UNFILED REPORT AUDIT

i have a 

folder of 

five hundred & ten
unfinished poems

& all it does is grow

i shall
attach them
to a chestnut tree

with cable ties & a canopy

&
decide 

after lunch 

that they are roses

NO LONGER A WINTER BOY

long winter of 

morning baths &

early lunches & 

the cat sleeping  

just where i want to 

stretch out next 

~ 

a derelict bridge halfway 

over give or take

wooden handrail cratered 

by cigarettes &

the black water is 

moving but only just 

~ 

i am suit tense but 

pyjama wasted & 

waiting on the blossom & 

breeze to make the air 

air again as i am no 

longer a winter boy

KICK

i put the record on
& its bright & right there

& full of a memory

movie-sunny saturday

train to the coast

sta prest trousers

(knock-offs from behind the market

 follow the path

 of rain stained cardboard 

 & heavy bin stink

 & go up a staircase like a secret

 with the smoothest wooden handrail

 & loosest carpet runner)

& hair gel like shellac

gone fly-away by lunch

nineteen eighty something

school almost done

ABOUT A BEACH MORNING

grey haze burns off
morning slow

toy boat tries for fun
in a sandy rivulet

& the air it feels 

... unready

~

dressed for noon

mind on lunch

i wait there for the sync

in the evacuation of it

grey haze lifting

morning slow

TORPID INTERIM

they took it all apart

& 

put it back together 

in the night

while we slept 

~

but no ones 

delivered

my new lines

so i work on emptying my mug

feeling

tightly interfretted 

in the torpid interim

as the morning 

climbs up itself

to a sandwich lunch

FIRST LUNCH

well
that was
some unfocussed shit

i say to myself
shutting the laptop
& tidying my pens away

maybe itll all read better
after i slept on it

& i sleep on it
10.30 AM friday
after first lunch

A PERFECT PENCIL

let them have their prams
their toys / their politics

let them cosplay leader
in the swollen twilight

their fingers on the banks
& the button for the bombs

ive given up on the bastards
more times . . . i lost count

i only need
a perfect pencil

& enough quiet
to write a true sentence down

in this hard won bubble
of love & lunch & lexapro

baby birds learning at the feeder
cats making loaves on the lawn

LUNCH CANNOT SWALLOW

stories
in
the
bones
worth
medals
tell themselves
in the cracks & lumps
of bad heals

& my muscles call for fuel
across the limbic telegraph

joints heavy
like lead
like gravity

in the bubblegum stretch
of a masticated morning
lunch cannot swallow

MY CONTRACT WITH SNACKS

it 

is 

the avatar of great sandwiches

& my contract with snacks & salt

that carries me thru the morning

to brunch

to lunch

&

to
the
hiatus ground
of afternoons
necessary rest

the strange dreams there

doubting reality & all

4D YING YANG

 

tomorrows yesterday
is time for lunch
& a nap

& yesterdays tomorrow

is suppertime

& a bath

next weeks last week

was a coffee binge

& posey ooze

as i flatten

relativitys 

4d ying yang

with my bad clay bulk

WEDNESDAY WEDNESDAY

the workmen wear burnt orange hard hats

& black pirate beards

they force a hole into the patchwork street

with a mobile mechanised hydraulic drill

they put up red plastic fences

gone pink from the sun

they lay a nonslip yellow slab

bordered with bevelled black

over the space in the world

they are gone when i have my lunch sandwich

but back before my nap is properly underway

they returned with a proteous hot box 

its yellow streaked black with rust

they have wheelbarrows on the citroen flatbed 

& big thick rubber tubes coiled in columns

i hear them talk
i hear them phone
i see one gesturing in the truck cab

their engine ticks over over over

calm before afternoon bedlam

TWO JAB STUB POPLINGS

 

1

two losers
on the slow track

jokers in the pack

well acquainted 
with all the kings & queens

2

& the jurys out
debating reality

hunched over the meat world testimony

calling for lunch 

& overnight motels

LUNCH NEXT DOOR

 

  the 

old man next door

plans his grandkids 

easy peasy lunch

tipolatas & beans 

he says grinning

tipolatas & beans 

i would describe him 

in this moment 

as actually gleeful

harmless but for his vote

his deaf ears

casual racism

&

dog in a living room cage

photo by Justin Jason on Unsplash

GREMLINS 3

interweb
saturation
posting
crocodile
tears
branded
tissues

~

incoming reports 
static crackled
by 
unseen no-wave
schism & storm

~

it all seems so UNDONE

doesnt it ?

