dust 

IF THE RAIN, A FRAGPOP

& next year

i will be older

like a tree is taller

if the rain & sun

KEEL OF CRUMBS

& rain came
perpendicular & small
& i listened to the rain
& i thought a thought
& the thought thunk me

in
a
sunday mornings
keel of crumbs

soul itching
like a microdose tease

feet up

chow down

& wonder