SOME MAD SCIENCE

i know we CAN touch
& how important touching is

but i keep thinking
about how we CANT touch

how touch 

is resistance

is pushback 

from the atoms & forces

in our own reaching fingers

& upturned faces

& small animal palms

& cold night time feet

& i love me some mad science
but i cannot forgive it this

USING THE TOILET LIKE A LOSER

in the shower-

every time i think
of that interview 
madonna gave on the tv
where she said
pissing in the shower
is good for your feet
and anyone who doesnt
well theyre a liar

well in the shower-

i
can
never
relax those muscles now

cos i think of madge doing it
and she always squatting
and its so off

and
i
wonder
if
shes
doing it

right now

while i piss in the toilet
like a loser

from famousfemalecelebrities.blogspot.it

ISNT THE SUMMING UP OF A MANS LIFE A SORT OF PRAYER

NAVEL THEN NORTH TO DEATH

and
if i look into my navel
north of my slab flat feet
into 
the 
rosy dream place
of never

i see 
mythical india

gram parsons 
playing 
unplugged cosmic country
on a
white grand piano

gielgud and t e lawrence
sharing 
a wild 
arab charger

trying to get to
the world on time

and an impossible aching dawn

~

but
if i look straight ahead
thru the calendar wall
into realities hard overdrive

i see grandparents
younger than me
weeping air 
onto the guardians
6 across 

(five letters it says
 and they got a d from armageddon
 so it starts with a d
 'walking _____ ' it says
 'permanent state youre in')
  
between drone bombed 
council flat walls
orange desert dust
between their
newspapers
dry as bone pages

that could crumble 
at a stifled cough
or a childs 
distant bleak
sink estate cry

their hands
like sepia maps
hold chipped china cups
of warm 
bath tub gin

brewed by 
street angels
who gave up 
all gentle hope
in the devils
en suite
fleet street
madagascar
novotel

from accorhotels.com

GARDEN COUNTING

theres a gazillion birds
in the garden airspace

at least a gazillion
i counted them

and one big black cloud
whos
guilty
of
withholding
the rain i need

there two dozen contrails
made 
from
sterility conspiracy
and
unnatural vapour

and there two white feet
mine

theyre hobbit like & hoof like
changing & morphing before my gaze
and
i
look
away

( wide eyed & worried )

to
the black cat
sitting
just
right

the way they do
in
impossible perfect construction & peace

and
theres
a
moody
wasp

he looks like hes going insane

fly here fly there
and
repeat

its uncomfortable to see

hes deep in an indecision breakdown

and
i
wonder

if i should twat him
into an oozing squash

on
the
pebble
filled
patio
cement

pic by tegmin on imgur.com

CAT GONE VETS HAIKU 2

tiny feet absent

brief farewell to kitten eyes

fret not -
fetch
you
soon

MONDAY 8 AM (LITTLE EGG)

monday 
8.00 AM 

a loose chocolate egg rolls around the bus floor
at
the
mercy
of corners and morning feet
its
colourful wrapper no help to him now

out of the frying pan
little egg
and into the fire

there is
no discernible definition in the uniform sky today
tho
the
suns
grey ghostly glow
seems
to
fake
wisdom and poignancy at me 
and
i
let
myself be pointlessly transfixed 

playing
his

game

CHANGE BLOWS

bowing to the inevitable
     whether
     forced or found
     feet
         on
     the real ground 
thats HUGE and pushing UP

the
inevitable breeze of change 
    whether
    from
doctors hands
    or
    ill
mystery glands 
it
feels good and cool on a jet world mauled soul
    woken
    into
    an optimism morning

and
change is good
    we're told
        accept it
        and
    be bold
move on from the wide fib of loo tales
flush
flush
flush
into the windmills blind knight blades

and
good
aint
bad   
for a thin zen finder
   
    or 
    does 
    the wind of change blow ? 

 from philstubbsquotes.wordpress

IMPERIAL MEASUREMENTS

i 
stretch
out my 5' 11"
across
the
queen
size

8 lbs
of
cat
purring
one
inch
from my ear

fifty feet away
a
mower
whines
on
the
elevated hectare of verdant green

i 
fall a fathom 
into 
sleep
and
dream
of
Paris
cloth

from telegraph.co.uk

A PAINTED GARDEN PICTURE

traffic murmur distant hot breath
and silver plane drone warning 
stalk the weaving tree top wind

garden 5 pm

the summer tries

the cat is a tinsel edged shadow
nose up 
smelling the bird song

behind the rosemary fence
smoking blunt word neighbours scrape patio chairs 
and click and flick cigarette lighters
loud pause before supper

my bare feet/work tired/like dumb hands
stretch and curl and make fists
in long spear grass and sudden daisy forests

. . . wonder if its true that magnetic forces
realign
when bare feet touch the earth
like
the
weird hippies
say