IT COULD HAPPEN, IT COULD

one big reason
i enjoy painting
is the possibility
to be seen

stood with brushes
in my window
by gallery owners
out walking dogs
& be discovered
& set up
with showings & grants
the very next day

so i am keeping 

the blinds wide open

AN UNPLUGGED VIEW

sitting

in my waiting pose

or
attempting sleep

rolled like a prawn
or

standing & rocking

doing one awkward tai chi
or
beached & nothinged 

with the tv 

tuned to anything

anything at all
or 

afternoon painting
with my icy claws

& if i remember to

i imagine my scene
as if off from a distance

like i am looking in the window

& it is both less & more
of a shit show
that i expected

but i see a peace & quiet there

i miss
when
i am
plugged in

ON THE ROAD TO HOSPITAL

the red & amber lights
on the hospital lane
where
copper council brick
meets
death row bronze

blend & mate

their burnt palette 
like a painting
like a thought

not captured or frozen

only slowed

WORLD x 3

1.

world
tied
down 
beyond yelled NOs
with
no CSI allocated
to collect 
her 
blood and burrs


2.

the 
common uncontenders 
are consuming 
and deranged
clinging
to
a
hope-ticket
or 
their next lazy escape
into
a
mirage fortnight
under
spun gold 


3.

the 
inbetween army of culpable climbers
who
enable
addiction
consumption
exploitation
with 
triplicate forms and price advising 
still
painted
buttercups
in
school

from cbs.com

WRITE A POEM HE SAID

write a poem he said

wot now ? i said

yes now he said with words from this instant ether

ok i said and wrote 

coffee ring table
holds
cheap electric eye
and
a
black
board of burst words
and
my
struggle hands
hungry for rest but hungry for something else too
light with exhaustion
empty
like
balloons
they
tap
out
surroundings/room buzz/cold feet
and
the still-world painting on the window glass
thats
split
sometimes
with children and a cat and the blur of vans
and
the silence in here
is
desperate for a song
and 
everything 
will
wait

ok he said you did it

i did i said but it needs work

it does he said but thats ok

throw up into the typer at at dawn ? i said

and clean up at noon . . .

the classic typewriter page