EVEN A FREAKING CAULDRON

i worked at the hospital
with dumb white dough men 

proud to never ever go 

into their own home kitchen

& if they knew the missus

would be out at bingo

theyd have their chicken dinner 

in the canteen here

& theyd act all smug about it 

like theyre goddamn winners

now i see the kitchen as where 

its socially acceptable  

to play with big steel knives

in a frenzy of flesh & fire

necking cooking booze

among the blood & bones

with power ballads on the radio

& even a freaking cauldron

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

 

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

MOON PHONE

after hanging up
the moon phone
nixon held aloft
a balsa wood space plane

& i think about sugar magnolia
in the march of the shadows

picking plums

&

carrying bones

in the summers holiday surround

4 POEMS GETTING SHORTER

1. BIG BANG POP

the big bang ?
well i never heard it

but i dont even know
how big a photograph is
anymore



2. FOOD POP

my pain
flares up
in the shape of bones

& still i smile at bacon



3. MALL POP

theyll find you

itll be clabby

in the xmas hallelujah dusk



4. FREEDOM

freedom

burns

CREATION RETREAT, A PILL PACK POP

 

FORCED ENTRY

 

you are wired into the machine
& its acid dance freak show

forced entry
one exit

easter eggs aplenty
among the bones & blooms

HEAVY WEATHER ETHER

 

i file & post 

         i dump & report 

 

codex expositions 

         from my furious note-jags

as half-pop bones 

         in the heavy weather ether

 

         it 

         is 

         the 

         opposite 

         of 

         school

~

i remain still 

so very glad 

my schools out forever

that i shout 

L O S E R S 

from the car 

at the backpack kids 

walking 

their 

cornershop classroom

to & fro 

THE DUST IS HONEST

got to go 

go leak out my ports
in the special room 

yes again

fascists hide in the pines

hide in the curriculums

we see you

yes again

~

soft machine maintenance

is endless

is clip & prune

is secrete & repeat

existence farts

the dust at least is honest

dry crying over our bones

from the guardian.co.uk

FROM A CEMETERY BENCH

in the earth

this marsh-close clay

the dead lay

some not even bones now

tucked away

&

love broken

headstones have little to say

but

the fallen berries
tucked 
in
lacquered crevices

make a playful squirrels day


~

it comes back to this -

scratch
the blank
wide open

&
be as water
with the ink

bent & coping on the cemetery bench

every 
laughing
groundhog day

from smithsonianmag.com

BLUEBIRD BONES REDUX

every typo

is a

town in wales

& theres

a monster

in my chest

playing hectic percussion

on the bluebird bones

blackmailing

the

sunlit uplands

where

the

hibernating mammals

hijacked my slumber

~

well the room is there

like a flat tires

rhythmic exhaling

& death is there

its back pages

condensed & lucent

in

a

twelve minute

drive thru

crematorium

&

the thin smoke of bones

is

forgetting itself

&

dissolving in glyphs

up there

in the grey bluebird sky

pic from reddit

MONDAY POPFLOPS

there
is
something
ancient & bored
inside 
of me

it is never surprised

i think
it
must 
be 
my bones


~


bet that smells
like pork belly

he said
looking at the war

focus you fool
i said
& estimate its carbon footprint

youre
making
me
hungry


~


looking at the 
bright side
these days

well
its just the shadow 
of a scratched itch

from insidethemagic.net

PICASA MADRIGALS, PAINKILLER PANTING & BOLTED BONES

PICASA MADRIGALS - BOAT

SOFT EPISODE

CALL THEM OUT

tear
the
ribbon
out
the
night

make a bow
with it
that looks
like a knot

pull
the
string
from
the  
day

make a knot
with it
that looks 
like a mistake

then throw them on the rug

and read them 
like tea leaves
like chicken bones

like those 
crease lines of coincidence
dug into your paws *

and then call them out
on
all
the absence
you
found
there

then bin the fuckers

or leave the fuckers there

in
case
you
read
them
wrong

from yourtango.com

* ( that you

   still today

   look at

   and wonder at

   with the vague hope

   of a childs superstition 

   you

   never

   fully shake -

   where is it ?

   wheres the money line ? )

HIGH BIRD x 3

1.

high above me the black cut-out of a bird
rides
thermals 
in
circles

far below him 
we are stone and steel squares
trawled greens 
grey strips
a zoned off-kilter patchwork 
of
big dressed bugs


2.

folded and bloated
in
the
passenger seat 
of an empty car
i watch rush hour chug without grace
in
the
cagey nowhere hours
of
late
september 


3.

the blue wall of sky 
crowds
the 
bones of tree tops 
and
the 
church peaks of our roofs

up against it
we are unkillable and dying
in
the
dirt padded danger
of
earths
used 
ball 

 

 from www.shoootinguk.co.uk

BONES ARE OF FAMINE AND WAR

tho
i
cover and warm
my
chilled chicken skin
in
supermarket
Gortex
fleece
the bones i dont know
still
show
symbolic bleached and wanting
thru
the
beach sand
and
Fifth Ave
of
soft
Western
privilege 

 from inhabitat.com