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

GOT NOWHERE WITH IT

in the cafe
i had coffee
at the counter
then decanted it
into a takeout cup

& took it with me
up to the field
where i stood
& looked downhill
at what i could see of the river
flowing silver behind the cranes

& thought about it all

& got nowhere with it

it has nowhere to go

OFFCUT POSEY No 357

in impromptu affirmation
on the patchwork lawn
of straw & sod
& the guts of ruptured plums

i announce -

i believe in dirt
  & its weeds & leaves
    & the fingerprint bark 

      of the trees

& then i salute
an airmans salute
for the concrete cairns i built
over the graves in the clay

OFFCUT POSEY No 32

now i am the man 

out in the garden
whos waving at all 

the planes sliding by

there they scratch pale stripes

in the stonewash sky

that grow - undulate

till it looks like 

fine beach sand looks

after the tides 

~

all the city airport

pilots know me 

i reckon / by now

& they radio each other

'hes got the blue hat on today, over'

or something like that

OFFCUT POSEY No 25

now shit !
someones there
somethings behind me

but no

here its excess dressing gown fluff
nodding on my shoulder
in the kitchen thermals

but it might not have been
you know ?

not in this nanodrone
future soup dream

OFFCUT POSEY No 38

again i look for the way

the righteous mission

the secure channel of the mind

~

i saw it once before

in the silver mist 

of streetlights

& the warm hum of the cars

hermetic

incognito

driven

~

& the playful laughter 

of the brackish surf

washes up as we all wash up

ink blotting

on the pebbles 

of the night

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