&
the gremlins
in
my radar
are
ordering out for lunch

with my paypal

again

by ken calvert from artstation.com

INSTAGRAM REFRACTION (CIRCUS MIRROR 2)

MUST be
re-whole
reformed  
pimped-up

   by
lunchtimes
drugged unsleep

same shit

different whips

overdrawn 
in neon plumage

payday payaway another day

&
there
They
have
Us

history might cry

if it 
wasnt
bunk

from royalholloway.ac.uk

LUNCH BAG BLUES

anyone
else

feel an odd sadness

&
an
achilles tenderness

looking
at
a
loved ones packed lunch

the night before

its there like a cat is there

its humble
&
waiting for morning

from roomcopenhagen.com

2018 OFFCUTS POPS 2

PULP POP 

she floozed
&
he
left-

jails tougher
than
it used to be
&
he knows hes 
no spring chicken
no more

&
the
third
motel room occupant 
told a bad joke
with
his last breath



STOMACH CALLING

the 
strange orchestra
of
wet
belly
sounds

lends a gravity
to
the
post lunch

afternoon
nap nap
dearth



CANT MOVE 2

shadow of a bird
on a sunlit
bedroom curtain

looks like a fighter plane 
silent & falling

when i
cant move
cant move
cant move

from skhikoku-np.co.jp

DYING ART

suicide
is
a
dying
art

announces the man to no one
wobbling and sweating and gurning

alone 
on the 
steel bridge ledge rivets

hes going
to nowhere
to nothing

hes going
to a 21st century heaven

why not why not

or to 
hospital and inquisition

he is
ecstatic and free and terrified

wearing his last shoes
and his clever pun

smug that he packed 
a lunch for himself

HEARTPUMPS

are
you

dragging it out 
in a botox blank
of long lunches
&
lively lies

or hanging on 
for weds rollover lottery draw

pushing & pushing 
the wall away

~

are you

in
a
weird rush
to
bury your heartpumps 
  under
  that
  new
  laid
  plastic turf

your head down 
get it done & dusted

live - check
 die - check

get it done & dusted

eulogise me already
& scatter me
where i said

~

even polyester flowers fade 
on the whiteline laminate graves

&
our aftermath 
is personal kipple
suddenly anonymous

&
sluggishly dispersed
in
a
strange upbeat cleansing 
emotional
social 
chore

pic from ebay.co.uk

O YOU STREET MAMMAL YOU

o you street mammal you

of rigorous toy
and
of rigorous tit

you hitch velcro fastened pig skin
in wasted genius paws

you hang 
a nylon strip neckwise
and pointing
d
o
w
n
to the shame mistake

and go out that way

an ordinary murder
l homme flavoured fodder

into
the 
byzantine turnstiles

~

you meat tower you
uncured on
calf leather shoes

o you mammal you
streetside in another animals
repurposed hooves
to scuff along broadway
in the tease breeze of payday

you display such epic lack
flush with your guff 
and 

g  o  n  e 

with stuff

~

o you night mammal you
fermenting gallons
in
your
muffined gas bag

o you mammal
you flannel
you dishcloth
you tea towel and pocket watch

kept on the dresser
for the soldier who never
came
   k
  c
 a
b
from the mud o mud o mud
of the trench o clock everydays
that a red flower will do

~

come out

you city monkey 
you cutlery beast

it must be so thoroughly dark in there

you       t  h  r 
hide    n          o
your   u              w
                       n 
                       turds
in the stone underground

come real size
come for lunch
stay for the weekend
naked

naked
like when you sleep

~

like when you sleep
plastic tags on the sideboard
and
blown of mind

blown of mind
o you mindless mammal you

you collapse and heave 
in 
brushed cotton-picked cotton

broadcasting
in the radius
with the si
           i
            i
             ighs and snores

half calling unnames in the dark

of the timeout death 
of the sleeping song

from pinterest