AT THE ZOO

and 
my 
nose is against cool zoo glass  

and
i
watch the coldblood lizards there

they move 
in 
stop-motion freeze-frame

fast but slow

like
in
the 
b&w newsreels
all the 
side-partings watched
smoking filterless 
in the war years

and 
the 
polyester mammals
are
a
reflection 
spectre
behind
me

out of reach

out of reach
like history is
like dreams are

like everything is
in the emergency stop
of
breakdowns
weird
insight

from tanzaniasafariszanzibartravel.org

GARDEN COUNTING

theres a gazillion birds
in the garden airspace

at least a gazillion
i counted them

and one big black cloud
whos
guilty
of
withholding
the rain i need

there two dozen contrails
made 
from
sterility conspiracy
and
unnatural vapour

and there two white feet
mine

theyre hobbit like & hoof like
changing & morphing before my gaze
and
i
look
away

( wide eyed & worried )

to
the black cat
sitting
just
right

the way they do
in
impossible perfect construction & peace

and
theres
a
moody
wasp

he looks like hes going insane

fly here fly there
and
repeat

its uncomfortable to see

hes deep in an indecision breakdown

and
i
wonder

if i should twat him
into an oozing squash

on
the
pebble
filled
patio
cement

pic by tegmin on imgur.com

BREAKING MAN

  on a bus with a number
 in a town with a name
    on a street called something like
  sycamore avenue
   chestnut close
      or
  butchers bridge

    sits a man with an age 
 shaking with breakdown
       hunched on the high seats 
      up near the back

 and a girl who is a daughter 
     holds his arm with a kind of pride
  smiles a youth-confident smile
      maybe 
    just pleased 
       hes out

  in clothes called polyester-chic 
i slouch behind them 
     my knees are shiny
  going to a place called work
     listening to rock from the past
 on a tapeplayer with auto reverse 
   and headphones with megabass

    its a year with a number 
   that starts 19

 there is booze in my morning sweat
    there is fag ash in my suede coat
  i wear black nike airs called pegasus
   
  one punctured hisses like a snake 
  
    and i wonder
   that 
    we
   dont
 all shake like that

  in fear and panic and impotence
   in a gut-balls reaction called instinct

   at the world
  that has become

from andysbusblog.blogspot.co.uk

SMYLING AT POLLYTICKS

i remember when thatcher went  1990?
she packed her hernias up in her iron handbag

i had my forever jeans on back then 
heavy brown army boots that they liked in the tattoo parlour
my army coat from germany id bought in wales
beer breath and marlboro fingers from all yesterdays parties
i would let my pockets fill up with refuse as proof of life
as proof of something anyway

we all smiled about it  thatcher going  the iron handbag  
we were all caught in the sun that day
we seemed to be born with a healthy tory hate 

still news was 
what-the-fuck-is-that-to-do-with-me-? 
back then

it wasnt a 60s rock classic or obscure motown  you see ?
it wasnt a niche kung fu rapture  or the clash
it wasnt those rolling papers on a reel like little bog rolls

i knew good news when i saw it tho

so we all smiled  all caught in the sun
except r****** h***** who had tory parents
he bravely expressed a different veiw
he was very put out by our suprise and abuse
i hid 15 cigarettes in his under-chin beard
this cheered him up but i never looked at him the same again


well we all smiled
we all smoked in the college overflow carpark
we all smoked there behind the empty tennis courts
we played dylans its all over now baby blue
the sun seemed tender but thats the rose glass of remembering . . .
our youth made the abyss of blackness just grey like rain 
our youth wouldnt let us see true black back then

i remember when all the tories were out  97 ?
they packed their truffles away in their bentleys
we smiled again where ever we all were then
we were scattered far from the overflow carpark by now
i felt a little weight lift like if the sun would come out more

to me news now was mostly 
what-the-fuck-is-that-!? 

id watched too much news in those 7 years
id done some sociology in a class of clean jeans
id done some philosophy in a class of long black coats
id done some politics taught by a morris dancer

i wanted the world to run on some neo-marxist barter system
something like that anyway

it was a different what-the-fuck to before
i thought i had seen deep inside the naked lunch hamper
i knew everything was a rich mans trick
i wanted to live in a cave on a hill

well there were smiles in 99 too
something happened in the dome didnt it ?
there was some song and a relaunch ?
there was maybe a rebranding ?
there was something anyway
maybe i should look in my pockets for clues
theres proof of life in there

i was on the embankment with a stranger was on my shoulders
i was waiting to die from tension  fireworks  24hr whisky

there was optimism again wasnt there ?
the optimism wasnt mine tho
i had dropped the ball by then
i had dropped all the balls
i had thrown the balls up in the dark air and walked off
i was growing great black leather death wings
i was growing a breakdown accelerator mind
i was listening to the gun club
i wanted to live in cheers

back then we were heavily into the night 
back then we were team scotch unstoppable
back then there was go-fast powder in the macdonalds straw
we posed like charlies angels on westminster bridge
there was piss and beer cans and abandoned goodbye pies there

i have tidied out my pockets now
i am pared a down plastic zen master

i dont know anyone whos smiled at politics since then

apart from at george bush fumbles and that fat guy getting egged

from express.co.uk

BREAKDOWN SAINTS

we all have programs
of
furious tints or puppy glee
unknowable 
in 
the 
unthought instinct of deep cave heads
touched by ambiguous updates of drab ammos
thru 
school / life / long lonely nights

and this program holds us fast 
like mental luddites / resistant like steel
to
cycles of drink and pills and NOs
till the program is armour / walls of shaking solitude 
and
inside is powder and dust / egoless and nude

and when it all breaks down ( as it MUST - for PROGRESS )
under
heavy pressure of street barometers
and
unplanned-for stormheads
of 
bad money / bad love / dark sex trails / buried realisation
then can we hold the jigsaw together ? 

re-educate and reform 
the
new learned gears 
to  
new speeds and new slows
to
grow into New Me and Benevolent Us 
that 
walk out there again under the coy sirens
unbroken AND broken
with
hand-mind grip BOTH stronger and looser 
worried and strong in new soft shoes 
and aware they can break AGAIN 
into bomb piles of homeless brick
and
they know
and 
touch ( aware and worried ) others in their baby stages
with heroic tolerance / owl wisdom

and
they
are
the
breakdown saints - tell us by our bottomless eyes

 www.jantoo.com

TRUTH MAKES QUIET / FOUR YEARS AGO

  the 
nurse is mannish / own a horse
  is 
crying at work
  is 
relationship sad

    - what about a date with him ?  
says someone Young and Bright and Mad

i am pointed at 

and
i
say - i'm having am alcoholic breakdown
      look at me ! 
      i'm loosing a stone a month
      please
      do
      better
      than
      me

and 
i keep moving
and
silence falls
behind
me 

from rockinroxie.blogspot.com