FRIEND SONG WITH PARENTHESES

inside me
is a multiheaded megafriend

made up of all of you

 (in your levis / your gyspy core
  & your norm-chic

  your saturated black / the hat envy

  & toytown frills)

& you all talk to me still

 (questions edged with giggles

  & the lume of a plaintive moon)

no matter
how far
you think
you have
all gone

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 

BLUE LIGHT WEEKEND (A MULTIPLE CHOICE POP)

my 

memories

are vignetted 

with encroaching brown

like 

a; park bench dusk

b; cataract smears

c; a dirty protest

or

d; the smoke damaged

   field trip

   polaroids

   we found in the geography room

   after all the school arson

   that blue light weekend

NOR COMIC HEROES ON

they dressed 

us in black & grey
no colours 

nor comic heroes on

they put us 

in stiff shoes
for us 

to polish them too

when we were small 

& had no voice

& hiding was the best game

FRAG 7

you hear stories

of people who die

because they couldnt & wouldnt

cry out for any help



why cant we hit the rooftops

when its raining black inside ?

REMINISCING 101

NINE YEARS DRY 1

nine 

years 

dry

& thirsty puns aside
theres still fruit inside

this 

fermented

sediment

shell

NINE YEARS 2 

(TO THE TUNE OF CHEST FEVER)

didnt know i was losing

didnt know my using

was really abusing

thought i was winning

thought the delusion

was my own decision

that gloves-off hard collision

of addiction 

& poison

took down my position

of political

disinhibition 

down down down down 

below the pubs

mad carpet floor

NINE YEAR HANGOVER

im a 

fine-aged 

backpage now

a 

full-bodied 

memory cow

an index 

for 

reminiscing 101

&

a

hangover nine years long  

from townandcountrymag.com

 

SOME TUESDAY POPS

DREAM

in my
daytime collapse
sunlit dreams
i saw

scratch & sniff satan
paint black paint on

his
hijacked
darkside
albert hall



PITEOUS GRATITUDE

the rain clouds
thin at dusk

thick sky tho
just four stars

false dawn is a halo smear
sodden fabric wont catch

& sometimes unbelievable sunshine
comes in thru the morning windows

the sick & unsick
are 
piteously grateful 
for 
the 
sour lemon sun



SANITY HEARINGS

only see 
in clear 
blacks & whites

when
its
all
gone
all
black

& the white light then
is the gone days
or
others
easy
tv
glow



CHESSBOARD - BABY JOHANSEN

baby johansen says-

  papa
  whys
  the
  humping black darkness

  easier to hold onto

  than
  the
  float
  of
  white
  light
  ?

papa say-

  . . . bad genes ?

from deposit photos.com

WEDNESDAY POPS - BLUES

1. TELEPHONE BLUES


i dont ring him

so he cant
not answer




2. SOFA BLUES


i cant find proof enough
that
we
are
not
all
mad

not behind the sofa
where water damage
flakes the paint
or 
under 
its blameless cushions

only pennies there

and peanuts




3. 3 O CLOCK BLUES


i nap acceptably well

for a whole

45 mins

&
wake
in the pms 3 o clock nadir

i simmer

waiting on night 
to deliver
its
own
black
conundrum

its coma
its peace
and

its certified hallucination

from quotesgram.com

DC VILLAINS ET AL ( 3 POLITICOPOPS )

1. LETTER ACROSS THE POND

dear United Mistakes of America

building walls 
wont stop planes 
or weather
only human progress

kindest regards

the United Supermarket Of Little Britain

PS
try NOT bombing
just for a change ?

PPS
kettle call the pot black much ?
i know . . .

PPPS
on that note
the kettles on if youre around ?

2. DOMESTIC ABUSE


fullfat putin
says 

if you stay home 
its ok to put the boot in

be dead by 41 anyway
on bathtub potato gin

fullfat putin

cant dilute him

and on the dashboard of a moscow cab 
nods 

a

bobblehead stalin

3. SPEECHDOM


youre free to speak

said idi amin 
on freedom of speech

but
i
cant
guarantee 
your 
freedom
afterward

and on cannibalism 

the perfect crime !
all the evidence is eaten

i see we taught him well

from azquotes.com

RIP FLY 2

dead
fly
by
the 
bog

still as a mortuary photo
or
crime scene file pic

black
shining silver
bottle green-blue

pretty 
in natures brutal 
easy-to-miss way
        
maybe 
he
escaped a UKIP house
to
die
on
the
floor
of 
my liberal fantasy

he would deserve 
some kind of toast
for
that

and this poem
will 
do

the adventures of mr fly from www.inspirefusion.com