IN THE SKYS GREAT BOWL

the cats rolling onto his back
legs hanging / eyes watching

showing the trap of claws & teeth

baited by thick soft belly fur

of course i fall for it

~

its midnight & the lawn is wet

stars out in the skys great bowl

& the solar storms flares  

show up as nothing here

but i stay awhile / hoping 

they might / even invisible

be rewiring my brain

BEHIND THE BRICK & CONSENSUS

noons the new midnight

dusks a ceasefire relief 

dawn games are welcome 

     

i play there

     

like canute did 

with the tide

~

our deal with the dark

        is always in play

i stretch out there 

        sweating bleach

waiting for the time out

            the short death

            the hallucinations

        

   behind the privilege bricks 

        

   

GAMEPLAY FOOTAGE NOT

poems from the bed
instagram'd on the bog

this not actual gameplay footage

its a poem

a backward walking piss 
in the whiplash midnight wind

&
a forced tear in the misty mire

from riverswithoutboundaries.com

THE ANSWER IS DISTRACTION

reaching
for the
unknowable

drunk up a tree

saturday midnight
rain that clings

alive wooden throne
escape into elements

word is-
hell of a brew 

idiot-searching for 
answer
purpose
sign
a question ?

instead-
i fell

catch him

a friend yelled twice

hit one hundred wet branches
hit solid forest floor

nothing ugly
just stood up

word is-
winded
understanding 
nodding

word is-
nothing salient
but
my success

pic from theboltonnews.co.uk

THE KIPPLE KONTROVERSY 2

man

thin

smoker

clothes uninspired

arrives across the street
4 pm or 5 pm 

or midnight

stops his old estate car outside his ma's bungalow
handbrake a witches shriek
kipple squashed tight up against dirty car windows
like drunks packed
into Tokyo trains
in the fifth rush hour of the day

office chairs

bicycles

bin liners of old clothes and old toys

he plunders pockets
he explores creases

he segregates
like 
some 
awful 
cold burglary 
like 
soft eugenics

choice pickings disappear behind bungalow doors
most is packed into more bin liners
and piled
five
high
by the bonnet of the broken-down Transit
wedged in the depths of the drive

he 
does 
this 
everyday
4 pm or 5 pm

or 
midnight

kipple coming home
i think

kipple
coming
home

from ilovethediff.com

KUBE 4

with eyes like Hubble

the 
writer
rides
days
hard
and

blows midnight around

from thecaferoyal.wordpress