MISFIT CAFE MORNING

the misfit cafe morning

7 AM gentle light & bacon

& us - our strange meat

is squashed & stretched 

into silhouettes similar 

to rejected supermarket fruit
 

& the floor & the tables & the plants

& our canes & our rollers & our braces
are all shaped from

the same resinous 

oil industry

by-product goo

& when a regular joe comes in

with wifi token & saturday paper

& sees two tons of neck beard

& 47 yards of wheelchair rubber
their hesitation is only noted

in the misfit cafe morning

7 AM 

gentle light 

& bacon

OVERHEARD IN MY NOTEBOOK

the whole Unfinished School thing

[he says 

 half on the nod

 in his retirement chair]

was an happenstance creation

& little to do with minimalism

but about running with the muse  

[he makes finger pistols

 aiming nowhere particular]

think of it as a tactical reload

& a deadly allergy to the baroque

~

ossuary
ossuary
meat ossuary

notebook on my buffed canvas knee

the colour the woods 

look at night
in the light 

of mad yellow flames

QUESTIONS IN THE MARGINS

could i 

find the world
this jagged & mad & mistaken & wild

if 

i 

was
an integrated

& functional 

meat & cog of it 

~

if
the
past
is a turd in the bin

then christ

am i some faecal weirdo

for cataloguing 

such refuse

in my field reports 

PUT LITTLE TRUST IN TOMORROW

whoever said
seize the day
must have been high

it comes at you like a ramrod
like a haymaker of light
like a newspaper taxi ramraid
thru a pawn shop window

youd need hands
like andre the giant
or a glove
like thanos

not my mere mortal mitts

of meds & meat & mistakes

REBAR

& love
is the rebar

in the meat & jelly gumbo

pressure cooked

in the gone gods
ghost written wake

BODY HOGAKU DREAM

i
had

a
dream
about
my
anus
being like the opening
of a drawstring bag

puckered loose rim

& a meaty cord

like an umbilical

~

then

i 

am

at a sailing school
&

today is non-jamming hitches

FRAGPOP #87

 

& now i am babbling

subtracted & burgled
under the mindburn

of restaurant lights

& inside is meat love
& sad love
& love love
& analgesics fermenting
in the summer birthday sun

BLESSING ON THE LEDGE

its all kill kill kill

out there 

on the earths red meadows 

& behind the meat of hills

but

remember
all the times
we didnt nuke ourselves ?

slim comfort 

in marigolds

punk blessings 

on the ledge

HAIKU TWO

organs watered

i am careful with the sun

summer river mood


~


the daily machine

is rust & meds & meat &

grit got in the oil

VAN MANS VAN DOOR SLAM

the morning is quiet
but for the mad birds
meat techno

the cars make their noises

in the crater 

in the road

& the van mans 

van door slam

triggers 

anxious

dogs

SHINY HANDLE OF PRE-PLASTIC RESIN

'Man eats meat, and he grows fur.' 

Vasily Grossman



i fall open
like a book
at its well read 

& favourite pages

or i try to . . .

but everything flows 

& i give myself up

to the noise & the not

to the forever & the never

or i try to . . .

& zen nihilism reaches into the drawer

for a hand-me-down no-name kitchen knife

with a shiny handle of pre-plastic resin

&

slices my good ham thin

in a porterhouse dream

or it tries to . . .

NOSTALGIA DEAD ENDED FOR THE STASIS MEAT

 

& 

the air freshener 

in the hall outlet

smells of . . . 

. . . nostalgia

smells of when i smelt that smell

from the hall outlet 

another time 

before

DUSK GONE CINNAMON

grief

the gravedigger said
under a dusk gone cinnamon

with sudanese sand

is the alarm bell
of homeless love

we loose it

dont we ?

when the meats gone

RAINING ON THE MEAT TRAIL

i dreamed again
i left a meat trail
in all the clinic bins

'look' the dr said
'you need money
& i need information'

& when i wake
i feel meatless
all things impossible


~


& the rain was small
was nice & fine & soft
was chilled pin pricks

outside the chemist

11 AM

anything possible

TOIL IN THE DISCONNECT

steel fish
on the
grey top

head upstream
to feed
to breed

to toil in the disconnect

meat destiny outsourced 

in evolved surrender

AIR TRAVEL OFF-CUT POPS

on a plane
it reminds me of being on a plane

& nothing else

~

i am between time
citizen of the sky
temporal & dulled

right documents / exported soul

~

with the white noise

& 

the death of expectation

well i become 

a cipher greeting dusk 

meat pondering the dawn

~

no movie any good
pills essential
nicotine in any other forms . . .

& sometimes snuff had to do

that went down well with the stewards

MORE OR LESS

 

meat ritual
on the rolling rock

under
a
moon
eye

for three score & ten

more or less

photo by Adi Ulici on Unsplash

SO WHAT REDUX

no one walks into an alley 

like this alley

not here 
not tonight

not in this part of town

sky forbids stars

traffic is hushed

well lit here but so what ?

rot spreads

~

painted words on cement wall

harsh & illiterate

faded & true

but so what ?

mutants & sheep

& under my boots ? 

the busted plastic corners

of a busted music cassette

~

magnetic tape 
giddy

sleek

brown

un-spools into the shape of wind

that takes me back 
oh yes 

but so what ?

theyre coming back too

~

got a length of pipe 

might be lead

like in cluedo
who knows ?

its all i need

metal gets it done

smoke butt after butt

perfect moreish poison

wait

just drag it out

like we all do

~

yesterdays papers
panic flapping & trapped 
caught between the wind & a hard place

obits make the front page everyday

& i feel like 
we say goodbye

to the 20th C day by bastard day

but so what ?

thin sliced meat

~

throw my butt like i hate it

edge my boots 
into 
the 
dirty white light

feels like a movie

& vice versa

but so what ?

its all spam

in the meat world

photo Reaching from the Dagenham Archive

DELIRIUM TAPAS VOL6

the empty lands
or so they very very seem

blunted tile
blind ceramic

the awful plumbing wires

the turf bark & meat

empty
empty 

lands


~


theres reflections to fill it
to paint time & change it

if we update & defrag 

between loving blinks

& the past
that cosy ghoul
is gone in truth

but for in our drawn puddle glow

DELIRIUM TAPAS VOL5

time packs meat on

stretches us thin

hollowed & guilty now

sluggish & slow & low

foot passengers now

on the secret skerry ferries 

queuing in the blued mire

where once 

our innocence
used to burst
&
play


~


a fast decade
two slim years
green months
red weeks
grey-beige arsehole days
two hours
one
soon none

then delirium minutes

of utter focus

or not

thats life in a nut

what will you paint on its shell ?

& when ?