DR DIMLO & THE IDENTITY THIEVES

doctor johnny-come-lately

doctor dimlo

doctor just-read-a-new-paper

tells me 

ME !  ha !

to beware of the ID thieves

that clamber in the kitchen window

when you been sick for so long

& serve you 

your own self

for snacks & supper & seconds

ME who identifies
as a meat throw 

or bungalow masonry

depending on the flavour of the dawn

& the heat of the monstering night

& this isnt a poem

nope

its a blood clot

MICE OF OURSELVES

'You sound like youre from nowhere.'

David Goodis, The Burglar



we have made 

mice of ourselves

afraid of 

the machines above

no mind

the cannibal holocaust

behind the pastel dream
of the faded ads

on end terrace

masonry gables

sky pie for supper
in the babel shade

 

NO IDEA ABOUT SUPPER EITHER

the motorhead sketcher
exuding a patience he lacks
& roasting for a lightning rail
says

less haste
more speed

to his dealer
whos having a mare
in the afternoon kitchen

hes waiting for the plumber
or for the plumber to ring back

is the plumber meant to ring ?
or is the plumber on his way ?

& theres no hot water
& hes picking up the kid at 3

& no idea about supper either

4D YING YANG

 

tomorrows yesterday
is time for lunch
& a nap

& yesterdays tomorrow

is suppertime

& a bath

next weeks last week

was a coffee binge

& posey ooze

as i flatten

relativitys 

4d ying yang

with my bad clay bulk

METAPHOR BATH BEFORE SUPPER

give me
give me
give me

that home comfort smell
&
baby thunder 
of 
a
hot running bath

that easy peak 
of civilisation

&
the reassuring 
background bubbling
of
a
simple stew 
happily simmering 
out 
there
on the kitchen stove


~


i wallow 
contented
in my own 
hot water dirt

i delight
at
the 
murder aroma
of
the
softening beef

& 
i think 
my hands
are clean

from onceuponachef.com

DIAGRAM OF A STREET 1/2

peep hole blinds
show supper
show yellow light
show empty chairs

~

used-up done-over 
CRTs 
loll dumbstruck 
in 
front yard pits

~

rotten timber fence
corrals
home branded
wheelie bin
trash steeds

~

thru a 
rental
front room
bay window

no picture hangs
on the fireplace wall

~

old bungalow
now MOT office

flake paint eyesore
charms me

from imgkid.com

POP #1110a & 1110b

the past cold-calls
like its got a hotline

i am bluetooth synced
with yesterdays mire

it 
whispers 
passive aggressive
breaths
of
happenstance and blame

i unplug

i look forward

a whole twelve feet

to supper
and the wind-down warmth
inside our walls

~

autumn burns down
your heart locker

and everything gets out

and everything dances an old dance

in the low swung 
sepia
sunlight

MOUSE MADRIGAL 3 - SCHOOLS OUT FOREVER

LIKE A SCRABBLE BLANK

theres a limbo 
that
hangs 
between Netflix and HBO
hangs
heavy
like low cloud

its a dark fog with a mouth
in
the
rush
between
desktop and dashboard

too 
obvious to acknowledge 
when
you
got
to
put the supper on
and
get the washing dry

its
a
whole
blank
january
condensed into a blink

it can be embraced tho

like
a
sick
friend

if
you
make the time

from en.wikipedia.org

ALLEY

1. FORDS

years and tears ago
our side alleyway
was new orange brick
with
wind holes to stretch up on tip toe
and
peep
thru
at the Cortinas and Corsairs 
inching into their garages
after
i
got
in
from
school
and
supper
was in the stove



2. TAILS

one day playing alone i found a lizard
poised 
in
the 
shadows there
and
next doors cat
tail straight up like an ariel
was
on
the dustbin lid

watching

clumsily i touched the lizard
and
his
tail
came off

the cat came to see
and
i stroked his back
and
when
i reached his tail
he
slashed
at
me
with his front claws

i ran inside

the alley a dark danger
of
animals
and
tails
to
me
now

from justanimalblog

SHOW YOUR WORKING 2

theres crevasses or canyons / something like that / a gash in the earth / a metaphor for bad times 
and
the rock walls are painted by children

maybe not a canyon / maybe a small suburban deadend / heavy with jubilee and thick with sunshine / thats sepia and old 
and 
happy-sad

the children have painted failure
and
awful 
hopeless future doom on the garage doors

theres a snake in the canyon / in the cul-de-sac / long and pulsing like an angry thing / he surges from the manhole the older kids would lift up and climb down
before
all
the parents
drove
new Fords
back
from
their offices for supper / crumpets / and Dr Who

hes another metaphor / for journeys ? or primal spinebrain ?
or
the
silent
companion - death / ignored till we're shrivelled like prunes / weak as kittens and ready / misty with memories
all
todays
bewildering
and
the
same

anyway
ive
saddled
his
back - hes patterned in the colours of a 70s hallway carpet
and
we
move
into
the park / empty and stale / long grass touches my knees / teenagers smoke on the climbing frame / its almost noon / dead time / sun almost directly above 
so
theres almost
no
shadows
at
all

my brain is boiled / is bleached / a metaphor for age 
and 
burnout ?
and
slowly
we
move
on . . .

from slatford.co.uk