THE KETTLE & THE GARDEN CHAIR

think it
fart it

get it down

autoflo

leaving
the
head
out
of
it

one filed report

worth two 

in the draft

& if it all sucks

call it gravity

& move past it

to the kettle

& garden chair

autoflo

tree awning

& hysterical birds

the bugs on table patrol

IT SHOULD BE IN A MUSEUM

he goes down the steps

& she rushes to follow
& he stops on the steps
& it catches her out
& she goes back up the steps

as he starts down again

catching her out again

& they both stop 

& she lifts his hat brim
& he is preoccupied

& she projects fun

& he acquiesces 
& with his hands 

still in his pockets

he sticks out an elbow
for her to loop her arm inside

& together & in tune

for now at least at last 

they go for a drink

in washington dc 1936

shia lebouf 

nine months away

BEHIND THE BRICK & CONSENSUS

noons the new midnight

dusks a ceasefire relief 

dawn games are welcome 

     

i play there

     

like canute did 

with the tide

~

our deal with the dark

        is always in play

i stretch out there 

        sweating bleach

waiting for the time out

            the short death

            the hallucinations

        

   behind the privilege bricks 

        

   

THE LONG GAME

the long game

wears you d

           o

            w

             n

takes your inside fire-god out

all the short deaths 

            

             s

             t

             a

             n

by the night d

                                     

overstretch your leadbelly s          g

                             p      n

                               r  i

~

&

in these weather-watch days

of

the

long games uptight sphinct

its 

dawn that brings relief

whod have fucking thought ?

photo by Joshua Earle on Unsplash

LINK BY LINK BY LOU REED BY THE SEA

i know
these halfpenny seconds
are
a chain
a chain
a chain

but / and / or

a software hologram
of a kitchen sink
in the quantum realm

~

wasted & drained 
i love & fear

that place
where the sea
does that thing

& nails itself
to the sky

~

i hear
lou reed 
sing stories

and i am . . . something

undone / made up 
loosened / rebuilt 

some kind of something
cos
lou reed
sang stories

~

link by 
link by 
link by 
link

attenborough voice over
anchors me
under white clouds-

kings 
above my pauper

& the sea
does that thing

& nails itself
to the sky

from pinterest