LAMPS TRIMMED & BURNING

some
of
us
always pull lamp duty
on the cold windowsill

clamps left on
the
glued wood topper
of
the venetian blinds

FOUND LIST 2

read the paperwork
&
prepare for call

5.30 pm

mind thurs

charging bank

coffee

brain

check notes

&

enjoy the process

granny chair

service camera

wood

photo Fuzztown Scaffold from the Dagenham Archive

TWO DOMESTIC MOMENTS

theres wood
laid over the rubble

& sky 
over that


~


& the bath i run
smells like
the baths we ran

in
hotel
bathrooms

years ago

from pinterest.com

SOME MORE MONDAY POPS

your
anecdotal
duff hand grenade
scrape

does not match

my 
napalm
nerve scorch


~


bars
are wooden

creak like boats
at sea

adventure
in both

rum in hand


~


i am adult

if the child 
who survives
pilot lights & afterburn

is adult


~


theres
an
out of tune piano
on dolphin avenue

binmen play it

one day
its gone


~


in 
a
supermarket tshirt
&
a primark hat

i present myself

to
bureaucracys
willful
blindspot


~


with 
age
comes
a
wisdom & maturity

a VIEW

that doesnt 
help anything


~


all roads
lead to
the stage

& then the loading zone

all the
world
is an 
island

in the sea

from elitereaders.com

I DREAMED OF A PARTY

go to a party

only allowed in the hallway

given glossy mags to read

cluster of us 
on hard wooden chairs

front door right there

boasts about the sound system
valves and wood
but no music plays

whisper goes round
host is ill

host is ill . . .

wrap it up ?

wrap it up

front door is right there
perfect

we leaving

best party ever

from pinterest

THE EGO AND THE PARANOIA 1

paranoia is a 1000 cocaine nosejobs

with the pale ale working club darts crowd

paranoia is a cold sweat flood 

in the ordinary queue

of the newsagent top-up toe jam

paranoia is rapping on the wooden buddha foot

that hung on my mancave key 

that hung from a 2AM claw

in the lost kid nerves of nights black lie

calling on the forest spirits MDF minders

to

see

me

thru

if they have the time

or the soft inclination 

and paranoia tapes up my webcam peep port

cos mulder does 

cos zuckerburg does

cos i seen too much death tv

and paranoia hides me in the bin alleys

from the blue light hunt patrol 

throwing arson evidence on the misery line

and then my ego weighs in

like a dry years first amphetamine jag

like a whisky stride to the bottle shop

heroically underdressed and laceless

burning

cigarettes 

in 

all 

my hands

single malt on my breath

but buying any cheap blend

and ego calls my illness slacker evolution

and a gift from Zod in the processed dawn

and ego tells me the morning mist

that makes islands of the trees

is chicken soup 

for my mind 

and my mind alone

from foodservicedirect.com

ALL OVER AGAIN

the dawn cracks the nights dark glass
and
we
have
to
do
it
all over again

cover ourselves in cotton
animal hide on our feet
press space 
tap enter 
interact with plastic 
summon data trapped in light
discuss in depth the weather

we daydream if we can
in the blue light under sodium tubes
of quiet cobweb woods
of the oscillating sea
of colour brochure beaches
of supper 
silence
and the short death of bed 

and in the evening in a break from tv 
we choke a little too polite to complain
counting our weird and diminishing blessings
under
a
beautiful
pollution
sunset

from flickr by vw4ross

THE ROCK STARS ESCAPE

  bowie
   lemmy
 lou reed

  and so on

that awful two-oh-fifteen/sixteen music cull

   well i am tempted to say
 it looks like
        they got out 
     at the right time  -  legends anyway and dead now
                             we 
                              may 
                            be 
                      their bad dreams

  now the teletubbies hold the nuclear briefcases
 and we tear the earth a new arsehole everyday 
       like mad gods on red bull
                       on teenager testosterone
            like we got a Home World
               elsewhere 
           sunny and safe for later

                   when we Dont

        or am i
  just counted and logged 
   home in supermarket pants
     desperate enough to impose an order
          on
        the chaos
 when i pull others up for doing the same

        the square peg 
    goes in the round hole
           if you got a club hammer
 and dont mind splinters in your eyes

            so
             i
           list
          out loud
        all the horrors 
           bowie
          lemmy
             lou reed

          and so on

 that awful two-oh-fifteen/sixteen music cull

           lived thru
   chugging chords  and class As  and magic

     and
   depress
    myself 
  even more - i am putting out a fire
                with gasoline
 and its like satans greatest hits out there

      well i am tempted to say
 its not the events so much maybe
      but the level of awareness you have
          when they occur . . ?

     is there peace 
  for my hurtling and loose mind 
         in that hiccuped brainjag ?

      i show the day my back
     in a check shirt again  -  unironed 
                              buttons missing off cuffs
  and i go down to the wild pergola
         where
           i
           can
          see
       nothing
        but
 free wood and worked wood
      tumbling leaves
  and springs first palette mix
         my still hands  -  ink and turmeric under my nails
     and my troubled feet
  in second hand soldiers boots

            and try not to Think 
           
             At 
          
          All

  but even my farts sound sad today
     mournful like a steamship foghorn
   in the last days of a golden age  

from the-indie-pendent.com

GENERATION MEAN AND CLOSE TO MADNESS

    the hard bullies of soft sanity
 wear histories warnings 
  like a brand 
    on a tshirt
 in the dress-down-century

 bornhereism is the skinny jeans
   of the finished generation
        sulking
     sad 
  empty and wronged
    thinking they had no great war of their own

  shameless idiocratic wannabe generals
      flying a white pig flag
  selling out of date hate
   and cliched textbook division
       to the floppy fringed chadults
   the ceos let down

 i say dont fret 
to the double-0 technology kids
   soon the pale boors  
         will
            be
        dead
    and you can paint a fresh coat of mad
 on eternal corporate ruins


~

  i am the closest to going mad
i been 
 since the nights of the eternal gins
    and the dawns of van halen
     and those
        Moments  Of  Clarity  
           afterwards
when i lay spaced and stretched
 in  a 6 AM heaven of manufactured peace
  the bird chorus singing
 'love me on a stick'
   they did  i swear   

    mad today like a man 
 in a weird dystopian b movie

    flawed and faulty but obviously an angel analogy 

     frantically collecting  
mechanical items  
  from the recent past

   and oh so british too

      panicking politely 
      in
   a 
 formal newspaper breakfast
    silence

from pinterest

SHIT BRICK HOUSES

from cruiselinerhistory.com 1929 ms kungsholm

OH BOOZE

i can taste it all still / cold pints . . .

adult comfort blanket 
 
my fingers would wipe stripes in condensation

i'd dissapear in the dark whirls of pub carpet
or
the
grain
of
sawdusted
planks / my fingerprints on bar brass

the scotch shots miniscus 
curves 
like 
chemistry class / tiny trophy of daily victory

  and
  the
  smell of promise / intoxication
  and
  vomit on wood

 

 from flckr.com / darinkimphotography