DIAGRAM OF A STREET 2/2

new flats
have off road parking

if you drive
a matchbox

~

the creche is closed

its night

i cant picture it
any other way

~

social clubs
beer garden
attempts privacy
with
cable-tied 
homebase bamboo

~

glut of smoke
clot of perfume

in a cloud
round their
exit cab

~

heart attacks 
sign in

for ale
babycham

meat in the raffle

~

faceless rear
of 
high street shops
is
looming
barracks 
of drek

~

behind it all
the wasted scrub
is horseless now

and the train line there

goes to the city
or the sea

from theothersideofthepillow.com

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

NO SHIT LITTLE FRIEND

i had a little friend
once upon a time

and he would say
motorbikes are the safest
cos you can jump free
in a 
traffic accident 
situation

he said that
no shit

my little friend

~

and
my little friend
moaned
about
the
walk
home
after the pub so much
i used to carry him

he would call me his cart horse
and say giddyup horsey

we had no cash for a cab
he had no money for rounds
i had a bottle for the road

my dreams were blinkered
under 
the
inconstant trumpet moon
and
strength was all i had

for me
for my little friend
for anyone

~

and one time

i dont know why

but
i kicked him in the kneecap
with my work boots on
and he fell down a hill
where the town stopped
and the marsh started

and now i never understood this
but he was always keen
to re-enact this event

he was
no shit

and i was always willing
to kick
my little friend
in the kneecap
with my work boots on

~

hes gone now

to the
southern hemisphere

and
the
last
time
i
saw
him
was in awful daylight 
outside the library
cos he wouldnt
come out
for evening drinks
anymore

he must stay in
he said
to polish his parents brass

my little friend said that
no shit

~

i wonder how he is
and if he remembers his cart horse
like
i
remember
the
jumper
he
wore
that would ripple with flames
if you threw a lit match at him

and
we
all
did
that

from mocktheorytest.com

TV HASNT SLEPT SINCE 8/10/1997

my tv 
never says 
goodnight 
to me
any more

clicking it OFF mid show - 

  atlanta cops weird newspeak
  wrong aspect richard widmark 
  hitlers eternal adventures

( specifically ;
  how albert speer designed ruins 
  into the reichs new buildings
  so the 1000 year rule
  could decay in scheduled beauty )

-  i feel guilty relief 
like i kicked out a heavy talker
after a night drinking on my sofa
to wait for his cab in the street

and when i stretch out in the repeating dark
i know hes someplace out there somewhere 
bending the cabbies ear
twenty to the dozen

and when i try to
                  fall 
                     safely
into
the
natural nothing
battling the bright white noise of absence 
and the ufo lights in my eyes
i
know 
half the world 
               or 
              more
is still ON out there
making waves and taking names

from youtube.com

STREETS FILLED

street night lights
glow the room
in angles and tangents
and
carnival 
slow shadows

machine pump noise fills the room
with comfort
between
the
crashbangs
of kids and cars
from the trolley rattle street
of
leather jacket cabs
and
new sirens

i hug her for strength 
and existential confirmation
in
the
waking dream night
filled
with street lions
and a tired inner buddhist

and
her small toy tractor snores
sweeten
the 
strange
city