MALL POPLING #3

 

wearing the only waxed duster

in the contiguous south east

& with the widest smile 

of the maddest glee

hes marching 

gunslinger style

past Smiths into Boots

finger pistols shooting

all the dr peppers

in the fridge

BICYCLE CARCASS

the street sweeper
is old as fortitude & roses
& dismounts her machine steed
& smokes & swears & stresses
over
another
mountain bike carcass
abandoned
in the precinct fountains
scuzzy puddle bed

~

i viddy her slog

from a bench outside Boots

wings in the tree

rats down the cracks

Costa cubby belching

steam punk sounds

FOOD COURT MUSINGS

if young me from back then
saw this me right here now

what would he reckon ?

i reckon he would appreciate

my silence & the sunglasses

my boots & this hash brown

but anyway
what the feck can he know ?

the jefferson airplane
red stripe & rum muthafecker

all loose change & clippers

shell-top trainers & time

in two hoodies two hoodies

& those gig patinaed 501s

~

well my 

nothing & nowhere 10 AM 

dim lit mall fug morning

of right now

matches his 

ditto

from back then 

oh so perfectly

that together 

we both smile

THE CEMETERY SQUIRRELS

time is hallucinating
in the fever ether

& again
i cosplay a person

boots on / face out

meat tower saying morning

draped in stitched cotton

& zips

~

the cemetery squirrels
run from their tails

in the thick grass & tall stone

& i rest under trees

where the sky cannot see me
& 

the warplanes

stay away

in my phone

A CATCH 22

well i put my boots on

& 

i walked on down the hall

& 

i addressed the naysayers there

   

'it would be easier'

 i said

'to get better 

 you know

 

 if i already wasnt so ill'

LONG PORK BOOTS

theres a thinking machine 

atop my meatstack

i say machine 

could be sickness 

or a deepfake hoax

maybe a burroughs virus

dominating my animal twitch

& theres cotton covered long pork
hanging there underneath my soul

randomly unresponsive
& pendular

making up its own rules
with boots on

NOTHING TO HANG IT ON

weird b & b behind us-

the hologram sausage
that mysterious barn

~

we pull over & park up
to piss 
to roll smokes

wales somewhere

a beautiful valley moment

~

ankle shallow creek
busy on glossy rocks
stoic hills shoulder in

just how i would make hills
if i made hills

but 
theres nothing 
to hang it on-

i feel a space & need

effervescent valley vision
cannot grip & live

~

i was morning crust
i was wasted dawn
in undone boots
with undone mind

a soft sculpture with nothing 

to hang 

it on

from nerc-duress.org

MADNESS SOMETIMES

gurning gristle
in nylon
in denim
pulled by the moon
over gravel
over silk
to interior approximations
of heaven
of hell
heart truth
too soft
to stomach

skin sack
ports leak 
on a media uproar
on a postpartum riot
shuffled by clocks
into a sideshow
into an ad break
so - the big boots
wear the big boots
for grounding
for psychological support
mind jag
too too
to do
today

and sunglasses
to hide your glow
to hide your shine

cos it looks 
like madness
like lunacy
like its gone out
like that
sometimes

from ebay.com

FEEDING TIME AT THE ZOO

cordless 
landline
passed-on
at 
pizza time

( be strong-
  if you call them once
  you call them every time )

let
some
other
mad
drunk
ruin themselves 
calling the world

anyway
i always
bring the drink
dont i ?
and
i
seriously
cant
be
dealing
with
a
clabby phone call
in
this
degenerate 
state

i can smell my own snot
i can !
and
my
arms
are an untrained operators
practice crane

and my boots-
well 
they
might as well be
on the back of my head

wait tho-
cant you see 
im hiding here ?
from the mutants
and the landsharks . . .

