DEAR DIARY

the masonry of the town
boasts silently
by deign of its protrusion

& my black & locked samsung

is passive aggression 

writ flat & blank & lithium 

~

dear diary

today everything 

is humblebragging at me

& it all pulses with ego 

what mad sickness is this now ?

FOOD IN TOWN

& with fingers
too tired for caution
you
pick
thru
the consequence buffet
as
its
the only food in town

SO WHAT REDUX

no one walks into an alley 

like this alley

not here 
not tonight

not in this part of town

sky forbids stars

traffic is hushed

well lit here but so what ?

rot spreads

~

painted words on cement wall

harsh & illiterate

faded & true

but so what ?

mutants & sheep

& under my boots ? 

the busted plastic corners

of a busted music cassette

~

magnetic tape 
giddy

sleek

brown

un-spools into the shape of wind

that takes me back 
oh yes 

but so what ?

theyre coming back too

~

got a length of pipe 

might be lead

like in cluedo
who knows ?

its all i need

metal gets it done

smoke butt after butt

perfect moreish poison

wait

just drag it out

like we all do

~

yesterdays papers
panic flapping & trapped 
caught between the wind & a hard place

obits make the front page everyday

& i feel like 
we say goodbye

to the 20th C day by bastard day

but so what ?

thin sliced meat

~

throw my butt like i hate it

edge my boots 
into 
the 
dirty white light

feels like a movie

& vice versa

but so what ?

its all spam

in the meat world

photo Reaching from the Dagenham Archive

NETFLIX DAWN

when i used to go out
i
was
all
shutdown

performing my denial
in the curbstone night time

and now i am open
i
cant
make
it
into town

so i play at howard hughes
in the netflix dawn

and ebay is alchemy in the bed o clock noon
where 
i 
stretch out 
in silence

counting the moons and the spoons

from digital.library.unlv.edu

BREAKING MAN

  on a bus with a number
 in a town with a name
    on a street called something like
  sycamore avenue
   chestnut close
      or
  butchers bridge

    sits a man with an age 
 shaking with breakdown
       hunched on the high seats 
      up near the back

 and a girl who is a daughter 
     holds his arm with a kind of pride
  smiles a youth-confident smile
      maybe 
    just pleased 
       hes out

  in clothes called polyester-chic 
i slouch behind them 
     my knees are shiny
  going to a place called work
     listening to rock from the past
 on a tapeplayer with auto reverse 
   and headphones with megabass

    its a year with a number 
   that starts 19

 there is booze in my morning sweat
    there is fag ash in my suede coat
  i wear black nike airs called pegasus
   
  one punctured hisses like a snake 
  
    and i wonder
   that 
    we
   dont
 all shake like that

  in fear and panic and impotence
   in a gut-balls reaction called instinct

   at the world
  that has become

from andysbusblog.blogspot.co.uk

NATURES MOTHER GIRTH 2

TOWN

its good to get out there

smell the air and the chip oil
of the
small town
high street
black top

hear the flubflub of hatchback tires
hurry
over
the
london southend rails

its good to get out

out from the painted walls

out where
the
forest
is
a 
looming black backdrop
for sundays
and dogs

weekday invisible


FOREST

a green dressed hinterland
a dark pagan outline
climbing
behind
farms scraped brown sea
where the raggedy ends of town
peter
out
in
old cement and empty wooden halls
and
a rusted gate shut with rope 
has lost its fence
in a twisted barbed wire puzzle

and
the
dry and solid girth of earth
and
the
soil and fat turns of roots
are
living
soul
and
jazz