2016 END GAME

six green parakeets
appear
in
the 
bare branches
of
the apple tree

the toaster shorts out 
the house electrics

this happens 
almost
simultaneously

the parakeets
are arranged
like a half moon

i find an envelope
id written envelope on

i now have 
an electronic
nicotine machine

nan nods off eternal

i dream in black & white

validated by 
the brothers
in the print shop

no film is too shit
no codeine too large

& 
the parakeets
like a hive mind
leave as one
over
warhol slats
&
peterhoff tiles

alien green
against 
english
dishcloth
grey

from parakeetcare.org

POETRY IS - JUMP TO THE END

poetry is a flatulent comeback
too late but nevermind
left
in
natures bushes and brush and grass
all good

poetry is a direwolfs heart 
loose
on
the
transit tarmac
running 7 miles
on its toes

poetry is a bewilderbeast
hooting for attention
hooting for a ride
on
the
electraglide blacktop
backcombing its intentions

poetry is a road movie
in a circus mirror

poetry is a good dinner
and the pork lodged afterwards
in
your
yellow
incisors
that your tongue
has to touch
has to touch
has to touch

poetry is a forgotten anxiety
from wheneverthefuck
cold-calling you
in your weeknight pyjamas

poetry is graffiti and gospel
scratched in the escalators
hard-to-reach
sliding-by
plasterboard
between the magazine cover ads
repeating like a warhol convoy

poetry is your dream newspaper scream
and the dark dark sitcom
of
your
alone
alone
mind time

poetry is cotton mist and steel fact
let off the leash
kicking and screaming
playing hard
working hard
in the veins of the electric delta

poetry is on the bookshelf
broken spine
calling for you

poetry is a hummingbird

simple as that

from tolkienistperspective.wordpress.com

WORKDAY ART SEARCH

at work
of
course
and
again

thinking about buddha and his noble beginnings

thinking about warhol and his pre-fame work

when
they
test
the
fire alarm and i know it must be thursday

or else it isnt
and
theres
a
fire

and i smelltaste the burnt flesh
where
the
surgeons are working
in
the room next door
and
i
look
for art and for sense
in the tumble stacks
of
plugs
and
pipes
ripe for ramming and jamming
in the feeble soft machines

but
its
all
too noisy here
to
skew
my eyes that way today