Wednesday, 19 April 2017

L

big blue sun
beating it's meat
down on our heads,
battering the tops
and slowly killing the
inhabitants
as it jumps back up
in their faces

short time sculpture,
growing grass between
toes -
admiring the obscenity
all the while taking advantage
of those too
rich to notice
and too bloody
important to
care

Monday, 13 February 2017

L


imagine if there was no more time
you could live a life of freedom
like a silver pool to dive in and out of,
a mountain top screaming,
lovers forever in passion
and all the events an audience
and you'd not move a muscle,
no un-opulent moments,
never a hideous chasm torn up
only delicate bridges and
flowing sounds of a heaven. maybe
could save you
yet, despite this      
its amazing how a life
can amount to something
like nothing 

Sunday, 19 June 2016

L

shit bru
just the sound of it
and I’m back
best time
easily
flying down
through the bush
lighting up darts
calling out the names
of it was sweet
drinking at the airpot
then flying home in
squeaky wheels

Friday, 17 June 2016

L

there's a misanthrope
living in my head
it speaks out of turn and takes everything
I
say with a grain or two
of
salt and never misses a chance to
chew up only
the most odious
of detritus


spouts dictums
with a laodicean tone
argumentum ad verecundiam
it screams as I
endeavour  
to make love to
my lady


yet the presence is
at times
something of a piquant -
at least I can
stop
the paranoia
reverberating through
the nights
all amongst the
silent trees


foretelling and
withholding
resonant raspberries
on the
swollen belly
of the pregnant
woman who
refuses to give
her unborn
the expected
nomenclature


snap snap snap all along the path 
with cheese on toast
please 

Thursday, 12 May 2016

L


yip yip - yup yup !!

now read it the rite way
back down back up  
to acknowledge
what we choose
but without is only
of endlessness within
there's still the chat chat chatter ing
yet      
happy jaws that do no snapping
down on the water 

- - - -     or up in the sky or
today is nothing compared the evening between
us
 
upon by our own hands \ / can you tell the difference?
tonight we are the carrion torn apart and feasted
know that
a fuck up but they'll never  
up is actually
scavenging this close
now
knob head 
read it the right way



Tuesday, 10 May 2016

L


sitting on the grass
+
to cancel out the pain
+
dock leaf on nettle sting
+
she showed me
+
a tiny book made
+
by her own hands but
+
she seemed to forget i
+
no longer loved her
+
all bathed in light
+
and never did 

Thursday, 10 March 2016

N

So plant. So plant.
It's a plant plant situation
and it's getting more plant.
Your soil, your soil
it gives birth to your roots.
Your roots, your roots
they give birth to your stem.
So stem, your stem
it's a stem stem situation,
and it's giving birth to the leaves.
Oh leaves, oh yeah, it's a leaves leaves
situation, and it's getting more leaves.
They look, at me, and they think
I'm the light. The light, oh light
and they try to photosynthesise me.
Oh yeah, photo, synthesisation.
My light, sweet light, nourishes the leaves.
Oh leaves, oh yeah, they give birth back to
the stem.
Sweet stem, yeah stem,
it gives light back to the roots.
Sweet roots, plant roots, gives it
all back to the soil.
And me, sweet me, I make poems
to the tune of Elton John
and Blue.
So blue, yeah blue,
blueblue blue blue de do.

Tuesday, 2 February 2016

N

"This is where I always go..." he spoke to his fever, and habitually motioned to throw off that old dust sheet...

"There be cataracts here go back months..."

He stoppeed short.

A small mouse darted across the floor...

The old chair by the window with the L in the spine had been uncovered, straightened, paused upon and thought about.

"My fever is too damn high", he said out loud. " Nobody comes here no more!"

And at that he passed out, rolled onto the floor and dreamed of opening an old time poetry saloon. A place where folks could be free, say poems about what they wanted to say them about, even about the bad times, the old times and the end of times. He'd open it one day, and the ink would be limitless. If only his fever would pass...



