WELL I CANT READ ITS MIND

a hair on the bed
just one inch away
from my morning eye

is curled into a question mark
shining silver in the slant of the sun

its tagged itself

on the end of my dreams

asking maybe What Now ?
or suggesting . . . 

. . . well i cant read it mind

~

it casts a shadow
like a dark river
that
winds

down 

the

cotton canyon cliffs

& there i launch a small boat

& escape

from interrogation

MONDAY POPS, LOCKDOWN DIAGRAMS

we
wander
half-fucked now

in a fatalistic hue

&
theres
a
gulf
waiting
nightly
to
cross
quietly 

in the grayest shade 
of boat there is

~

the hard seats
in
the
soft gallerys
penny
peon
arcade

rock full & waiting

~

the highstreet
is panic blown 
& sunday'd

dropped shutters
rattle impatient 

in the dry wind
of
englands
still
hatchback garden

from walthomstowforest.gov.uk

SOME MORE MONDAY POPS

your
anecdotal
duff hand grenade
scrape

does not match

my 
napalm
nerve scorch


~


bars
are wooden

creak like boats
at sea

adventure
in both

rum in hand


~


i am adult

if the child 
who survives
pilot lights & afterburn

is adult


~


theres
an
out of tune piano
on dolphin avenue

binmen play it

one day
its gone


~


in 
a
supermarket tshirt
&
a primark hat

i present myself

to
bureaucracys
willful
blindspot


~


with 
age
comes
a
wisdom & maturity

a VIEW

that doesnt 
help anything


~


all roads
lead to
the stage

& then the loading zone

all the
world
is an 
island

in the sea

from elitereaders.com

PICASA MADRIGALS - BOAT

LINK BY LINK BY LOU REED BY THE SEA

i know
these halfpenny seconds
are
a chain
a chain
a chain

but / and / or

a software hologram
of a kitchen sink
in the quantum realm

~

wasted & drained 
i love & fear

that place
where the sea
does that thing

& nails itself
to the sky

~

i hear
lou reed 
sing stories

and i am . . . something

undone / made up 
loosened / rebuilt 

some kind of something
cos
lou reed
sang stories

~

link by 
link by 
link by 
link

attenborough voice over
anchors me
under white clouds-

kings 
above my pauper

& the sea
does that thing

& nails itself
to the sky

from pinterest

GEOFF INSIDE THE ATOMS OF THE MORNING

the dr was no help and the pain was only pain.
its commuter o clock.  
school run time approaching.  
theres no cabs on the thin land.
i limp to a cafe thats only five times further than i thought.  
the traffic is an insane whirl.
my hips only half on fire.
in the cafe i ask for coffee and sit down inside the morning, its radio chatter, extractor fan hum.
its like great boats are sliding by high above.
so in comes geoff.  
i havent seen him for 20 years.  
im guessing here.
it was back in the mall.  
back in the stores.  
we sold white goods, luggage, flat pack bookcases, stereos.
he worked mornings for no pay for an outreach program.  
i thought of him as a forever child.
other thought him a strange duckling.
i would lose half the morning saying no geoff, not there geoff, over here geoff, geoff GEOFF and he would laugh and tickle all the girls.
well now he sits two tables down and one over.  
hes clapping like a seal.
he looks the same.  
he dresses the same.  
shiny elbows new trainers.
he laughs like a child.  
he slaps the waitress on her bare arm in play.
he gets tea sausage beans.  
has a crisp new tenner.  
its the only thing in his wallet.
wondering what would happen if i said hello, i dont.
i tug my hat lower and sit still inside the morning and its similar atoms.
i feel needles radiating out from my palms.
the shine and colour and large windows of the cafe are like a fish tank.
geoff claps like a seal.  
his feet bounce up and down.  
he finishes his breakfast.  
slaps arms.  
uses his tenner.
carefully his change goes inside a zipped compartment.  
he leaves laughing.  
if he was dressed differently and i didnt know better i would think him a morning drunk.
over the street he opens the door to the pdsa charity shop.
i feel the drone of heavy ships high above. 
needles radiate out my palms.
20 years and geoff is still geoff.
i wonder if theres comfort there or not.
i pay.  
i leave.
going to the cab place i look in the pdsa.
geoff is behind the till with an unhappy woman.  
he puts his mug of brew down and claps like a seal.
i get a cab easier now.
home.  
no drone.  
no boats.  
not a fish tank.
inside the atoms of the morning.

from fishtankmaintenance.net

SKUNK KAPOW

the

unremarkable tourist / townie

waterside

bar

was hilarious

till dusk

then-

became

doom heavy

frontier scene

i heard bells

morricone bells

tolling

for thee and for thy

and for cheyenne

~

morricone bells

bunker down

in boat cabin

now

i cried

demanding

we leave

drink up

eyes down

~

boat cabin-

we played the floyd of the day

tigers

ears

sprouted

from

unhacked indie curls

all

our

jeans

dancing

with

dense blue cartoons

~

endless

restless

forever

movement

in

stonewash

weave

i

only

needed

half an eye

from theredlist.com

THREE POP POPS

SPRONION POP

at the stove
building an omelet

black pepper & spring onion

when
rain fell outside

it smelt amazing

of
fresh earth & scrubbed sky

it put a zing in the afternoon 

and
made
me
need
to
piss
something awful


WINDOW POP

i look up

our blue ceiling
is a window
no glass in the frame

theres
ice sculptures up there
no one has seen

older
than
the
earth


CAPTAIN POP

the garden is a boat
an ark
on soil sea

i will do for captain

and
when a bee comes
  
  i
  say  thank 
       fuck !

he
works
and
spreads
an
antidote to extinction dread