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

MORNING REPORT 103

furious
at
whateverthefuck
on
a
beautiful morning

i swallow it / cough it / spit it

& count sets of five
in math zen
on my fingers

~

& i force-accept 

the yellow-white sun

its indifferent majesty

& unheard scream

its warming jazz

& coincident hug

up there 

in the Great Black Hole

VERDANT OVERGROW

our famous roadside litter

is submerged now

inside the verdant overgrow

the shrubs & bushes 

are excited / i can feel it

its spring & beautiful

~

council cuts 

mean no cuts
on the medians & verges

& its looking like
the walking dead
out there to me

LOW BAR POP (NO NEWS VIEWED)

the
air
smells . . . charred

like a close encounter

anyway
its beautiful out

& beautiful to be breathing in

news off
shades on
blinkers in the mail

from proofofalien.com

DRINK AND KNIVES AND GOD

    DRINK

 now drink will tell you
  that its the most beautiful thing
    
     and 
      im 
       not 
   saying its wrong

 but you try 
        getting out in one piece  

             once 
           youre 
        all the way in


    KNIVES

 i dont  hold onto 
           knives     for long 
                     these days

       i slice the cheddar
  and ding the knife in the sink

       scared
         of
         what else      my hands
                      might try and cut


    GOD THE LANDLORD

(oh)  dear god

      your playground is unsafe for children now
      
      cat shit in the sand pit
      got nothing on this !

      and theres bullies who reckon they love you

      please might you do something ?


      yours
      sincerely

   
      earth inhabitants


      PS
      not everyone lets us grow the herb down here neither

from budk.com

STORY

BUT YOURE BEAUTIFUL . . . she is wound to the wire.  
she carries one bag to the station and buys a ticket north.  
out of here.
but his head is a problem he thinks.  
hes not wrong.  
is he?
all the years of sunglasses and high collars and bad beards.
his head is a problem he thinks.  
or is it?
he is in front of the mirror looking deeply.
he is still there at dawn.
it IS  problem!
but he sees it then.
in the soft dawn light.
he is beautiful.
he looks at himself in wonder.
he is still there when police break the door in at the hinges.
he smells bad and he is bloated.
his head is a problem now.
his
smile
wide
and
ugly
in
death.