L


its been a while
some kind of
exile
where have we all gone ?
tick fuck tick fuck tick fuck
time, that old bastard, creeps up and jollys you
can't be a surprise
he's there
every day
with his ancient hard on
while
you just
shuffle about and kick rocks
into a dead smile 
and
over hearing
'look son, this is where the artists used to go'
now, they don't.
spread far and wide
(not really) but
taking each day
as it cums in your shoes and you squelch it around
trying not to cause a fuss or feel embarrassed
about the complete absurdity
of
spunky shoes
   

Wednesday, 12 August 2015

L

raise up and push
the snap sound
resonates
up and back down
you
create the sheet music
so i can play
the symphony

button your buttons
tie the tie
grin their grin
offer your hand
hug it out

remember the script
watch the movie
playing out around the suns
preheat then
sit down and
wait

Friday, 26 June 2015

n

Verse!
Unfurl like a banner
across the street and
into the stoop
of the man in poop
- that filthy homeless
bag of bones, home alone
oh oh the zone,
get out the zone!
right!
left!
go left!
left wing on the high sing
go go jing jing
get out of your mind
and get into the pit,
it's happening down there,
below the constructs and
the jobs
and the bank accounts
and the tax returns
and the cut price
pizza tuesdays
and the high school
teachers on their way to
the fields of sandwichs,
below the howling of frogs
stranded on footpaths
where the canals are filled in;
below the treachery and deceit
of the reality
promised to you by
television, movies
and the third voice in your mind;
get below the idea
that you have a you
that that you has a right
and the will
and the means
to make it all the way;
get below the idea
that there is a way,
that there's always been a way,
that there always will be a way -
there is no way,
there's only one fixed spot
and it's not even here.
Get below it all,
just get the fuck below
and stay there,
if you know what's good for you
motherfucker.


Thursday, 25 June 2015

C

I followed the blind man home,
it turned out he lived in a glass house
and nobody had told him.
Outside sat dozens of people
who just watched.
I joined them as we saw the blind man
do blind things
in the dark.

Wednesday, 24 June 2015

N

A slow return,
hazed out of nothingness
and bled back into shot.
Big Jim filled the screen
once more.
The children around him
were dusty skulls
on dusty piles of dusty bones
...how long had he been gone?

A faint flicker,
two round eyes,
the shutters rolling up.
Big Jim I am...
he began to begin again,
consciousness reassembled
fingers twitching
at the moons of his
kneecaps
he swooned with the beat back
Big Jim on the backtrack
.
.
.
"Salt of me and salt of my,
Big Jim I am and
Big Jim I'll die"
.
.
.
But did he...?
Glancing down he beheld an ego,
rumpled on the floor
all purple powder and
designer mirage.
.
.
.
He kicked at the bones
of a bastard child,
and rose out of
his big easy chair.
He walked outside
and wasn't there.
.
.
.
The sky split
and a giant lawnmower
passed overhead
through the seam
of the seemingly infinite.

Sunday, 7 June 2015

L

a limb which grew fat 
a golden light 
an Indian man staring out the tram 
milk bottles for an eye piece 
moves like a girl, that gentleman 
your necklace is a key
ironed shirt
this morning 
tartan scarf 
beautiful hugs on the floor 
straight cut - suck her lips 
criss cross
pour
check s'il vous plaƮt
i have change but not to hand
sorry
adieu
my love 
actioning off energy 
until god  
panting in your ear 
money gone gone monies 
disasters in writing and in foot steps 
surgically removed without a drop of anesthesia
waiting in line 
she refused to come around 
pose for photos 
smile like the sunshine
never thought 
never could have guessed 
finger tattoos 
take a piss bunny rabbit
watch me blow her a kiss 
let her suck you dry 
stepping from the boat, soon 
walking up or walking down
still it'll been gibberish till the end 
she stands there like a queen 
a royal 
a royal look upon her face 
knee operated taps 
dressed like a salesman for the good lord and his teachings 
the only lord - no god but my god 
asian baby at the wheel of the carriage that carries guests to the house where you follow them into every room
lols
uniqlo 
university 
shiny old beemer 
classy + white 
ZOO turn left
foxtrot charlie 
piccolo please 
calorific bodily sensations 
a work of art in running shoes chasing the dream 
sunday after all
tomorrow gone 
tomorrow's gone 
tomorrow is gone 

tomorrow is 

Friday, 22 May 2015

N

C c c c
He he he he
He who sets foot and
tyre on Europe's
sweet face.
What sights behold
your sweet keen eye, C?
And tell me fair C,
how tastes the wine?
How efficient the postal system?
Euros!
€!
.
.
.
Always take the back road
layin down the thick choad
takin lots of pics yo
eatin up dem pastries tho
.
.
.
Peace be to thee and thine other
as you grace those great cathedrals
of time gone by.
What glories!
Wonderful!
.
.
.
Qui la Basil leaf!
Leaf de jours !
Sacre cours!
Look!
A poem, dans le jar de fooq.
.
.
.
Dont get a puncture.

