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

LETTER FLAPS COUGH

 

i arrange 

the fruit of the detritus rain

&

the paper tiles

of the letter flaps cough

into an approximation

of amateur tasseomancy

with a hope & ennui yin yang 

spinning electric 

inside my ribs

NIGHT WORK MINIPOPS

i shop at night

i shop on the go 

everything slipping from hangers

its a jumble jag

~

tracky bottoms 

forest green
piping like icing

canned cocktails ( m&s ) 

sarnies weigh a kilo

~

pockets sucked 

but

balls were free

in the double dawn
night shift ennui

from recipeler.com

OLD SCHOOL

i
remember
there was like a promise
in
the
cool
air
of those old school mornings

spring emptying out

the cut grass

a kind of freshness
of a town unwrapped

~

but 10 am lasted forever
and i felt trapped there
stranded and beached there

on 
a
grey plastic seat

behind
a
bubblegum desk

hand up for the bogs 

all 
the 
time

just to be alone

~

there was elation 
on the playing fields

freedom and space

scuffed shoes kicking
a dog chewed tennis ball

running and falling
there was always blood

and i remember
dirty bottles 
of sun warm
fall fat milk

monster munch crumbs
stuck
rounds
mouths
all day long

~

and the three pm bell
and the rush 
and bustle 
and buzz
of it being over

and the new reading book
and the new book mark

( cut from a donated greeting card )

turned into a heavy dread 
i was too young for

turned up blunt
down by the lavender bush

( scary bees & 
  ford cortinas
  vinyl roofs )

summer holiday ennui 
on the 
summer holiday lawn

i would hide
inside the trees

like
a
kid
in a story book

~

i remember
the autumn mornings empty blast

it fit like a coat

a parka
pen pockets
on the sleeve

i remember 
a kind of independence 
a kind of plastic calm
when after breakfast
i was putting out toast crumbs
for 
the 
birds

before school
fools
hormones
and
a 
nuclear winter

unfound savilles
on the bbc

from pinterest

OLD CONTRACT IPHONE

far as i recall dino valenti was warbling out the speakers
and a silent snobbish iphone propped on hardbacks may have been taping
and
find
it
now
and
you might
find
out
what was in the Saturday Night Punch

so dino warbled - ethereal like bay mist - and we shot pool with gins and when the gin was gone 
i
conjured
like
a
miracle man
Saturday
Night
Punch

drugs filled the pauses between the frames like half time oranges and soon household implements replaced cheap cues bent like bonfire willow . . .

Saturday Night Punch was delicious - from its hefty bouquet as much as from its unexpected appearance - we were dry !
that
horrible
time of night that should never come knocking
that
sinks the stomach
and
people search out their coats
while
the brain cries out 
from
a
sudden stale ennui that Now Its Alone

i recall there were angostura bitters from a bottle sticky as honey and sloe gin - a gift tasted but unfinished - tucked in the fridge door with hot sauces - squeezed limes and ice crushed in a cloth with a steak mallet - and a fast dash of tabasco 
but
the
other
ingredients of Saturday Night Punch- for the counter top was full with
cartons and containers
and
shakers and slicers
are
lost
to
an
old
contract
iphone

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