MERCURY SPILL

the
pain
pretended
at a dull ache
but we both knew
it was fire
&
the shape
of a mercury spill

~

& the shirt
on the hanger
on the line
like a sail
slides away
on the wind

ACTION HERO BIRKENSTOCKS

when the cracks show
like dry earth filigree
i filler them
with lou reed & anne sexton
with sharp cheddar & con air

& i write something down
write this down
call it a poem
call it essential work
& rub the blear from my kliegs

& send this pixel clot & bolus
down the byebye wifi stream
& everyone look -
john cusaks saving the day
in his socks & sandals

SEGMENTARIES

 

he smelt of tobacco

the wood in his garage

& the summer rust of old sheds

~

bad actors lowkey preen

money buffered

from the effluent surge

~


the love scaffold
& medicine tunnel

both do jauntily
wave aloft the carrots

PLASTIC TWIST

candle wax on the squares

like contour maps of lands 

&
cigarette ash is clumping 

in the crowns of the kings & queens

&

minibeasts hike the warped board

as per their night time routine

& 

we are dissecting the human world

its bomb fetish & dangerous solipsism 

& we get high

& mad on wine
& play chess
or kinda

garden chairs & a bar stool

corned beef & beans
plastic twist in the padlock loop

CEMEMTERY FRAGPOP

i 

tried
not 

to 

think about it

but 

i 

was in the cemetery

so what can you do ?

THE QUIET TENNIS BALL & THE DERELICT SWINGS

see how quietly
the tennis ball sits

in the fringe
of the lawn
this morning

~

a tier of sadness

arrives 

on the car park air

as you swing wide the door

& another 

washes over you

from the derelict swings

like layers of silt

home now & settling in 

BITS OUT FOR THE DOC

there
is
a
boring honesty
&
pointless freedom

in getting your bits out
for the doc
in the sideroom
off A&Es
slaggamuffin clot

DEAR DIARY

the masonry of the town
boasts silently
by deign of its protrusion

& my black & locked samsung

is passive aggression 

writ flat & blank & lithium 

~

dear diary

today everything 

is humblebragging at me

& it all pulses with ego 

what mad sickness is this now ?

BIRDS & THE MOON

 

the moon is
a neurodivergent godlet

& they scoop the tides
in a regular rhythm

hanging there self evident

in the blue sky & the black

no matter the boot prints

we trod into their face

& i nod to them

& i salute them

like i do with

the yelling magpies

& the murdered pigeon

i buried in our gardens

burgeoning animal 

cemetery plot