Friday, 1 May 2015

N

It's glorious!
What a shelf, not a crooked
bastard in sight!
Look at the screw heads!
What craftsmanship!
Never a finer work
of art!
It'll never fall!
The Roman empire all
over again!
Reside on my wall
and keep my paintings
safe you sexy
slice of wood
and cheap veneer
- and if you dare collapse,
I'll fall with you,
on my sword,
on a Monday morning
with big C
watching on
as I silently
weep.

Saturday, 25 April 2015

n

I hesitated...
this zoo was at once indoors
and out -
harsh strip lighting hovered overhead
and a thin glass wall
surrounded me.
A thrush came bobbing
into view, its feathers
long thin barbs
and its eyes like
great black holes.
He carried grass in his mouth,
and his flying saucer eyes
followed me as he passed
in a strange bounce,
as though walking on
the moon.
Next in procession came a cat
but this cat was a lion,
with hair equally long
and barbed
and eyes equally large
and black.
He approached a sheep and
proceeded to roar into
its face and at once the
sheep was me.
I turned and ran, hitting
the exit chamber with
a thousand eyes watching,
waiting to see if the beasts
would feast tonight.
I stood fumbling for the key,
and the beast rushed forth...
I won't lie - I shat my pants
before or after
waking up.

Friday, 24 April 2015

c

"Dig until you find gold" he whispered
as he handed me a teaspoon
and a crooked smile.
So i began,
and above our heads volcanoes erupted
and lightning struck with venom.
The sky filled black
and the world destroyed itself.
It chewed on itself,
and spat what was left back out
before stamping and screaming on the shrivelled remains.
All the while i dug through the ashes
as the smiling man watched with great interest.

cccccc

Turning his attention upwards
he sucked all the beautiful people out of the sky,
and lining them up
one by one,
thighs to eyes
and lips to nips
he proceeded to lick them all two at a time.

Monday, 30 March 2015

n

Big Jim I am...

The fishes swam...
It was dark out here,
the air wasn't quite water
and the water not quite air...

He looked around, or rather
he was around
his conscious suddenly not
attainable

"...glig BIM I am" he swam...

he was stretched, universally applied
and condensed to the head of a
pin.

A bird chirped
a frog croaked
the fish swam
big Jim began

all over again.

Tuesday, 3 February 2015

n

"Johnson, you're hired!"
The bullet hit
right in the gut.
A lifetime of
security, pay checks
and beige.
I think I'll buy
a tie
a toasted cheese maker
Moonraker
on DVD.
I'll drink nice
wine and
eat olives with
cheese on
weekends.
I'll grow grey,
retire
and slowly
expire.
"Thank you sir!
I won't let you down!"

Saturday, 24 January 2015

n

I took a sweet toke
as my mind reclined
and intuitively knew;
"it's been too long."

I lifted the arm
dropped the needle
on the track
and sat back.

A camera winked at me
poems tickled my ears
and paint trickled out
from under my fingertips.

The faint smell of recognition
grew stronger;
I know this place,
this is home.

n

Big Jim slid down
into the comfy chair;
"Big Jim I am", he began
before astral projecting
to another dimension.
His cold, lifeless body
lay limp and prone
in the big easy chair
as the
children tugged at
his hair
as they
pulled at his toes
as they
stole all the coins
from his deep greasy pockets.
Meanwhile Big Jim
slid down
into the comfy chair;
" Big Jim I am", he began
before astral projecting
to another dimension
- just another chump,
stuck in an infinite
boot loop.
"Big Jim is a cunt",
the children all cried.
They weren't half wrong
and
they weren't half right
- it was confirmed by
the universe as
Big Jim the cunt
went howling through
the cosmic night.

