ON WONDERING WHERE THE GOALPOSTS EVEN ARE

it is 

hard to
carry on
with this writing game
when i could fall face down 

all over the floor instead

& cling to the edges of the rug
swamped by the useless raving

of all the trying things

& the iron & blue & dusty jewel

that is our constant moon 

is gradually backing away

& i cant blame them

~

& on the tightrope

over the panic net 

i am trying not to happen at all

& trying to be like bracken or moss

like deadfall or a railway sleeper

but i do get up again

for my meatsock needs

 

& i see a bird in the garden
all the colours of oil

& i get on with it again

with writing this down

THE HEADY SMELL OF GLOSSY PLASTIC

was a flash of 

the essence of something

lasting as long as a spark would

ESP cologne  

barely nebulous  

in the living room air

& it was located

at my best guess

just east of the sofa

where the rug delineates

the international waters

of coffee table island

~

it delivered 

like scheduled mail

the heady smell of glossy plastic

of an action figures inky black legs 

& the sliver of sunlight 

silver white 

on a saturday morning staircase

& the momentary lightness 

of the absence of tension

like only a new toy could mask

THAN YOU

someone
younger
dies
& its like the rug been
pulled out from under
& theres no floorboards there

someone
older
dies
& its like the roof comes off
& the ceilings gone
& all the sky gets in

& youre left
naked in space
thinking what the fuck

CEMETERY DRINKING 3

the moon
  a bleach spot stain
  on the cloud rug

headstones
  clenched askew
  like old man knuckles

the dead
  gone to ground
  no more waiting to do

the darkness
  smudged me indistinct
  under combover trees
  & wrought iron arrows
  & hallowed dirt
  fed booze revelation
  in the meaning dearth

come dawn
  squirrels beat birds
  to dew heavy crumbs

WIKIHOW, A PILL PACK POP

 

MEAT DOWNLOAD

 

jagged & drunk

we had fondue
on the balcony

& watched 

a hundred trains 

roll into waterloo

in an autumn 

that was winter 

too soon

~

& later 

stretched out 

on the living room rug

i watched 

upside-down 

out of the window

at the  h - y - p - h - e - n  flow
of planes 

into heathrow

counting my hangover 

  d

  o

  w

  n

THE GAFFER TAPE OF HONESTY

time was
id drawn lines in my head

walls built by a child
from crumbling crayon

heavily plastered 
in the teenage trenches
of rough peer wars

reinforced
with the bullshit girders of adult steel
in
the
cash-on-a-friday pay days

( and if the decoration analogy
  is clumsy and pushed too far
  then
  its
  enough
  to
  say . . . )

id boxed everything in
everything nailed down

but id cross these lines
when i drank
and it was dark
and everything was mad
and tomorrow
was 
a
myth
away

patrolling these borders
in excellent inebriation
they
appeared
only 
like spiders webs
outlined in dew
and
spun
across
the
pub bog doorway

the forbidden was tempting
and id lift something
brazen and easy 

i was a sneak thief 
working in his own pockets 

and id blurt it out . . .

and no one noticed anything
mighty was happening at all

but in the morning
i
would
be
locked
in
a
journey of awful remembrance 
berating myself
down a black whirlpool
in
the
awful daylight
of
the
another bus commute 

but tho time patched 
time eroded too 

and it all collapsed like wet card

the walls a ramshackle cowboy build after all

and
i
was
free
to
breakdown on the rug
wailing into the phone
a dinner i didnt want forgotten and burnt
in
the
dirty dish kitchen

then it was the challenging task
of mending a busted tool box
with
busted 
tools

i used the gaffer tape of honesty
of lobotomised openness
of fm cliche love
and
i
let
the
busted
be

from mindyourdirt.com

BUKOWSKI CALLED THEM GLASS PEOPLE (TV AND THE RUG)

bukowski 
called 
them 
glass people 

( private helicopter over golden paris )

i 
say
theyre
sealed-in 
stop-outs
corporate shills deep in a lying jag

( fantasy rebellion of a runaway beach bride )

they transmit simple code
in purchased dots of light
emoting in the plywood spaces  
somehow forever themselves 

( antique motorcycle in a £15 million mews )

their forever blue glow
shadows the living room rug
into a colourised moonscape
where the crumbs
rear like mountains 
and cat hair 
frets like wire in the wind

( dandy hipsters catwalk gentrified pavement )

the colourised moonscape
is terraformed frequently 
sucked up and gone by the free trial handhelds
moon 
unit 
snout

( cool nerds city square flash mob ) 

california invented the idea of lifestyle
some one said on tv the other day
he
was
a
glass
person
a sealed-in stop-out
being clever for treats

( western mysticism successfully exported )

and the gardener isnt coming
cos it rained out there today
all the things are heavy and wet
and i am relieved like a god is relieved
when all the bloody sacrifice stops 

i been up forever anyway
up on the living room rug forever

( fat builders dance-off with the cut-offs )

i hear iggy pop when i try to sleep

welcoming his chinese rug
or 
belinda carlisles heaven delusion

( all the good bits of a film 
  action turns to love / morality dead on halfway )

theres a man out the front window
in striped joggers 
a colourless shapeless top
hes walking a small dog 
invisible behind the wall
and the red berry bush 
busy with counterfeit bees
and hes stopped 
and hes staring up intently
and when he walks on 
he has to stop again
look back again
up again
the small dog worrying a taut lead
invisible behind the wall
and the red berry bush 
busy with counterfeit bees

( a horse runs thru nostalgic potted domestic history )

i go to look when hes gone
go out there 
look over and up
i see only roof tiles 
the metal ribs of the tv sky
and a grey heft of dishwater space

( people do their shopping
  with more / less money than you )

now movie stars
stars of the silver screen
the old school king cool
well theyre bonafide legends 
marketed that way 

good for selling watches
and tiny bottles of smell

( the modern polymath drives an electric blue hatchback )

i miss steve mcqueen 
and his square monaco
like penny-back-bottles
i miss larry olivier 
plugging polaroids
like a hang nail
i played with 
in the insomnia loom

( shop here says the ad
  we will let you leave with some change in your hip pocket )

tell larry i got the camera 
i say to the cat 
next time you talk to the dead
and apologise to steve
i
cant
afford
a
monaco
in these tight lean ebay days

from youtube.com

THREE POPS

HUGS

a
hug

a solid human hold

is
the
best
essential
medicine
in these touch screen
days

science agrees

late as usual

and
im
like
duh


DAYS

days are long

so long

birds
are
black flicks of a nib
against
a
grey nothing sky



RUG

the glass people
are tanned
with evened white teeth

they climb out the sitcom
with
their
vivid lives

and gasp for air
on
the flat reality
of
a
hardwearing rug

from pinterest