HONEY ROASTED

& i do this here in the mornings
log in / clock in / report for duty
& trawl my notes
& my mind
& my memories 

& hiccupping intention

& the stumbling dance is on
in this early buffet 

of whimsy & effort

& needy blim of creation

till the washing machine
sings its electric finishing tune
& i get into the cheap cuts

of the buffering day
sliced thin but honey roasted

A PARKSIDE FRAGPOP

the wind

wild with room

madly shakes 

the antenna trees

& out the sun slides

in a hiatus of birds

gifting dull shadows

pop art clarity again 

~

perennial memories include -

c&a ski jackets

&

a homemade bow

clouds like chefs hats

in

the stoned dome of sky 

CONSISTENTLY PUNCTUAL FESTIVAL MEMORIES

wood smoke / hills of bass

the memories remember themselves

an automatic excavation 

of a layer cake of times

~

heroic turds / a drawstring baggie

& none of it fades

just relentlessly consistently punctual

& pungent

& lurid

& with a colourscape of rot

BLUE LIGHT WEEKEND (A MULTIPLE CHOICE POP)

my 

memories

are vignetted 

with encroaching brown

like 

a; park bench dusk

b; cataract smears

c; a dirty protest

or

d; the smoke damaged

   field trip

   polaroids

   we found in the geography room

   after all the school arson

   that blue light weekend

MORNING REPORT 105

autumn memories

are layered up in me

like an onion

& the late sun

like knives

will dice it

into an album 

of dusk cafes

& numb commutes

MOTEL OF THE MIND

like on magnetic tape

the flock wallpapers 

delicate fibres
recorded the essence & lexicon

of guests long checked out

~

& these ghosts & echoes 

go about their days
in a looping playback
of overlapping samples

forever overbooking

me with memories

in the motel of the mind

WINTER & THE CUP OF YEARS

running late
winter calls collect
&
the cold sun
so low
bites weakly

heavy with
plagiarised
melancholy

& 

memories steeped
in
the
cup
of
years

DISARRAY THAT WAS PERFECT

& 

the faces
all gone
that hover there / loom there

like over my shoulder

& still i hear their voices . . .

& so many times we were high 

around a kitchen table

in a disarray  

that was perfect

~

well that is all 

just memories & stuff 

some regular look-back lemonade

a busy fizz

of fond sentiment

always fresh like just opened

~

picture emi cassette tapes 

b a l a n c e d 

on red stripe ring-pull cans

cornershop dinners in a skin-up mess

& sun blims hazy slow glow 

off the drinking glasses

at the end of afternoons

as long long long

as they then were

ROUND THE SUN AGAIN

the crossroads is closed

i sit there

seems like forever

~

an air horn 

& 

a flashbang

announce
that 

we 

swung round the sun again

~

i attempt sleep 

but messages arrive 

messages from the past

they cling to their own meaning

& their own memories

~

waters rising 

grounds sinking

jakarta went to borneo

~

i whip my failing bacon

lest it diffuse into theory 

& those old photos
they caught the child

still there
inside my tree growth rings

MORNING FLASH POPS

teeth coated thick
head stutter buffering

one hundred ideas fight for form
in the overlapped unachievable venn

i been awake 4 minutes-

existential crisis on the downlow 
is heavy breakfast

the day is right there
obvious but unknowable

resigned & sighing & demanding


~


moon surface heat rash
dirty white cats grey feet

i water the clay at 6 AM

hazmat in a shopping bag
for back step photoshoot

i am so full of memories
i am like a bursting child


~


at school

well i was shocked
at how keen the kids were

teacher asks a question
& these short arms shoot up
with a loud gulp of sucked air
& these arms are supported by the other arm
wrapped past the armpit to the back shoulder

they were DESPERATE 
in one hundred ways
waving those meat flags

well i knew then
i was outside 

from tex.stachexchange.com

FESTIVAL POP

EARLY DARK

not afraid exactly
but wary
of this early darkness
and
its 
blinkered boldness 
its
cocktail fog of memories
so
i
go
out
into
its half-world / its solid reduction
pen clamped in my teeth
and
walk
there
in its sameness
alone

 darkness by mikkolagerstedt from deviantart.com

PUSH TODAY

englands famous dishwater skies 
cling 
to stubborn roofs repeating tiles
and 
to blocked forgotten relic chimneys
and 
to superseded satellite dishes still snobbish
and 
to spindly self conscious tv antennas open metal ribs
and 
theres 
no shadow or definition and no depth or drama
and
almost almost almost no time

somehow we are stuck in dawns disappointing grey forever
and 
its silent fallout of thin endless gutless rain

thats 21C toxic !

and 
peels away the paint from the parked big-arse cars 

and 
all the memories of other gone and nowhere days
must queue and wait and twiddle their useless thumbs
because
today the world wont move at all
no
matter
how
hard
you 
live it and push

 

charing cross bridge, overcast weather, claude monet

AUTUMN AGAIN

the 
smells again
now 
its autumn again
like 
the oven again
the 
black 
metal 
warming 
up
and the heating again
those 
old 
pipe clicks
and the dead afternoon again
the 
empty 
air
under a dead mouse sky
and the memories again
all 
the 
army coats 
i 
wore
and the sudden evenings again
falling 
dark
like
armageddon hugs
on 
college commute trains
and 
the home car drones again
to
scald hot taps
and
ice tile floors
and
the
long long nights again
to
the
lazy ink smudge dawn