Friday, 23 January 2015

c

"What's that smell?" they asked
"Not sure" he answered
Christmas smelt of shite this year
It was coming from the corner
He told the children that Rudolph must've done it
That Santa was caught short without a poo bag
He blamed the children
"Too many carrots" he said
"You piled them high"
"What did you expect?" he asked
The children were unprepared for such a question

c

Old Mags sneezed
she sneezed a "fuck you"
a giant "fuck you"
straight into my Cajun chicken roll.

Monday, 19 January 2015

n

my soul in a microwave
spinning round and round.
Hey neily, neily boy old pal
- whatcha doin spinning round
and round
to the horrible sound
of your soul cooking
at 750 watts?
I'm just fooling around, see,
playing with my essence
sprawlled bubbling
on a glass plate.

Saturday, 17 January 2015

n

Singing sensation! Cease this non cessation!
Dip it in chocolate
nip it and hop it
hop hop
run run
run bitch run
walkin down a
long and lonesome
road
chewing up the words
as they fall from the world
and pass down to hell.
Look now
the seagulls are flying
backwards signifying
a distinct lack of
sea:
Meanwhile nip
tuck
nip
tuck
eating plastic with her face
eating face with her plastic
and ignoring the sea
(hence seagulls flying backwards,
chewing words etc.)

Thursday, 1 January 2015

N

Fuck ting a ling
Fuck ting a ling
everybody everybody
fuck ting a ling.
a new one has
sprung
a new one begun
fuck fuck fuck
good luck
in your filthy
year.

Wednesday, 31 December 2014

N

Hey L,
sweet L in a dream
sipping ice tea
likin' it spicy
rolling in the sun
with a face blurred
bearded
and wearing the
expression that
i saw back through
a doorway
a year or
10 ago.
If you're still free
start running away,
and if you're not
then please send
some more poems.

Tuesday, 30 December 2014

n

Sweet pies alive!
It's quarter to five!
and the year has
rung dry.
Short
sweet
sweet short
crust
pastry;
baked and smoked, toke toke toked.
L, C, LLC, TTC, he he he.
fast forward to the future
slow rewind to 2008;
the poems are growing,
see.

Friday, 26 December 2014

L


These careless parts do not worry
Never fret or moan, mope or cry
Nor do they even live or die 

They sit through the sun and rain,
high tide and low 
Nor do they even sing, dance or laugh - they simply be.

simply waiting patiently to become the next part, 

simply.

Thursday, 25 December 2014

L



Even in Arcadia, there I am a dead man who looks as I do

Images of gory rituals swirling in the majesty of buttercups 

Conducting mimics in the sunshine's betrayal 

Peaks and troughs never stopping never thinking 

Beneath water again and over but in full view 

Praemonitus, praemunitus, of course
 of course. 

Monday, 23 December 2013

L


he
came
down
here
chasing phantoms 
&
crazy
empty phantasies
&
lying
to
everyone
including
himself.

coffee burning his
guts
cigarettes smoking his
lungs 
lights flashing in his 
head.

the reality has become 
ashes
in 
his 
mouth.

Wednesday, 16 October 2013

L


henry where are you now?
I fucked her inside you
more than once dear henry
the other one nearly ended you and I made
you run run run so far
but you've done that so many times already henry
I can tell that just by looking at your features
when are you going to quit henry I know its
not up to you but ultimately
that's all you have henry and we didn't even see it
the road is your home and you
are its king, Henry.

Thursday, 13 June 2013

L

waiting for your axe to grow
gods on peddle boats chasing eggshells round the cattle market.
old women stop to tell the time and beg for food.
neat lines of school children on each side of the highway.
plaster their faces around town, not a looker among them.

waiting for your axe to grow
scooters with training wheels spreading fire retardant necklaces.
gallons of chai chai chai chai chai.
handlebar mustaches.
brown skin and socks full of sugar.
foxes of fury consigned to old buses constructed from German ideas.

waiting for your axe to grow
the toilet is down the hall but is no more than a deep dark hole
- your shit passes from one black hole to another -
but we do have bum showers.
seems we can forget time for times sake.
hard to impress the bagel man these days.
hes got no solutions for the environmental questions you dropped by the snake pit.

