SUCH A SCHEDULED & DEFINITVE & MOURNFUL STOPPING

those tv show ending songs & themes

that played out over the rolling credits
held a deep & impossible sadness

& an intense hope
for a last joke
in a last scene
after the last names ascended

& it didnt really matter 

if the show was good or not

& it didnt really matter
if i understood it or not
only that i could hide there 

inside its scripted cloak

it helped hold back

anxietys electricity slurry

& dooms gloaming worry
of going to school

that fucking zoo

the next poxy day

1981 & SPIES IN THE TREES

conifers were legion

gap in the fence

footholds in the wall

orange  

        pedal  

               car

~

hollow laurel
to hide inside

playing at spies

finger print kit 

dead-drops & all

photo by Jeremy Eckert on Unsplash

SITCOM EXPLORATION VOL 5

a dirty flats existential smear

& late night
  street side
  disappointment

  no cabs no cabs no cabs
  all along the adventure-walk home

  as promise beats the flesh

  in dream yesterdays sepia hue


~


i almost hallucinate

those gone gone days

& i dream dream dream

  of the booze mishaps
  in the back alley flap
  of
  the 

  winter warm smoky bar
  &

  of 

  the adventure-walks back home

  anticipation trumps act again

  in the face of blooming roses

 

photo Re-Up #5 from the Dagenham Archive

THE CHILDHOOD LANDS

i
remember
our
afternoon empire
of 
the park

an 
unfinished 
pot holed
shithole
of
blood
and
animal ignorance

our
ownership
sometimes
shattered
with
the
calamity of ambulance tears

its gates 
rusted open
then
one day gone

and another day
a great cement circle
was laid down the far end
for
no
reason
anyone
ever
knew

and there were places there
unzoned and feral

i would explore there
not allowed to be there
collecting stains

and i brim now
like a pot on a rolling boil
with an understanding
i cant put in words
for
the
me
of
me
then

always looking 
for famous five adventures
in the no mans land
of rubble 
carpet offcuts
and
burst paint tins

the adult throwaways
dirty landmarks
in
the
wild growth
of
pissy nettles
and
white
dog
shits

hoping for a wall
with a door
to
magic
and
mystery
and
escape

but even then i knew 
there was nothing like that
a n y w h e r e 

the biggest question
on the street was 
bikes ?
or on foot ?
and i wanted to be a spy
and i wanted to be a detective
and
hide behind cars
and
sneak thru alleys
so
i
did
alone and weird

kerb stones
concrete 
and tarmac
were my low down
world of worlds

and i would hang it out 
till the last second
before
rushing
breathless 
home 
for 
tea

spam and beans
and the pedos
on the bbc

from thetvroom.com

THE DAYS LOOKING

the day is the face
of a head in a hood

its like a fridge hum with eyes

its an
attentive 
unstable 
streetside
ripple 

and
maybe 
it looks off somewhere else
but
we
never
catch
it

and
maybe its no more pleased about it
than
we
are

i
see
it
as
an unblinking lizard
dancing on hot sand
making
that
noise
like a hoover does
when
its 
next door
or
one floor up
threatening the walls
or
the
whirled artex ceilings

and it sends in 
big black flies
to find us
if we lay our withering bulks down inside
in
a half-arsed attempt
to
hide
in the afternoons
dead fish 
ebb tide

from littlemissteacher.com

UN-OSTRICH