even

attempting

going

to

piss

is

too

fraught

with

risk

of

exposure

and

quick

defeat

down here

under no stars

a new kind of dead

on

the

killing floor

from vg247.com

OPEN LETTER TO THE FUTURE

dear future yous

yes
you
in
the
silicon
dust

you eating grey putty
from the seed banks mush

you slipping across 
the laminated british isles
firmware
forever
buffering
in
your
boots

to you i say yes

yes the sky was once a fantastic blue
and
the oceans any shade you could think of

and yes 
the clouds
were the most perfect things
and
birdsong tho wonderful
was irritating too

( we did that -
  they learned our alarms
  in the citys
  24 7
  chiming
  twilight
  monochrome -
  just ask the unabomber )

and yes
the forests

well 
how to describe a forest ?

to you
who never
seen one ?

well
it was like heaven in there
like heaven in the woods

and i can only hope 
you have wonders of your own
cos we had 
one helluva
wrap bash
and 
i can tell you this -

that suicide love ?

well
its 
very
good for the appetite 

kindest regards
the 20th C

from loverofsadness.net

STREETSIDE GUMBO

    i am
streetside 

strolling under the skys boots

i see a hedge
i think thats green
see cement
think that used to be a hedge

and who are these people
out
in the naked day ?
i think shouldnt they be working 
and the streets my vacant river ?

theres old men in beige sepia
like dressed for the dirt of the grave
i am in shades of prison greys
a smudge of newsprint / a social comment
vague
and
changeable
about
it
all

theres an alley
i think wheres my alley ?
i got block paving
the rain runs from
and a lush triangle of yard

and the sky is like its a hole now
fallen open above me
unsafe like a danehole
and
i worry now
that 
i might grow wings

the ground is locked
all entrances disguised
with
root vegetable distractions
the daft unbearable light of flowers
and
immovable solid moods

from yellowad.co.uk

  

FRIDAY POPS

ART IN LEATHER BOOTS

monsters rule the earth

science goes underground

we are superseding the insects
our brains blocked with plaque

and our dreams and hopes are embarrassed now
in
the 
loaming
fields
of 
stone

art pulls on its boots
and walks on down the hall

looking for the library
and the weapons there


BOMBS

what was there
is not there now

thus spake bombs


SCREENBURN GHOSTS

whenever i close my eyes
you ghosts drift curious
into the doorway

youre ghosts of my memory
not ghosts of the grave
tho
you
mingle
with 
the grandparents 
and 
the assassinated miscellany 

you are the shadow of all our youth
on my eyelids

a soft screenburn haunting
wondering where i am now
and
friendly


CANDLE

candle burning
at both ends

till there is no wax left

and soon no wick

then briefly
i am

entirely

only

an orphan fire


STRANGE DAYS

so one strange day i woke
a member of the

  world of adults

tho i knew i was once a child
and why some things make more sense now

its
nothing
i
had
questions
about
back when i was small

a plastic mouse 
in my 
school trouser pocket

pic from bluemaize.net

PERGOLA (EXPLODED) HAIKUS

sat on a bench on
slippery 
winter 
decking
berries are bright red

across 
the 
sea 
bombs 
are falling onto people
here - brittle birdsong

outside my boots rest
on 
a 
cheap green plastic chair
workmens 
toil 
echoes

AUTUMN BOOTS

curled gold and copper
lies
under
trees new bones

autumn is a happy death
  when 
  the 
  sun 
  shines

  i walk my boots 
thru its orange clots
past
the
  graveyard stones
  allotments wild squares
  fire station
  school yard
and
  the secrets of silent daytime houses

  under
  a
  sky
of huge boat cranes 

 from www.goldsinjewels.co.uk

THINKING PIC POME

 

THINKING BOOTS

 

THINKING COMPANION

 

 

THINKING CHAIR

 

WELCOME DISTRACTION

FALSE STILTS

its hard and its far
and
theres no time 
so
tie boot laces tight
against
the
oceans
that
make
other places seem impossible

it looks short but it feels endless
this
functioning mush / this advertised median
between 
the unkillable poor
and
the
miserable lost smiles
of
the
rich

but you
can
still
smell
the
roses

or
paint
them

if you have allergies

from dw.de