waiting for your axe to grow
garnish your own life with flowers before helping others with theirs.
watching spunk bubbles skip across the lake.
in hell the beer is cold but it tastes of vertigo.
we'll wave at each other as we pass and swap pistols and watches.
can't say I have ever been woken up that way but it was wonderful.
pages 145 to 195 are gone.

waiting for your axe to grow
the past is here, the leaves still fall and lillys still float.
the children suck lolly pops as father fucks horses before each race.
you'll get bitten hard if you go down to the shores.
take the boat, its faster than smoking up rain storms.

waiting for your axe to grow
in hotel lobbies buttoned up in pear orchards.
millions of eyeballs rippling across the mountains.
there are so many colours.
I'll tell you how to say my life vest is drowning.
only on the journey out as by the time you come back they'll have your money.

waiting for your axe to grow
backbase and what the backbase wants.
at this altitude my balls start to tingle when they touch your face.
such a beautiful place.
innocent curiosity and a distinct lack of thought.
the chimp in the dress has pissed on the carriage floor.

waiting for your axe to grow
watch your feet gents.
no one body knows how to get there.
I shall see you up north where the ladies shave their ovens.
wasps in the post office but the clerks don't give a toss.
your mother used to sit here.

waiting for your axe to grow
just a tiny nibble.
boxes of hoofs lit with hate.
sunshine bouncing off her breasts.
give a laugh and help push sincerity from the map.
none of your type aloud to make trees grow past your sitting bones.

waiting for your axe to grow
white shirts in back pockets mixing pencil shavings and no smoking signs.
monkeys.
meet me round the back.
draconian measures fly like spent nappies.
across tea plantations the spirits are lifted.
a right teapot and nutty driving with the lights off.
some strokes take your teeth and polish them up for grannies wake.

waiting for your axe to grow
ice coffee and the artists.
my wife is crying.
throw your hands up towards electricity wires.
sticky fingers caught in fishing nests while the newest guest injects in front of the television.
plan your new move and how to say goodbye.

waiting for your axe to grow
the ending and faces in time.
carpets that cover up those bad deeds and the French.
nick nacks follow ass cracks from one station shaken up and burned through.
balaclavas on tiny sculls.
odd uniforms and extra long naps.

waiting for your axe to grow
urine therapy.
the smallest strawberry you have ever seen.
aspergers's cocktail.
collect green cards and brush your teeth with twigs.
pulling out the sugar cane.
push the button with the arrows and
drag your feet.

waiting for your axe to grow
couch beds and artist head.
I whisper in a mouses ear before she takes me the prostitutes quarter.
no real friends, its 
paper Ghandi they desire.
friends are white,
usually. 
she is afraid of him.
I disagree. 

waiting for your axe to grow
falling was much to easy.
I was built for mountains, though
not these daft things. 
strangely shaped balding heads.
their asses roll quite perfectly.
sleeping on matted shag as the desert slams through the window.  
a child with too many teeth tries to touch my feet,
strange. 
and I realise I miss her. 
altitude is a loveless bitch.

waiting for your axe to grow
one hand across your heart, the other on the penis.
the stool from your eyes 
may stain hair, skin or fabric. 
beautiful calls to prayers. 
the bastards have made it too sweet. 
Himalayan hair cuts.
I left my lime green underpants in London. 

waiting for your axe to grow
spark one up on an aeroplane .
what have I come to find here?
the only Scotsman for a hundred miles. 
mistakes mistakes mistakes mistakes.
standing in a third world country
as the tanks roll in town.
I was told there would be shit tickets.
come to stare at a building. 
you'll not recognise me these days
 waiting for your axe to grow
what was it all for?
you can't defecate by the kerb
in this place.
ain't any of that shit here ma' boy!
digestion contemplation these
things last a life time because we're all
waiting for your axe to grow

Tuesday, 14 May 2013

n


You there!
Round hole
peg square
gangsta wrap:
cling--
film (cling to
dat film)
been used to
sheeth a
gun
run bitch Run!
Purpose supplied
honour relied
porpoise denied
there will
be
no
beaching here
no more truther-
lucking
preaching
here
today
to-morrow
hur Hur
no sir
ben hur
Neil Young
and tuna peace
breakfast time:
it's motherfreaking break
-fast
time.

