OFFCUT POSEY No 22

so

i

wake

&

think -
one day theyll be NONE of us . . .

& i go barefoot

in the boondocks 

too much in my pockets

ad dissected sitcoms 

on the evening tv

THE ACTUAL DOING OF IT

 up & slow & late & hungover
    & we cook sausages
on the old split level oven
 calling out as we turned them

 show us your little pink arses

 & we eat them with eggs
  & toast & coffee & cigarettes
   & he gets his stuff together
 for going back to town
      & i boot my laptop
  & get my stuff together -
 rolling a row of cigarettes
   & placing them with a plastic lighter
    next to my tin russian ashtray

 in the spaces on the spare room desk
          & he says

 you really are a writer

   with respect & maybe awe 

    in his voice & pause
 & i cherish that moment  
     for the acknowledgement of

 The Actual Doing Of It

  over & above any results 

 or deals or hysterical lauding 

FRIDGE OF DIPS

in the lurid 

& binocular land

old paranoia 

grows lucid as owls

& 

our skein of civilisation
is tangled

like a rat king

painted flatly

on cheap veneer

&

an 

awful & deliberate

awareness deficit

cosplays a second coming
in

the

street theatre of the dead

& 

freedom 

is a buttery illusion

reaching
all the long way

from the biscuit tin
to the fridge of dips

GUARD THE QUEEN, A MEMORY FRAG

his voice was batman deep

with a record player crackle

& he used to work 

at guarding the queen

but i was 

too young then

on the floor 

with a colouring book

in a world

of shoes & voices

to hold it 

against him

& too small to know

about the bullshit of bills 

UNDERPANT BUSINESS

its like

get your nose out of

everyones underpant business

&

let the humans piss

for christs sake

cos i only want to get my washing dry*

& youre all really doing my head in

*(& dry nicely too
  & not so my tshirts
  feel like biscuits
  when i lift them off 

  the rads hot ledge)

AL FRESCO GRIFTER EXPO

with the wounded muntfish
barking facebook vox pops
at the al fresco grifter expo

its hard to enjoy
where the plum tree
meets the fir tree
in the garden sky

MUSTARD SEED

they say
the kingdom of heaven
is like a mustard seed
or similar - whatever

i am more concerned
with the door policy
the smoking areas

& when they stop doing food

cos i cant eat a parable

~

& A&E was busy this weekend

cos so much reason 

was bleeding out

from all the stabbed up sanity
butchered in the london streets

DREAMING WITH STEPHEN & JOHN

they flee from the city
with feet lit crimson
& headlights in their hands

& happy clouds will love you
& the storm clouds match your gloom

& the stark scaffold of nude timbers
where words dwell with their ink 

welcome you in quiet moderation

then spurned

with no why 

they chase you 

thru the mist

to the beach at the end of the world
& you lunge
at a loss
into the weak grey surf

& you land home
to the windows & the colour
& what 

you say 

in the 

stephen king & john carpenter 

was that ?

NASCENT POLYURETHANE ZEN

granny would say

you got your health
& at youre working

in a positive way

with a dreamy smile

like it was well enough
& i would think

low bar gran low bar

but now i got neither
& tho time works hard

to make those days
shine all sepia golden & carefree

i still remember 

their cold dark edge
of black mirth 

in the night woods

& theres real gold nuggets
in the old river of new today
if you pan slo-mo

with the gentle myopia

of nascent polyurethane zen

BEGINS WITH P

in these petroleum days 

of prepping & paranoia

& pandering to power

patriotism is payrolled 
by prosperous populists
pretending at protector

& by proles & plebs
puffed up with the potash
of propaganda & projection

on our painted isle
of payday loans 

& paddington bear

SICK HEART LIMPS

they tell their microphones
that violence 

has no place
in politics

when

it has 

exactly 

the place

they bred for it

~

& the veil

these days

needs no lifting

its full of machine gun holes

& anyone can look & see

the sick heart limping inside

TRENCH WARFARE

my mind grows jealous

of the animals

who

never

fall 

into

the trench warfare
of tangled semantics

~

dry redolence

like scabs

tumble

flicked 

to the clindamycin soil

PARADISE

you know things 

are getting dark & wild
when its phil collins

jammed looping in your head
&
you simplemindedly agree
& even nod

nod !

to his cookie cutter
boil in the bag
ladybird
emoting

~

send me prayers

metal

&

cohens gentle takedowns

IN SILICON

the ether
is brimful

to the firmament

with
our
paused conversations

burnt into silicon relief

for 

the 

river god to cool

NOSTALGIA GOLD

the stone roses
tub thump

in the memory

of a patio wind

& an imported 

beach movie glow

~

& the chess board

& the gin bottles
& the leaf mottled sun

of a summer that was a summer 

are all edged now

like sparkling surf

in nostalgia gold

CRY OUT WOLF

always i must be busy with anything

in the existential terror
& 10 AM nadir

of another weekday morning

or the nowhere hole
will eat me up 
like the boy

in the garden

alone & worrying

about when to cry out wolf

enter art !

that amateur hunting

of incomplete & fluid beasts

LIKE SUNLIGHT

progress is retro

in these timpani days

&

tho there
may be
a void
in us

i am sure 

it can shine
like sunlight
on a branch
on a tree
in the shade