POSSIBLE REPOEM

i must have expressed before

in the spill of pub table ash

corralled by spent matches

maybe

or 

on a paperbacks flyleaves 

left in a green field

i thought was a cold steel rail

how i cant tell 

zen from madness 

or 

denial from a medical high

& how the rub & nub & oomph of it

is if it really matters

but i am sure of this -

i still find it poem

to difficult an end well

FRAGPOP DUMP

#113

madness is

that breeze
on your face

open bathroom window 2.30 AM

dissolution
coming out the grout


#109

pale organs
ride the day cart

to ebony dusk
& its ivory lights


#101

when you have finished
with your assumptions

let me tell you
i was once
almost
a real boy

FRAGPOP #111

 

oh the madness of a pill

&
the
madness
without

~

race car
foot-down
thrashing
but up on bricks

or 

overstretched sandwich cellophane

YEAH WELL I HATE YOU

all 

the 

madness & horror

& bad skullfuckery

would make sense

could make sense

if god would show up
& say

yeah well i hate you

but he
cant even
do that

I VIDDY EURO NOIR AGAIN

 

& i believe in knitwear 

& i believe in obsession

again 

they miss 

their kids 

school show

~

gerbil in the office drawer

stress for supper

righteously riding ripples

of  

old  

trauma

glasscom in their hands

BABY JOHANSEN & THE MADNESS

papa ?

yes son ?

you know back then ?

back when son ?

back in the day
when the madness was ordinary ?

... yes ... i do

you do remember ?
well i miss that
do you miss that too ?

... yes ... i do

the madness these days papa
well its just CRAZY !

youre not wrong baby johansen
youre not wrong

well what do we papa ?

write it down son
write it down

but whats the point in that papa ?

... well ... cos im not gonna

ok then papa

& fetch me my fixings too
then come look at this guy i found online
look at the state of him
& hes seven foot tall !

from thumbpress.com

PICASA MADRIGALS, MIGHTY SEA & NIGHT STARS

SPACE POPS

    SPACE WALK POP

     back then     up there
                walking in space

  gagarin 
   said -

 i feel excellent
 i can see the clouds
   and the sea


    EVIL SUITS

 i feel the satellites looking down

    i
  feel
   the  evil  suits
            planning
           white  male  madness
               downtown 

       i smell
  discarded  science 
          put out
        in the back alley bin


    TV CATTLE

      we
       are
  fair weather cattle

    mooing 
       at 
   our 
        glass opium moon


    GROUNDED

       the sky is pale
     i hope she is not ill

 pebbles cast
            long shadows
      like they are kings

   and a fat man
     walking in the park
 places his dogs compostible shit
    in a forever plastic bag
         and
      properly
          he
       puts it 
   in the correct supplied bin


    LAND BASED

   in a suburban bungalow bubble
       complicit
         consuming
       dreaming
     living
       loving
          feeding

 and thinking
      that  
        just 
        thinking of justice
      dont bring it on

 

from yuri-gagarin.com

NIGHT KNOWS MY NAME

  the outdoor midnight
 of  devil soup and sky 
          misses me
  like i was 
       its  red right hand

 hiding out loud in church silence
  all the houses looking toy small
    we  had  imprinted

     i left  something there

  left  a part of me there

    the part of me
  that always  wore denim
   a  safety pin 
     in my wallet

 i crack the bedtime window now
      to still smell 
    its shadow and size
        its monochrome buffet 

      and so its not alone
    with  the backfence madness
       and wasted confessions
            we   shared

from bbc.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

BUSHES AND THREE FRIENDS

the bushes

they
dont
try
to sell me 
anything at all

~

the rubbish trucks
on friday morning
sing a dinosaur song
of
man
and
machine

~

the tide mark
on
the bath tub
is
some concrete proof
some surprise relief
that
i
am
made 
of 
something

~

ordinary madness
comes
up
with
the
sun
but wont leave at dusk

no mind what assassinated sewage
passes
for
tv
and
downtime

from pnglmg.com

TRUTH / NEWS / FAGS TRILOGY

1.

dont smoke
dont smoke
dont smoke the tabloid crack

dont smoke
dont smoke
dont smoke the broadsheet freebase

smoke fags
  smoke fags
    smoke fags - if you cant stop
   
    they
    are
    your
    best 
    fair weather friends

    existential moments
    with
    truth
    on
    the
    box


2.

think binge 
in your own tiny mind
if you can be bothered

pick and choose from the river of facts
or
listen to your kfc guts 
for
instinct
hints
about the milky flow

or let it all be

leave
the man-made weather in its snowglobe
on
your
folks
mantelpiece

look deep in it
once a month
and
wonder
how
and 
why


3.

follow the money
follow the money
chase the cash 
for
truth and reason

if nothing comes clear
then
you
are
in
the realms of madness

the clown-smile land
of bad taxidermy

and what of questions then ?

from onyxtruth.com

DEATH IN CHELSEA

getting out at at Sloane Square 
into a handbag convention
i am asked by a red trim butler 
or a weekend beefeater 
or something else 
smart and subservient
if
i
need help sir

i tell her she cant help me - 
my mind is screaming 
POSHICIDE!

fixie Charge Plugs are D-locked in clots
and classic SL's cruise insolently
in fire engine red
new TT's and shining A5's
rev church quiet showroom fresh
and long nose ladies prowl in pairs 
in plastic Earhart shades
and thin patterned shawls 
blow stylishly sideways 
in movie wind machines
and times font signs 
say 4 shirts 200 pounds
and art-modern shops hold one dress 
in a vacuum and three colours
and a lonely manikin 
posing at the till
gazes out from perfection for help
and afternoon drinkers 
sip short coloured cocktails 
sat in enormous window thrones
with fashionably flaking gold gilt
and the Kings Road Macdonalds 
of widescreens and sofas
has hanging baskets of blooms 
above the high wide porch
and the Pret is run 
by a rom-com casting agent
and has steel mirrored stairs 
to steel mirrored bathrooms
and would a quick handful 
of painless poisonings 
really matter at all ?

i'm only in this fuckburg
to see a Royal Brompton professor 
about my madness anyway

so
thats
a
good
cover
right
there