DR DIMLO & THE IDENTITY THIEVES

doctor johnny-come-lately

doctor dimlo

doctor just-read-a-new-paper

tells me 

ME !  ha !

to beware of the ID thieves

that clamber in the kitchen window

when you been sick for so long

& serve you 

your own self

for snacks & supper & seconds

ME who identifies
as a meat throw 

or bungalow masonry

depending on the flavour of the dawn

& the heat of the monstering night

& this isnt a poem

nope

its a blood clot

DISTRACTED BY THE MANUFACTURED DISTRACTION

i want to do 

fine literary justice

to this sunrise 

looking the same

angry amber
as this mornings hefty first piss

but 

theres

burning

bins

in 

the

police shield streets

&

dark

forces

massing

banal like a skid mark 

on the horizon line

DAWN POP

the clouds are torn paper

& the wind
a long & stale
bogarted exhale

setting all the pink roses a tremble

POPLINGS FROM THE BACK OF THE HOUSE

 

the ground ! 

starved & bit & spiked & beat

detail for days

~

my reflection

dark in the glass of an unhung Klee

i dont even ponder it

~

in another dawn standoff

rogue turf

attritions

cement isobars

SPIES

at night i stretch out

like a corpse on acid

in the great shadow blocks 

of an expressive & eclectic dark

waiting for dawn to arrive

pocket sized

yellow & blue

~

&

i am hiding with the spies

in the back streets of venice
& 

i am hiding with the spies
in the books i hear too

BLUE HOUR, THREE MINI POPS

we have to dig deep
then dig some more

under the nose of dawn

& the stulm of the day

to endure indelible 

in the blue hours ennui

~

the detectives comb
the old asylum land

concrete edifice ratland now

& a bereft mothers clique 

holds council in the ruins

~

& a radiograb - 

minnie the moocher
playing high up in my skull

call & response 

three orange whips

& all

LAODED & IMPLAUSIBLE

we swallowed
the
pills
he
took
from
a
strangers purse

& when dawn came

it flashed me

like a subway perv 

& i found myself  

loaded & implausible

on the rubber slabs & bark chips

of a stark playground scene

cackling at the primary colours

of all the swings & slides

& at the browns 

the browns

of the logs

of the climbing frame wood

NINETIES SNAPSHOT POP

 

on the estates dawn-yellow hem

the unwrapped cellophane

of fresh cigarettes

was tugged like a wind sock

in the commute-o-clock breeze

its rip strip

a silver tendril

friction clinging

to the hand-me-down fingers

of my bus fare palm

& the mezcal hangovers

were their very own drug

back in the radiohead days

that called my work boots lucid

& the flats great golden bales

ABOUT THE NIGHTSHIFT #1

there was a strange intimacy
in the dark victory
of turning the days 

against their grain

reheated nuggets / big macs / fries 

&

a leg wound sealed with parcel tape

but dawn blared banal 

too soon / too often

over 

the 

dashboard debris

UNFILED 2022 FIELD REPORTAGE 1

dawn is a pensive onion

keening

its

yellow voodoo
around

my
sick horses

no-go stable hay

& today

is like homework 

on the morning bus

wet drawings

of

balls & dicks

&

arrows & hearts

finger smeared

on steamed-up window glass

DAWN TO FROG

now that moment

when dawn 

is about 

to breathe out

its soft promise

of warm earth

& easy time

well 

midmorning will mock it

& noon will flatten it

like a frog in the road

SWEET JAM TO SWEETEN

 

seize the jewelled dawn
with whatever hands
the night leaves you

its sweet jam 

to sweeten
the steamrolled bullshit

of another 

flattened 

pancaking day

THIS IS YOUR LIFE

the past posts pics
of places & people

every panopticon dawn

straight into my brains rusted pan

just like somebody dropped

that red tv show scrapbook

& it lays open on the floor

by my white plastic dosettes

~

then i am compelled

to always run thru
what i can remember

of the person

or the place

there exposed

like i got 

an hud readout
on my cyborg retina

& always i think

i have detailed files

like arnie said 

in that sequel

BEACH, A FRAG POP

over the orange aprons

happy dog footprints
&
the endless ellipsis
a walking stick left

the sun 

sees off

the dawn mist

& 

preps a function

for the liminal scene

SHRIEK ON

shriek on
shrill songbirds

dont let
our swearing
stop you

we are hungover
from questions

~

& the fulltime bell

will surely peal soon

on another mornings
cold taxi minds

REGULAR HORROR 6

nights obsidian shine

allows
dawns
grey
washcloth 

in

like a parent

loosing a game

with a kid

on purpose

for a quiet life

TRYING TO TAMP THE MADNESS DOWN

at night
dreamy
but not sleeping
i feel like 

i am living 

in someone elses memory

i mean that how i phrased it
thats as close as i could get

it feels different now 

even opposite now

as the grey dawn creeps in

showing the scratches on the sky

~

& inside that nights

strange peaceful exploration 

i wrote on an envelopes flap -

i am in the photographs yes

like some kind of 

understated advocate

trying to tamp

the madness down

DESPERATELY IN NEED OF A STRONGER PLAN IN A DESPERATE LAND

the killer awoke before dawn

he put his turncoat on

he took two three four faces 

  from the human gallery

& he walked on 

  high fiving

down the lobbyist hall

DOG BARKS IN A SILENT NEIGHBOURHOOD

the hoot of a train horn

funnelled down the grass banks

of litter & scrub & stubs 
&
the movie dialogue 

snappy & truncated 

by channel hoping hope

&
the dog that barks

in a silent neighbourhood

of a teenage sunday

&

the rave whistles 

shrill & bright

on the smoky festival wind

&

the cold hatchback motors 

turning over in coughs

on a frosty workaday dawn

remind me 

of the ambient album
found-sound collages

of the 90s

as opposed to

it working
the other way around

WASNT EVEN A BIG FAN

i used to have 

this mongrel stereo set-up 

un-recreatable 

because i dont know what id done

two amps linked
thru the tape monitor
or by headphone jack
i dont know . . . 

five speakers
bi-wired or daisy chained
or both
i dont know . . .

& a tired turntable
with a brass imp 

blu-tacked
to the jumping arm

but it made the intro to 

Money For Nothing
sound A M A Z I N G
in the winter dawns

of way back when

we would play it

& play it again

& tweak up the volume

& sit in wonder
with the last of the happy dust