Saturday, 13 April 2013

n

what is this I
see before me
why it's a
neil
curled up on
the door
mat with
the flowers;
why
is
he
eating
them
all
?
tide and
breathe
hit him with
the sucker
punch
monkey sticks
two ripe bananas
and a couple of
pens
this is late
night riding
horses & stars
tip toe-
ing the line,
grapes
wine
meeting
a rock face
four
hundred
and fifty years
old.

Sunday, 24 March 2013

n

We rise in
spring to not
be surprised
at the utter
lack of it
all. Snow
drops on fire
polar
bears for
hire
(he who dares, nature
En-snared )
being ruined
by the spite
of the nose
eating the
face and
buckets full
of rain
washing up
wards to
wards a kidney
shaped hole
that we
hope it
will all squeeze
in to.
this is
disgusting this
filth of progress
a steady cock
thrust 300
years long
into the soft
teary eye
of an eco
system
that lifed us
but now
bleeds all over
our shiny metal
rod. the shame
of it all
will not
ever
be lost on
us.

Saturday, 23 March 2013

L

20 feet away from a brick wall
your laughter cannot hide
the fear you hold
deep inside
naked giants fight one another
over our illustrious
city
the folk go about their
business; the
butcher the baker the
receptionists the doctors the
rapists mothers beggars music
makers and the lonely lost and
confused lovers and ex-lovers.
its getting closer to my
reality -
10 feet and
reducing
the safety measures
will deploy
yet doubt stumbles
through the mist
and tells me this
airbag may
not
save
white hot silver
trees falling
and singing to
everything in the air
she looks like a
ray of sunshine
a glowing piece
of heaven
visible just in time to stop
the mortar of my mind
dissolve these thoughts
and experiences.
a cocktail with my name
on it
if you may.

Tuesday, 12 March 2013

n

go find the
spider and
sit
down
beside her

he sang on
a cold
wet bus to an
old wet
man

burning all
his money
in the
back of
his field

and then
jumping in
to traffic fo
ur lanes wi
de.

Monday, 4 March 2013

n

it really is
indicitive of
your dick
initiative or
something
broader.
flowers flower
and gradually
the lazy eye
opens
blinks
and greets the
season.
it's still cold
in the shadows
but sparkling
in the
clear.
the dust
bursts and the
seaman
flies
beauty in the
eyes
of the great
beholder (an-
other year
older)
look me in
the wild
eye and watch
the waists and
daisies re-
appear for
the first time
since we
found that
avenue of
old pine
trees
where the
rabbits
fuck and
the season's
expire.

Thursday, 21 February 2013

N

this is something
I never
ever
want to
repeat
and I hear
you're going out
there, to
prospect for
gold and
my tooth
howls beneath
the black cloth:
an island in
the eb and
flow of
time and
tide
and I wonder
if I should
pack up and
follow suit
or if I'm
even capable
of such an
act.

Monday, 21 January 2013

L

our nations capital
magnificent views, old time
movie night number CVII
lacking floppy hands but

we four gather
a breast a piece
and a one pizza
breaded, baked, devoured

see how far the light carries
as if it were day
shout at the passer by
they're ignoring what we say

doing jobs in
five out of the seven
floating flakes
as big as your face

these guys
we love what they play
they let us down
with not a reason for it, I

can’t wait to shoot you in the face
over and over again
thumbs moving fast
nimble little digits

brought the gear
invitation only
party, lets get rolling, an
unprecedented unappreciated skill

creating little sticks
stiff white dicks
light up and pass it on
smoke that stuff till its gone

big dollops of custard
right into your brain
lets not slow down gents
time to be business-like

votes being cast
nail your choices to the mast
no repeats of films past
times a ticking need to choose fast

this poem
a sprawling beast
can't capture that night here
but its a start, at least

can't stop thinking
about what they keep secret
ain't never licked a bum hole
though sometimes I can lie

its the way we're made
you got to move, these
females are enchanting
its the way they're made

the effort
glad you made it
security supposed to keep us safe
snowy balls at our knees

the two barb quickstep
they approached us, how nice
covered up my frightful indecision,
nonchalance unintentional

tell me straight, if
she started kissing you, if
he asked for a dance
you know why you know that

cos your just the same
ticket to nothingness
lean close, need to get a photo
all for prosperity / a space on the fridge

