PETER FONDA HAUNTS ME IN MOUNTAIN SNOW

california dreams 
sold in beach shade

watch thrown away 
on the cocaine road

peter fondas morning weed
put a whole new complexion 
on 
my
regular 
days


~


hes the latest name

on the saddest list

in the stumbling dearth

of a poorer world


~


& since he died
i see him still

but in films
he was 
never in

surf boy eyes
unmistakable
over a mans grey beard

no
matter
what
imdb
says

from pinterest.com

KEN BENOBI

there was a man i used to work with
looked like obi wan
if obi wan was five foot nothing
with pale navy tattoos
under the white pubes
foaming up his forearms

i called him ken benobi
but not on the 
Herald Of Free Enterprise 
disaster anniversary 
when he would go to the darkside

swearing about french lawyers
swearing about euro courts
gripping our arms for emphasis
with a grip like a vise

he would be in no mood 
for my nick names
and it definitely wasnt the day
for me to realise and comment
sixs week late
that his ken benobi 
beard was long gone 

from bbc.co.uk

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MS_

Herald_of_Free_Enterprise

FUTURE ME

i am 124

i am in some 
automated precinct cafe
deep in airstrip one

i pay an army surplus drone
thru the nose for real coffee

i stroke my effort of beard
and 
gesture outside
and
say

i remember when all this
all THIS
was landfill

i
laugh
to
myself

donor card in my hand

hungry for the past
and
a 
massive heart attack

from discovermagazine.com

SMYLING AT POLLYTICKS

i remember when thatcher went  1990?
she packed her hernias up in her iron handbag

i had my forever jeans on back then 
heavy brown army boots that they liked in the tattoo parlour
my army coat from germany id bought in wales
beer breath and marlboro fingers from all yesterdays parties
i would let my pockets fill up with refuse as proof of life
as proof of something anyway

we all smiled about it  thatcher going  the iron handbag  
we were all caught in the sun that day
we seemed to be born with a healthy tory hate 

still news was 
what-the-fuck-is-that-to-do-with-me-? 
back then

it wasnt a 60s rock classic or obscure motown  you see ?
it wasnt a niche kung fu rapture  or the clash
it wasnt those rolling papers on a reel like little bog rolls

i knew good news when i saw it tho

so we all smiled  all caught in the sun
except r****** h***** who had tory parents
he bravely expressed a different veiw
he was very put out by our suprise and abuse
i hid 15 cigarettes in his under-chin beard
this cheered him up but i never looked at him the same again


well we all smiled
we all smoked in the college overflow carpark
we all smoked there behind the empty tennis courts
we played dylans its all over now baby blue
the sun seemed tender but thats the rose glass of remembering . . .
our youth made the abyss of blackness just grey like rain 
our youth wouldnt let us see true black back then

i remember when all the tories were out  97 ?
they packed their truffles away in their bentleys
we smiled again where ever we all were then
we were scattered far from the overflow carpark by now
i felt a little weight lift like if the sun would come out more

to me news now was mostly 
what-the-fuck-is-that-!? 

id watched too much news in those 7 years
id done some sociology in a class of clean jeans
id done some philosophy in a class of long black coats
id done some politics taught by a morris dancer

i wanted the world to run on some neo-marxist barter system
something like that anyway

it was a different what-the-fuck to before
i thought i had seen deep inside the naked lunch hamper
i knew everything was a rich mans trick
i wanted to live in a cave on a hill

well there were smiles in 99 too
something happened in the dome didnt it ?
there was some song and a relaunch ?
there was maybe a rebranding ?
there was something anyway
maybe i should look in my pockets for clues
theres proof of life in there

i was on the embankment with a stranger was on my shoulders
i was waiting to die from tension  fireworks  24hr whisky

there was optimism again wasnt there ?
the optimism wasnt mine tho
i had dropped the ball by then
i had dropped all the balls
i had thrown the balls up in the dark air and walked off
i was growing great black leather death wings
i was growing a breakdown accelerator mind
i was listening to the gun club
i wanted to live in cheers

back then we were heavily into the night 
back then we were team scotch unstoppable
back then there was go-fast powder in the macdonalds straw
we posed like charlies angels on westminster bridge
there was piss and beer cans and abandoned goodbye pies there

i have tidied out my pockets now
i am pared a down plastic zen master

i dont know anyone whos smiled at politics since then

apart from at george bush fumbles and that fat guy getting egged

from express.co.uk

RAIN AND A COFFEE CAVE ( A SIX-PACK )

rain
theres rain today
raining at last

it
hasnt
rained
for 
   so 
     long

now the precinct pavement
shines
like
dull
steel - we are all in there
        walking upside down

and
the
air
tastes
of
steam
and 
the gutter

~

the costa is a glass cave
voices are brittle
echoes sharp as razors

its like a zoo in here
a coffee bean hogarth

i
queue

then slot myself down
in
the
brown
bucket
herd

~

a girl is writing on a pad
under
the
heading '30 questions about . . .'

i cant read the last word
her handwriting is all loops

she nearly has 30 anyway looks like

and
my curiosity 
lacks
legs

~

a 
man 
might be interviewed
      or maybe appraised

50 odd in cycle clothes
sheepish like a schoolboy

his bucket long drunk

woman in a suit sits opposite 
hawkish / clipboard / a pen 

parole officer ?

this is fucktown central
after all

~

enormous
regulars
on
motor
wheels
flirt 
loudly
with
the
young
staff

their beards
setsquare correct

look like iron filings
          or 
          drawn on

their bodies small / almost shrunk
like
a
headhunters
doll

~

the original town called lynch
is
everywhere . . . i
               think
             and
           wonder
         and
       guess
whos home and hard drive
hoards
the
hoariest
niche
secrets
they feel a mad calling for

like
i
do
for english rain

from flckr by raana m