THIS IS YOUR LIFE

the past posts pics
of places & people

every panopticon dawn

straight into my brains rusted pan

just like somebody dropped

that red tv show scrapbook

& it lays open on the floor

by my white plastic dosettes

~

then i am compelled

to always run thru
what i can remember

of the person

or the place

there exposed

like i got 

an hud readout
on my cyborg retina

& always i think

i have detailed files

like arnie said 

in that sequel

SAD AS A PHOTOGRAPH

the morning is scratched on glass
&
has an acid poignancy

sad as a photograph
of a child
in the sun

~

sellotape marks like rust
on its scissor-wonk edges

fountain pen cursive
a circa on its back

KITCHEN POP, A PILL PACK POP

 

WHERE HOUSES LATER WOULD BE, A CHILDHOOD POP

the park entrance gates 

were rusted open forever
& a rough path of half-bricks 

of rubble & sunken carpet 
led
the
way
down
between backyard side fences
into a dogshit field of dangerous iron

we lobbed dirt like grenades
over the fence into a garage forecourt
at a car there / bonnet up / jacked up
& the man working there / radio on pop

like he wouldnt see us
like he wouldnt know
like we were hidden
like spies on tv

he yelled i know where you live
& we scarpered shouting leg it

into the nothing land
where houses
later
would be

MANHANDLING RUST

optimism
got in somehow

it has a chemical glow
&
makes for an unusual day

~

i was in the garage

manhandling rust

when sunlight got in

the cement slab holes

& lit the spiderwebs up

something holy

POP SALAD VOL2

i lose myself
in the stories
in the glass

they power up my downtrain

my rust might even shine


~

escape - what a word
its smooth
but with a sharp end

its punctuation & finality

no, wait - 

its achievement & permission

photo Sky Over The Bungalow Line courtest of the Dagenham Archive

MARGARINE SUBSTITUTE AND NOBLE DELUSION

1. MARGARINE 


they
carved
their
names
in 
lime green margarine substitute

hands
too
smart-phone-weak

to
work
trees
bark

or the fenced off
unfracked stone




2. SHOVEL DAYS


cant grasp this knot
cant undo it
this clusterfuck bundle
of fuckery 
and lemon lies

i get my shovel
and i grasp my shovel
and rest its rusted tip
on the soil
too sick to dig

~

i stand there
like a tree stands there
times accident
and design

a noble nylon delusion
barefoot
and
surreal

on the crust of our earth - our lawn

smelling the end days
and the end days

smell like rust 
and 

standing water

from pinterest.com

BLOOD SPILL

the morning wont open its eyes

and
when
it
does
last nights blood spill
has
lost
its vivid glow

the red shine
dots of rust now

like
scaffold
rain
or
buttons popped off my undone flesh