ABOUT A TSHIRT

'daddys
 got his
 big boy
 knickers on'

rages the twisted dude in the awful film

but thats no matter

anyway as

i am absorbed
by this tshirt 

i dug out

from long ago & musty stasis

its on my lap now

& i finger its guts

it is hard-packed 

with drinking ghosts 

& smells of the silt

of an old depression

OFFCUT POSEY No 357

in impromptu affirmation
on the patchwork lawn
of straw & sod
& the guts of ruptured plums

i announce -

i believe in dirt
  & its weeds & leaves
    & the fingerprint bark 

      of the trees

& then i salute
an airmans salute
for the concrete cairns i built
over the graves in the clay

IN RETROSPECT IT LOOKED LIKE THE DONNIE DARKO RABBIT

way over the other side
of 
the
townside
dogwalk
forest

me & him
adventuring almost
in the
sumptuous gnatty green

my knife 
a better one
than his

& 
under a 
vim-scorch 
bleach sun

we found a skull

~

wedged in branches
the wrong way round

like a warning
like a trophy
like evidence

upper mandible 
pointing skyward

looks like horns with teeth

felt real fear
hot oil guts

warm 
daylight 
leafshine
was never so 
bone marrow cold

after school
198?

~

was prob a sheeps

tailored
&
manipulated

he prob put it there

tailoring
&
manipulating

cos my knife
was a better one
than his ?

him or his mad brother

one of them

pair of forest-scout cunts

from skullsite.co.uk

SPECIAL DIETARY NEEDS

guts
of
the
world
shifting

( guessing here )

angry wearing cement
burnt thru the bonnet
by chemical sanitation

soon
move
her
massive
mighty
bowels

( my opinion )

her self defence pepper spray
vs
our concrete underground car stack
equals
last youtube star

~

us-
too stuffed 
to
notice

too starving
to care

( every shade in between )

suffer a sad salad
for
a
day
atop a hill of bones

all of you

( except for 
  special dietary needs
  or religious holiday )

~

theres plastic clots
under the sunshine rug

our bitten mother
tied and 
whipped and 
wild and

she would knocks us down
for the hungry homeless animals

their silent worship wins

from foodbeast.com

OFFCUT POPS

1.

the sci-fi noise
in the space-age bathroom
is
only
my
ancient
guts


2.

the blinds are open
so i write quickly
as
soon
it
will
suddenly
be
dark


3.

  without 
  drugs
i became horribly aware
of the PHYSICAL FACT
of
the
earths-solid-girth
  pressing 
  upwards 
  against my boots


4.

  no 
  matter 
where the Grim Fuckers
washed up in adulthood
as
children
they
all
painted
autumn
scenes

from kidactivities.net

KID WISDOM

browsing books
stacked between stairs
i mind-touch them
i instinct-weigh them

by spines
and colours
and names
and font

when a ten year old 
says to me
        YOU WRITE POETRY DONT YOU ?
i nod / say
        BUT I DONT READ IT MUCH
he says
        YOU SHOULD THO SHOULDNT YOU ?

so today i take 
a doorstep 
of Harold Norse
to the white room
with my failing guts

when i come out
i have left 
my trousers behind
and i write 6 poems
of which this is one 

 from acousticlevitation.org

ON PURPOSE

once upon a time
a long long time ago
on
a
nowhere street corner
of
short garden walls and cropped lawns
a
much younger me
locked
away
all
his 
confused and conflicting emotions 
deep deep deep inside
his
skinny boy guts
and
felt
a
wonderful
short
term
buzz
of
control and freedom

 from sikhanonymous.wordpress.com

 

247 NOISE ASYLUM

it takes a level of guts
to
get your meat sack 
up
from
the warm cotton womb
and
claim
the
day / accept the excuses it gives
when
from
the
alarm yell and the dreams end
its
distraction 101 / 247 noise asylum

 

 from noisecontrol.com

THE SOFT MACHINES INFINITE DINNER

gin or whisky
beer or wine

fresh air and kale
green tea 
and 
100 
cigarettes

twiglet sandwiches
or
lard cake

its
all
from
the
same
buffet

bad fuel
or
good fuel
we
wrap
ourselves
around 
it
like
sausage
skins

we all only got what our gut has got
allergies
leaks
and
earthquake
rumble-gurgles
as
it
all
turns
to
shit inside

from flickriver.com

LOADED

i been thinking

i need to have a word

stop by the office

got a minute

ask you something seriously

all
stab
my
heart and guts
with
ice knives of fire

like

the yell-ring of the telephone . . .