MAGRITTE FIST

now the day is unday

cant-think chunk-blocks

like thick glass walls

& no flow - zenless

cos something bad happened

&

you

are

uncoping / clunky

in

the

wretched immediacy

of

its

magritte fist

FRAG 29

 

dawn is drawn

in a dark smear

of smudged pencil

a sharp lead edge 

gouging house outlines

as if with a fist

& the bulletins are bleak

& the cats walk cautious

smelling its strange 

CREATIVITY WILL SET US FREE

if i see 

even halfway thru
the veil of you

if i put my fist
in the face 

of the fuckery of you

if theres Something
there NOW

that wasnt there
before

then that
was a day was a day 

yes indeed

& deserving of
animal sleep

from bbc.co.uk

WHAT IT IS, IS BODY BUTTER ON MY BATHROOM TOAST

what it is
is i celebrate teflon turds
in my 
ceramic cathedral

my muted fist 
raised halfway
in the 
impossible fluff factory

i photo tv shows
click click click
bad clay nested
on the
sofa cushions

what it is
is i get by
in the 
neon troughs
twilight hegemony

mind turned 
both sides up
& dopamine hacked
or 
as free
at least
as my philosophy lets it

what it is
is five frames a minute
in suburbias
slow mo
ambient
guitar
rave

silicon sediment
turned hard memory
filtered
thru
the thick 
low end
heart strings

pablo honey
in
my
ginger tea
&
body butter
on
my
bathroom toast

from huffingtonpost.co.uk

SMOKE POPS

1.

  cigarettes 
  fill
 an existential hole
       in
      the
   madness damn

   defiance 
  in the face
    of the 
 fist of the world

  and
  a
victims journey
   to 
 heavens core


2.

  fags are food 
 for soul and mind

   and 
   theyre death
      
      to
    keep
     their
  poetry
  perfect
    
 and complete


3.

theres this young guy
puffed up and prowling
hood up  joggers hanging down  pants out

sucking on a fag in his fist
like wannabe hardnuts do
outside the vape lounge
used
to
be
a
godfreys  where i bought my camera 
hood down  trousers up  pants in

a whole nother world away


4.

  in
 the
morning

 smoke comes out

  and 
   i 
rise like a common phoenix

   and
 perch

touching up the wind


5.

  the
 smell
  of
   match sulphur
 on the night air

  is
 forever 
   a
midwinter
bottleshop
corner

change in my pocket
  and the
 day on the run

from weheartit.com

LOST IN TOWN

  the 
  estate 
closed around us 
like a fist with the night
our wine in carriers
clinking
like
warning bells

  the 
  street empty as curfew

  boarded-up boozer
singing / screaming echoing inside
  
  made up
    our
      minds

cutting short a nervous street piss
we backtracked carefully
texting
GOT LOST / BAILING / APOLOGIES

  eyes
  on
the train line above us
the distant towers of town
  and
  on
  our
  6

from theguardian.com

MOONLIGHT FIST

why not
unclench your dilemma fists ?

  theyre
  tense
  like
grasping a last-order twenty
  in
    a
      sweaty bar
        nameless
        and 
        thirsty

why not
let
the
timid 
light
in
at moonlight o clock ?

  the night is still the night

  still
  smells of magic
    and 
    the stars are still stars
    shining
    timid light
    on 
  precious and gentle somethings 
    
      and
    while the world 
    is still the world
      sneaky 
      fantasy
      still
      slips
        its
        pretend and ugly
        covers

from commons.wikimedia.org