THE RHYME OF THE ANCIENT MARINADE, AN OFF-CUT POP

well theres that 

& the laminated collage of eyes

he sees there 

  looking 

    looking

      LOOKING

where they said the tunnel & light should be

land ho ?

he wonders

anciently marinated

in

sea salt & grimwald 

AN ANALOGY STRETCH, DREAM STEALER

to doggy paddle 

in baby riptides 

under a Munch oil sun

to tread water 

at the reefs end

below O Keefe clouds

to splash & thrash

in the harbour mouth  

apollos polaroid moon above

between the sinking & scuppering

  you 

     call 

         your

             sleep

~

& pushing the analogys stretch

   & its plastic elastic limit

      its the

m i d n i g h t  s a l v a g e  r i g h t s 

         that should concern you

BREAKFAST BUFFET VOL1

 

i am redacted 

but secretly

black stripes in the blind spots

& the snow 

first welcome

becomes vertiginous

~

i block my ears

build a nest

tunnel my eyes

& unmet in unoffered middle ground

i fiddle with 

the tiny things

in my tiny world

unproven between

the tetrapods

& hash browns

~

my compromised reach is compromised

& well aware 

side effects 

include compulsion

i keep my guard up

or is it down ?

either way

attacks are only paperwork

MI5 gave up long ago

photograph - Small Victory courtesy of the Dagenham Archives

PRIEST HOLES AND MAGIC TREES

dragging out the bins
i experience dawns half light
    and
    wonder
    if
    its
promise means well
    or
is a tease of phantom gold
to get us from our beds of sex and dreams

        and
when up and gasping in the bathroom sink 
    i   
wonder
how
to
juggle
    the true beams and garbage vectors
        of life and sickness
        of bill-bondage
    and 
    the 
        difficult birth of creation
            even 
            too
the needs of aimless indian summer bees ?

    i
wonder
how 
to
keep the threads threaded
    and the google views inspired
        when 
    maintenance is the relentless unappreciated all ?

we're spoiled innocent reluctant and idiot-crawling
        down 
        an 
extended birth canal - facing screaming change
        with 
        feet still warm still safe
    i 
wonder 
what now 
    the tunnel is tired and we're wary of the brave doors
        all 
        searching for the cliche light
        and 
    simple Blyton adventure of priest holes and magic trees
with
our
    night eyes almost too blind for change
and
    our heart-guts
        too fat from kfc
            too sedated 
            from classic 
            easy poisons

to find true vectors
            
            that hurt to follow
            
            that hurt to free

dull hearts from hackneyed cages of catalogue aspiration

    i
wonder
is the universal mind too full now ?
    its
    ideas
    and
    balls

        spread

            too 
            thin ?

from arranalexander.co.uk