OFFCUT POSEY No 32

now i am the man 

out in the garden
whos waving at all 

the planes sliding by

there they scratch pale stripes

in the stonewash sky

that grow - undulate

till it looks like 

fine beach sand looks

after the tides 

~

all the city airport

pilots know me 

i reckon / by now

& they radio each other

'hes got the blue hat on today, over'

or something like that

TRYING TO TAMP THE MADNESS DOWN

at night
dreamy
but not sleeping
i feel like 

i am living 

in someone elses memory

i mean that how i phrased it
thats as close as i could get

it feels different now 

even opposite now

as the grey dawn creeps in

showing the scratches on the sky

~

& inside that nights

strange peaceful exploration 

i wrote on an envelopes flap -

i am in the photographs yes

like some kind of 

understated advocate

trying to tamp

the madness down

HUNDREDS OR THOUSANDS OF YEARS AGO

i have
to stop writing
to scratch the cat

he demands it

&

has taught me how

cats look like
they know poetry

but
have
been there / done that

understood it / mastered it

& moved on beyond it

hundreds or thousands

of years ago

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

LOVE OVERFLOWS IN ANIMAL EXPIRATION

dont need

to scratch 

too deep

for the black revelation to bleed

varnish tarnished

by the tick tock thunder

&

dark angst in the diesel cortina

photo - Coffee Van #2 from the Dagenham Archive