INSOMNIA HAIKU 11

night food / morning crumbs

legs & arms 

are amps & volts

frozen river time

FRESH BAKED CRUMBS

was feeling
well grim

about it all

till the sun came out

like spilled yellow paint 

& my wife came home
with fresh bread

we ate on the bedspread
by the sleeping cat

miniature snores
& impossible fur

flaked with fresh baked crumbs

PLEASE DISCUSS 1, LAUNDRY DAY IN VEIL TOWN

its not new

to see the world as mad

& 

balls to the wall crazy

but is it much more obvious now ?

its laundry day in veil town

& it rabbit-punches you

down to the kitchen lino

drooling on the mornings crumbs

~

please discuss

you have one hour

ask if you need more paper

PASSENGER SEAT OBSERVATIONS REDUX

theres dog walkers

on

the

ambient soul

of

the

grassy knoll

holding

plastic bags of shit

& its golden crown

of pasty crumbs

is sideways sunlit

soft autumn low

~

the

jewellers cat

on

grocers corner

is

sat dead central

on

the

bubblegum pavement

a radiating beacon of nevermind

in

the

high streets

fallen

shutter

ensemble

~

look

how

shoppers break around his bow

their rushed meat

plastic-bag stumbling

in

his

imagined wake

from smallbusiness.com.uk

CRISIS EXISTENTIAL ON DISPLAY / GAGGING AT THE THOUGHT OF MILK

i couldnt believe
that i had to sit there

a   d   l
l   a   o
l   y   n
        g

with these strangers
this old woman
these weird smells

so i asked
and went to the toilets
and sat there
sat in the solitude there
in the quiet there

knowing i must go back
to that allocated chair 
to the unknowable rules
to the faces
ugly dumb crumb covered faces

back to that clinking crate
its bottles of full fat milk
dirty from the truck
and warm from the sun

i knew i had to go back
knew if i did i would cry
knew if i cried
it would feed on itself
and i would be looked at
looked at and asked 
all those unanswerable questions

on display and out of the loop
gagging at the thought of milk

at school
1978

from cpfc.org

BUKOWSKI CALLED THEM GLASS PEOPLE (TV AND THE RUG)

bukowski 
called 
them 
glass people 

( private helicopter over golden paris )

i 
say
theyre
sealed-in 
stop-outs
corporate shills deep in a lying jag

( fantasy rebellion of a runaway beach bride )

they transmit simple code
in purchased dots of light
emoting in the plywood spaces  
somehow forever themselves 

( antique motorcycle in a £15 million mews )

their forever blue glow
shadows the living room rug
into a colourised moonscape
where the crumbs
rear like mountains 
and cat hair 
frets like wire in the wind

( dandy hipsters catwalk gentrified pavement )

the colourised moonscape
is terraformed frequently 
sucked up and gone by the free trial handhelds
moon 
unit 
snout

( cool nerds city square flash mob ) 

california invented the idea of lifestyle
some one said on tv the other day
he
was
a
glass
person
a sealed-in stop-out
being clever for treats

( western mysticism successfully exported )

and the gardener isnt coming
cos it rained out there today
all the things are heavy and wet
and i am relieved like a god is relieved
when all the bloody sacrifice stops 

i been up forever anyway
up on the living room rug forever

( fat builders dance-off with the cut-offs )

i hear iggy pop when i try to sleep

welcoming his chinese rug
or 
belinda carlisles heaven delusion

( all the good bits of a film 
  action turns to love / morality dead on halfway )

theres a man out the front window
in striped joggers 
a colourless shapeless top
hes walking a small dog 
invisible behind the wall
and the red berry bush 
busy with counterfeit bees
and hes stopped 
and hes staring up intently
and when he walks on 
he has to stop again
look back again
up again
the small dog worrying a taut lead
invisible behind the wall
and the red berry bush 
busy with counterfeit bees

( a horse runs thru nostalgic potted domestic history )

i go to look when hes gone
go out there 
look over and up
i see only roof tiles 
the metal ribs of the tv sky
and a grey heft of dishwater space

( people do their shopping
  with more / less money than you )

now movie stars
stars of the silver screen
the old school king cool
well theyre bonafide legends 
marketed that way 

good for selling watches
and tiny bottles of smell

( the modern polymath drives an electric blue hatchback )

i miss steve mcqueen 
and his square monaco
like penny-back-bottles
i miss larry olivier 
plugging polaroids
like a hang nail
i played with 
in the insomnia loom

( shop here says the ad
  we will let you leave with some change in your hip pocket )

tell larry i got the camera 
i say to the cat 
next time you talk to the dead
and apologise to steve
i
cant
afford
a
monaco
in these tight lean ebay days

from youtube.com

VELVET BLOWN-MIND