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

COMPACT POPLINGS

A1

i would gibber moonward

mind hormone-fooled
to its most free flow

those midnight meadow laughter days

young & under stars



B3

the day has a mood on
clouds cross the sun

we do too it seems

collision nerves in the basted belly
unhorse me metaphorically

drama is a black black buzz



C1

i hold the past
like a dreamer

im not the only one

no white piano
just home vids to never watch

i hold the past
like a dreamer

& our hands touch anxious there

photo Dream Station No 4 from the Dagenham Archive

UNSPECIAL NOFLAKE

my razor edge mood
tumble falls with
the 
suns drunk pm lurch

biology whiplash
genetically
asymmetrical

~

these days
these days 
are built
of rough hewn chunks
of night blown teasers

& thats 
not so much poetry
as 
natural fact

like repeating limestone

~

& tho a pale smile
does comes 
with the
shadow moon

i feel mortal
&
i feel mass produced

an unspecial noflake
in
the
thin politic rain

a consuming unit
in
the 
compassion drought 

a pre-cinder
in 
the earth wind 
on fire

from youtube.com

STREETSIDE GUMBO

    i am
streetside 

strolling under the skys boots

i see a hedge
i think thats green
see cement
think that used to be a hedge

and who are these people
out
in the naked day ?
i think shouldnt they be working 
and the streets my vacant river ?

theres old men in beige sepia
like dressed for the dirt of the grave
i am in shades of prison greys
a smudge of newsprint / a social comment
vague
and
changeable
about
it
all

theres an alley
i think wheres my alley ?
i got block paving
the rain runs from
and a lush triangle of yard

and the sky is like its a hole now
fallen open above me
unsafe like a danehole
and
i worry now
that 
i might grow wings

the ground is locked
all entrances disguised
with
root vegetable distractions
the daft unbearable light of flowers
and
immovable solid moods

from yellowad.co.uk

  

SHOTGUN BLAST NEXT TO MY EAR (A P.I. PULP POP)

  it 
came after
gone dames
played the
wrong games
and
the
cold
rain that fell
fell in a black mood
as
if
it
knew it would be ice by morning

  and 
i listened to my jazz
in
mono

from daily scene.com

SUBTLE MORPHS

how
a
face
can
be
so
different
one day to the next
in
different light
and
different mood
and 
with a pound or two dropped 
or healthily gained
and
with
a
good
evening
behind it
and
a
buzz
in
the
brain back pocket
of
good words meant and said
and
safety
like
a
force
field
around glowing vitamin hair

every apple has a face by stancatastrophe