TIMES BACK THEN

there on the cricket crease 

where we pooled our pennies

for the bottleshop & chippy
inside a long summer afternoon

& the warm dusk elation

& the nights secrets ours

smoking on the hill bench

smoking on the hill bench

the bell for last orders 

far & off & away

STREETSIDE COLDTURKEY GOSPEL

a nightingales singing
on 
the 
hard shoulder
of 
the 
m4 westbound

& theres more 
glut-gut appetite
out there
for conspiracy
&
knee jerk democracy
than truths
simple bowl

~

the ex-cop man-shape 
licking
the
bottleshop window 
in his only shirt
calls 
out 
his 
throwaway streetside 
coldturkey gospel -

youre only as sick
as your secrets

~

247 traffic cams
footbridge vantage
see & look & glom
without ears

miss

the nightingale singing
on the hard shoulder
of the m4 westbound

from britishbirdphotography.co.uk

THE BEST OF KINGS

theres a thickness in the taste
thats like alchemy like medicine
and
it
slides
       d
         o
          w
          n
         the 
back of my throat
like a toxic oyster

but i feel like the best of kings

and im walking up the bottle shop
just walking up the bottle shop
for beers and blended scotch 
in 
the 
afternoon love film sunshine
feeling like the best of kings

and i might be sick any minute
and my mouth fills with saliva
and my head might burst open
and i feel like i been kicked
hard in my hollow guts
by
an
angry
cloven 
hoof

but still i feel like the best of kings
walking up the bottle shop
just walking up the bottle shop
like im on a catwalk
and i look down
and my dog-arse clothes
look just right just perfect 
creased up impeccable
and all the hatchback traffic
is right is proper
is clean and sweet as gta
and i cant talk
i dont think i can talk
if
i
open
my
mouth
there will be a panting wave of drool

so i swallow
i swallow and gurn
like i got hairballs
but i still feel like the best of kings
and i wonder how
i will ask
for the thousand hundred
marlboro lights
i
will
surely
need

but i dont worry
i cant worry
because i am the best of kings
each step is accelerated poetry
robot perfect and james dean cool
and
too
im
v ii b r aa t ii n g
like a tuning fork
like a buddhist
inside my streetside 
plastic zen

and a part of me
that never goes along
wonders if i get this high
as
a
solid
justifiable
irrefutable
excuse
to spend the next twelve hours

drinking myself
back down

from youtube

SMOKE POPS

1.

  cigarettes 
  fill
 an existential hole
       in
      the
   madness damn

   defiance 
  in the face
    of the 
 fist of the world

  and
  a
victims journey
   to 
 heavens core


2.

  fags are food 
 for soul and mind

   and 
   theyre death
      
      to
    keep
     their
  poetry
  perfect
    
 and complete


3.

theres this young guy
puffed up and prowling
hood up  joggers hanging down  pants out

sucking on a fag in his fist
like wannabe hardnuts do
outside the vape lounge
used
to
be
a
godfreys  where i bought my camera 
hood down  trousers up  pants in

a whole nother world away


4.

  in
 the
morning

 smoke comes out

  and 
   i 
rise like a common phoenix

   and
 perch

touching up the wind


5.

  the
 smell
  of
   match sulphur
 on the night air

  is
 forever 
   a
midwinter
bottleshop
corner

change in my pocket
  and the
 day on the run

from weheartit.com