GARDENERS VAN

 

time has become . . . tactile

like a sensory toy

in a drs wating room

patinaed with irremovable gunk

~

& next door - the gardener

his van is evident

in the patent street

WEARING COPPER JACKETS

the drs surgery
on-hold music
triggers a heavy sadness

&
all
the
other many morning times
i had to call & wait
rattle off
from out me
into 

the telephone firmament

wearing copper jackets
in the bumpstock milieu
&
waving their sad flags of sickness

FRAG 3

the windolened 

window smears 

are exposed 

in the naked & nothing noon

on the

window panes

of the

waiting room

at the drs

yesterday

like under a microscope

or steamed out with superglue 

on the forensic tv show

another palm print record 

of another killer joe

TO THE TUNE OF THE DRUGS DONT WORK BY THE VERVE

 

all this time of being ill

its getting me down, my love

like gas in a lamp, waiting to be lit

this time its 'all in my mind'

now the drs dont help

they just makes things worse

but

sure 

i'll

take

their
drugs
again

DUSK MUSINGS

creamy dusk 
is seductive
a sloth blink

then dawns
quick fried
short order
laser show treat

is hailed overkill by randy birds


~


the grey rain on my tv window
was soft beach surf
on another day

dennis wilson diving 
for his 
drunken sunken miscellany


~


the dusk in the drs waiting room
is like a dimmer switch twisted
on the tinted panes

i wait in my own inside fug
in the biggest softest chair

but i am out !

out with the common people
sick common people
like me

from medium.com

BETWEEN

between

gods
old paper
mumbo

off
white
hospital
walls

the pantomime 
bipolar
cage fights
in
parliament

and the eternal
daily
slap
of
laborious metabolising

doves collect twigs
for new nests

cats hide
from imagined thunder

black faced gulls 
look out in silence
from tv eaves
masked like mimes

then
a 
10 min monsoon

wet sock

from rspb.org.uk

IMAGINE NO PHIL COLLINS

3 PM

nowhere town

stale like bird-table breadcrumbs

gets

by

on new Morrisons

and

extra lanes on the A Road

and

endless drs visits

where

we

whine

about

our standard decay

and

John Lennon sings idealism from the receptions radio

sounding

in the 21^st C

like

quaint wallpaper or unremarkable rain

and

everyone here to hear it

has

bigger sicker fish to fry

crumple people

too numb

to dream

but

when

next

Phil Collins sucks the soul from a Detroit classic

 

thats

when

Johns song

shines

the

most

 from thedrum.com

JOHNNY SICKNOTE

three years of doctors

for 
body
and
brain

some 
helped me
and
some
rushed me
and
one
said ANY AMOUNT OF BLOOD 
LOOKS FRIGHTENING 
ON 
A 
WHITE 
T SHIRT

today
i
call
the 
doctors
again

i
have 
a
list
of
questions

from jimstoons.com