POSSIBLE REPOEM

i must have expressed before

in the spill of pub table ash

corralled by spent matches

maybe

or 

on a paperbacks flyleaves 

left in a green field

i thought was a cold steel rail

how i cant tell 

zen from madness 

or 

denial from a medical high

& how the rub & nub & oomph of it

is if it really matters

but i am sure of this -

i still find it poem

to difficult an end well

THERES ALWAYS A PIANO OUTSIDE IN WAR MOVIES

they build ruins on purpose

& rub in all the dirt

& place a dusty chair

in a corner just so

they make a child cry

in a confused soldiers arms

& he pretends to die

on a piano they wheeled outside

theres always a piano 

they wheeled outside

its bullet pinged

discordant keys

emoting too heavy

in the rain machine pour

FAR FROM THE GRABBING CROWD (SATURDAY NIGHT)

8 pm drive-thru

is

an

oasis in the industrial night

and

we’re queuing together for our supper

and

we make our noises

and

our sounds

and

they matter

and

are our song

and

this small car

we

bought together

plays

Radio 2 and Queen

and

drives us back home

to

stroke the old and dusty cat

who’s

tears have dried

into

crust on his nose

and

we

eat

our

fried chicken from its boxes

home

alone

on

the

sitting room rug

far

from

the grabbing crowd

 from brand.eating.com