THEREFORE I CAN

the creosote
& the petrol

the varnish

& tarmacadam

the neighbours skunk

on the weekday wind

& the mucking-out-the-stables earth-funk

of
the
animal
self

i smell 

yes

i smell

therefore i can 

CARS

     danger strapped  in metal mules
  lame creeping  cripple crawling  in petrol clogs
    on a ten lane black top  of trodden tar 
       in a  sluggish gutter 
         an  aimless breakwater eb
      jammed  only floating forward
        like the  woolwich ferry
     in a panic heavy  thick syrup  dream

      unclean ungreen  road grime buffed
       and waxed  into a  weekend watery sheen

     in legion  and dementia
         cookie cutter  copycat hatchbacks
        drive into dusks  polluted magenta

           counting  heart attacks
             and euphemisms
            like a  golf score
       everyone  hopefully broadcasting
        like a plea  like a converts prayer
         that they have  a baby on board
                 or a  dog
   or a  limited edition  bobble head  darth vader

from telegraph.co.uk

POETS ! 2

poets !

do you mow that lawn ?
or
lay on it
and 
wallow weakly in its 
tiny
forests
wondering
if
you
can face the metallic smell and cobwebs
of
the
dark
inhabited
shed 
where the mower - LEVIATHAN - waits dusty and heavy ?

do you
just lay abandoned in its tall wands
and
fuzzball meadows
watching
its
citizens
pace and parade
and
try to forget
the
angry row the mower would yell ?

if it would start anyway . . .

and wheres the grass catcher ?

and the petrol can ?

and
who
are
you
anyway
to cull this lush microcosm 
this
thick
gifted
apron - natures deep pile home ?

dont worry about it -
it
will
get
mowed
another day
when
your
head
is squarer
and
the
chaos
needs a fight