OFFCUT POSEY No 38

again i look for the way

the righteous mission

the secure channel of the mind

~

i saw it once before

in the silver mist 

of streetlights

& the warm hum of the cars

hermetic

incognito

driven

~

& the playful laughter 

of the brackish surf

washes up as we all wash up

ink blotting

on the pebbles 

of the night

COMFORT BRRRUM

the raw sunlight
on a worn teddys
threadbare belly

mocks the lightness
that was here
in the pause of evening

listening together
to the comfort brrrum
of the late night cars

TOIL IN THE DISCONNECT

steel fish
on the
grey top

head upstream
to feed
to breed

to toil in the disconnect

meat destiny outsourced 

in evolved surrender

THE TARGET & THE TARGET MISSED

writing
if it works out right

well
its like a mirror

a mirror with balls


~


i hear cars in the distance
&
i see the birds on the wing

i hear the diesel 
running the post van
& 
the day pigeons sing

im on the daybed
doing nothing -
my thing

GOOD KIP AT THE END OF THE WORLD

so all the cows
eat all the corn
that we could eat
so we can eat them

( prob served up on a toilet lid these days
  or on a fucking roofing tile )

and all the cars
roll our carbon frames
15 feet to the cornershops
for canned carbs
and chemical clumps
in happy plastic coats

( we go thru sweet treats
  like a worm thru soil )

and all this time
the
old
nukes
pile
up
uncounted and loose
their software 100 years old

shall we even pull children anymore
from the dread of our balls ?

and if our world ended
well it would be out of the way then
and
unveiled we could cry ourselves dry
and loot in peace and nostalgia
and
sleep
some
deep animal sleep 
at 
long
last

( our priorities
  harshly realigned )

from egumeny.com

CALL OF THE WILD

  its a strange world
    a hiccup life
 smeared and weird

   bricks and upvc and cars 
  block paving round the fruit trees
      where we tried
  to improve the ground

 and too  of course  the endless plastic rain

  step back  take a time out  
     and

      come

     on

     d
     o
     w
     n

  see   we are  beasts on the carpet
   phones now  where our claws were

    see  we are  animals with tiles
 insulated from the call of the wild
         
       we  still hear it . . .

 its an itch 
   we talk about 
    in the  
 therapy room

  the steel edge  in our laughter
   after dusk   when murder
      is
       for
      the good of the brood
      
     or
      only
     the
  dinner bell

from wikiality

NATURES MOTHER GIRTH 1

it keeps her down
hides her

and we forget

the bricks
laid 
in
sand and patterns

the steel that rises up

walls
all the walls

our hutches of glass and pipe

the patchwork quilt
for
the
cars
to
follow

the huge and heavy buildings

keep her down
hides her

and we forget

CLOUDS

clouds are made  
of 
speeches never spoken

of
calls
of love and madness
left
out
in the dustbin alleys
or
resolutions
abandoned
in
oil rainbows under soulless cars
  
look up

see 
&
hear

then
dream

PAINT ME A NICE TOMORROW

2015 CLEAR OUT POPS

1.

  it
  is
familiarity / habit 

    (both cobalt blue)

and
my
daily doses - pills / love / light

    (scarlet and gas-fire orange)

  that
  keeps
  me 
  quiet 
out on this
alien ledge
  where
  artists
  wait in rags

    (stripes and checks and black-white)


2.

poetry-

pissing in gales
monsoon weeping

    or

  an
  angry
  ape
ripping thesauruses / bibles
into
Orphans Widows Wardead

  in front of the mirror with rusty corners
  in
  a
library washroom


3.

cars at 7 pm
mumble and rumble-shout
  8
  tight
  syllables
over the train track crossing 


4.

  office buildings
  glass and steel layer cakes
shine
all night
for
the 
ghosts of the laid-off

and
  fart out the sweat-stench of the working day
  in
  hot
  steam 

     billowing

into the security eyes

from waviness.wordpress.com

ROADS TO PLACES

we cook up hot black goo
and
lay
it
steaming down in stripes
on
earths peeled and steel belted skin
and
paint
it
with white hyphens
and 
other code 
to
roll
our metal machines over
so
our
haircuts
dont
have
to
walk

from ghosttheory.com

THERES A SHEEN ON THINGS

cars - showroom hatchbacks 
with
sun
painted into the steel
but 
under 
the 
glancing sexcurve bonnet
the
fat hips / the flat behind
its
a
black and earth hungry beast

scratch at it with chewed nails
in
an
anger-jag - scrape the pretence off
a 
grand balancing trick

brain-suck ads / lobotomy-smile magazines
of 
easy fortunes - they
drip
the
gloss - charm syrup
and
inside
the lie-skin is flesh / truth -

tear at it with your stained teeth

its
weak
and
simple

BEES AND BOATS

i stretched out-
it was dead on that dusk hour
when 
the
day cars hum home to their ink blot drives
and
the
birds write their songs quietly for the morning

my legs-
finished 
numb 
and buzzing like power cables 
and
i say to mr catty - LORD ! 
IS THAT WHERE ALL THE BEES HAVE GONE ?
INSIDE MY LEGS ?

outside-
front doors clump-click the day over 
and
kids call the night to hurry and start
and
my
legs lie
so still
they may not be there at all

i drift on inner eddies-
model motor boats 
on 
the
shallow captured water of a small amusement park 
smell 
proudly of burnt diesel
and
bob and nod their tiny numbered flags

i remember the sun and sand in my socks
and
how
i
wanted
to
drive those boats so bad 
and
how i was disappointed when i did
at
their
immediate obvious limitations

from antiquetoyworld.com

WHILE IN MY HEAD ITS AN 80S JUKEBOX

after dawn is blue morning
full 
and clear
and born with cars

and the rich conifer
huge
like a Pixar muppet
looms over unkillable blacktop

100 animals behind town walls
flare wet noses 
at a blim 
of autumn draft

and
the orange ball tho silent
still 
asks 
us 
what 
the night did