AUTUMN ON THE NEXT PAGE 1

i want it
always spring

warm & new
winter
unglued

i want my
flip flops
flip flapping
in
a
light fun tumble
of
inconsequential rain

with autumn on the next page

&
a 
mindfulness
that cannot
turn blue

by forbesoste from youtube.com

CORPORATE POPS

PINSTRIPE DRAINPIPES

ceos are manson
in
golf
shoes
&
abercrombie

i see 
the family
funnel down
lombard st
in
the
5 pm

in the wine bars
of
fenchurch ave
lime st
&
at davys in unit 8

in their pinstripe drainpipes
they choose from over 40 wines
while i count my pennies
for
the
southbound
underground 



THE GOBLIN

did the goblin ever admit
his
manson lamps
were
rasputin eyes ?

there aint nobody i cant touch on the nose

he
still
says
2012
his flip flops on ebay

& if i can touch you i can kill you

which 
all 
sounds 
pretty corporate
to me




BONUS GRAVY

theres foxes fighting
in
the
chicken shack

fighting for superyachts
shale gas
and
the
shopping compulsions
of 
the 
biomass billions

& all the smashed eggshells

are
just
acceptable collateral
&
bonus gravy

are
just
our
lives & children 




ONE CHOICE TOWNS

& theres bomb factories
propping up the marginals

sold as solid employment
in one choice towns

( &
  i 
  wouldnt
  say 
  its 
  not . . . )

but
how
is 
that 
good enough ?

good enough 
for the hearts 
that dont weep
to see the seaside

rolling death tv
on the 
beach cafe
flatscreen

& brown froth coming in
on the plastic tide

from ebay.co.uk

AUTUMN IS THE SEASON OF THE SOUL

here it comes again
autumn - the big dusk
and
it
grabs
summers broken flip-flops
and
throws
them
in
the recycling bin

here it comes again
autumn - ambient soul
with 
its 
sepia nostalgia stink
and
its 
crumbling golden crown

here it comes again
autumn - annual assassination
and
it
fills me up to bursting
with 
memories of almost anything
  almost 
    anything 
      at 
        all

all bitter sweet brush strokes
of fading fire shades
all washed out watercolours
of dew drop dawns

here come the memories again
memories - uncorruptible RAM
of
a
damp damp damp
low cloud night 
striking matches
under streetlights
smokey mono-chrome

here come the memories again - polaroid loops
of
beautiful scheduled death
of
the shedding of copper camo
till
it
is
stark
and
naked
and
bold
and
bravely 
empty
on the 
bike stop 
hill top
where
i would 
park up
take five
and smoke
in the
special
quiet
counting the silver spiderwebs
in
the
broken bones of giants
and
looking out 
at the
great white stripes of mists
that
lay
across
the
bicep bulges of hinterland
making islands of rootless trees 

here come the memories again - strobing pops
of the DLR
of my shakes 
in the standing room only
before 
      i 
       fell
   in
a long gone
  fall

here come the memories again - filtered in overdrive
of
the
too early AM gag jags
when i couldnt stomach anything
anything at all
and
i fed the squirrels
my breakfast muffin
until
bullying magpies came
out 
in 
the
Greenwich hillside park
where i loved the benches
i really LOVED the benches
and i made a vow then
to sit on more park benches

  in peace
  in quiet
  in nothing

on morning-wet autumn park benches

here come the memories again - stink triggered recall
of
dusk in the afternoon
that says to me
  dont worry about it
  give it up 
  its dark now 
  cant you see ?
  give it up till spring
  and 
  sleep like all the frenchmen
  used to do

here come the memories again - carousels of slides
of
the pipes first run
and the click-clicking metal
in
the afternoon bubble
of childhood after school 
all
the
radiators 
filling up
and
gurgling like well springs
in
the
Simon and Garfunkel silence

here come the memories again - line drawings of you
of
the
cold houses dead rads dead chill
and
the
doom that riots round the skirting boards
and 
up on the cobweb coving
so
you
bleed the rads
with special key and a rag
down
on
the
floor
where your childhood used to be


here come the memories again - clockwork sensations 
of
stumbling round Bank
booze loose and looking
for
the home train
the Borough bus
the St Pauls Starbucks
my
collar
up 
to the girls and the damp
and
hiding
in
a
pool hall 3 storeys underground
and
too
there
were 
long decaff evenings
freshly sober and newly muted
still
in
a
Simon and Garfunkle silence
watching people in a dry trance
in
the 
WC1 museum spaces
my coats and scarves
my winter armour
piled like a thrift store
on the backs
of the colourful 
plastic chairs

so boo fucking hoo i say this year
as
autumn comes in
to compost me again
and
i
make a new memory - HD  
by
farting long and mournful
on the 
back step 
4 AM
smoking the last cigarette in the world

and it is answered !
by 
some 
guy
invisible over the back fence
still awake like me
and
coughing wet and awful
on
the words other last cigarette

and it all mixes in with the foghorns
like 
the very last dinosaur cries
out 
on 
the rivers black mass
under peephole stars 
and slow moving planes
slow
blinking
wing tips
blinking
in
time
with
another sleepless trial
where
all
the
hibernating mammals
steal my slumber
obviously
unrepentant

from the guardian