ABOUT NUMBERS STATIONS

theres radio
in the netherspace

that plays only songs i know

its like a numbers station
but broadcasts rock n roll

~

its signal strength depends

on

my

alignment of invisible antenna

but the message 

is always clear -

in a gadda da vida honey

yonder stands 

your orphan

with his gun 

ABOUT THE SKY #2

now the uniform pewter lid
of an overcast sky

is troubled & unfinished

is britain !

is flat-roofed pubs

& feels like anything goes

outside the edges

of the snapshots

cropped frame

ABOUT THE SKY #1

blue skies - a palette cleanse

in 

the 

chaos of context tombola

i stand under its painted dust

transfixed like a bug

& think & think

& stop that

& be

its a powerful balm

for the evident weight

of a thinking soul

GIGOT BITUME

who was the poet
who wrote about
the beast slouching towards us all ?

cos i can sense 

its shamanic mandibles

& archaic gait

in the treeline of the woods

&

in the shadows from the walls

its breath hot as fresh bitumen

gripping its aggregate base

~

it will cook & carve & consume us

in celebration of its construction

like the french do
with a leg of lamb

ABOUT THE ESTATE #1

24 karat 

orange brick

like mortared bullion stacks

&

alleyway byways

night mugger dark

from end-terrace monolith loom 

&

spilt oil rainbows

shining & purple & magic

cupped in the pebbled concrete

out !

out in the golden hour

before he knew its name

~

hand-me-down low-tops 

stash of fruit pastilles

oscar mike 

on a bike

after tea

ABOUT DEDICATION

those people who exaggerate
& outright lie thru their teeth
about how wasted they got
about the hell they raised
& the mess they became
to impress a different circle

really devalue the work & effort
the dedicated rest of us made
to get really bent & derelict
after-hours in the fields & marsh
in the fog with the cattle
hysterical & leaping
at the heavy blur of the moon

 

ABOUT THE FUTURE

the androgynous
& softly beige

intergenerational crowd

gather at the seasons change
around the dry monolith

of the last standing tree

~

they murmur the old rumours again

about the old god Cloud

& how he caught the whole world one time

& bade them worship glass

ABOUT HEADPHONES

the day has not been roses
&

it is hard 

to think about 

what it was like before
the corruption & misfires & spiders

& god is in the headphones
if anywhere

under asbestos sky 

on a sheetrock hill
flossing with a bass string

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