say you make it
rather
than take it but
it all depends

its those damned years
yes these,
pesky things I keep right here
gleamed up and sitting back home

the ground has been covered my
friends are always the subject
fresh faces help
getting some lookers in too

but its been my thing
now its dropping off
sadly I can't help but
shy away from the new

if i'm in the mood
if its a special event
if your my new subject
tell me why don't you

what they need to make them interesting
is an injection
of time
that makes the mundane exceptional

oh what's your story friend?
first ever new tat of chemical reactions
that ain't it
I'm sorry to say

what you got there is another rep
re
sen
tation

not the real thing
not by a long way
though,
I never did say

happiness
can't be signified that way
its bigger than what you can fit
on that forearm

came out tonight
got down to your
favorite place
coming up aye?

two more beers please
I forgot the drugs
we don't need em'
we'll just down these

more bodies and some that
even come with bouncing breast
slinky dresses cover rib cages
everyone wants to look their best

we’ve all got genitals
in this cavern
can you guess where mine are?
right up in your face

who invited sugarman?
here is not the place
for you deserve to be given
our complete attention

can you spare me some cutter
me brother
needs a wee fix
a shinny penny polished with our dicks

a smoke, a ciggie
can I bum a fag?
do what ever the fuck you want
just don't be a drag

hair just like that
song stuck up in the gears
cute little smile,
perfect round ears

what you doing here
classic conversation starter
a student? well,
let me guess your nationality

to be honest
lets go back to your joint
I want to take off your clothes
and watch you fall asleep

a tasty wee gin helps
move pacman around
muchin wee round pills helps
put his daemons in the ground

yes we are having fun
the beats pound around our rectums
phat bassy soldiers in a Trojan horse
some places this is frowned upon

welcome to the new religion
Jesus died for our sins
that guy should've been a DJ
then he could have died for our spins

still goin' strong
don't know what's brought it out of me
lightning dripping from your finger tips
to your itty-bitty toe

its the rest, the
others that we all want
victory tastes even better if they're in
possession of a cunt

almost at the end
though it really finished
not too long
after we arrived

what did we achieve
in reality
had another smoke
hugged another friend

a cushion of air was my bed
THC a cushion for my head
one more drops like a fly
banters good, all in all a great guy

now what about these
masterful poets
singing their songs of love and
life and woe

pulling away the curtains
surrounding you soul, it
ain't pretty - it sure is not nice
but you've got to see what you sacrifice

these words can be said
you or I or little Timmy
we know them already
they're up there already

I'm going to be leaving soon
where the water tastes like moon
shining on sheets of liquid glass
and the sun gives you all big yellow ass

goodnight
see you in the morning
in a number of hours
let me get down and shut my eyes

what was Spud doing there?
Duchamp, Marcel
the man was a genius
Fountain, 1917

dam smooth coffees
seen with beautiful eyes
of artsy talk
Tracy Emin rubbing money on her fanny

what a day to be alive
getting longer in the tooth
where are we now
just walking the dead

it will be missed
one day
even the car
didn't want to leave

so now you've reached the end
been quite a struggle
one self-tought lesson
is that everything echos

you will see it again
in some form
or another foster mother
blood brother or the loved one you smother

rhymes are alright
but these times are gonna be
the nuggets of thought
in the nursing home, on the hospital bed

that makes you smile but
makes you sad - its all gone,
enjoy it while its there
yolo man, yolo

it was a night out of
countless many
others will be better some
maybe worse, still

goodbye, it has
been quite nice.
lets do it again
maybe even twice.

n

why frank
joe
steve
its time to fire up
the salary-man 2000
stand him up
grind him dow
n: really render him
into sausage
meat
foaming at the
eyes
a company man 'til
he dies.
give him lunch
coffee
lies
hope

and then:

packin up the
meat grinder
filing away the
cheap binder
let's all do the
sleep finder
roll up
roll up
punch out
go home
witicism on fire
another salary-man
for hire.

Sunday, 20 January 2013

n

our 21st century
recreation sensation,
drinking beers over chicken
and pizza
shooting one an
other right in the face
hunting,
prowling,
stalking through the
corridors of power
then emerging onto balconies
to get high at the
moon.
(and here we really dawnder)
up into the beating heart
that filthy start to
a night.
boogy nights
spanish beer
tight shorts
free fags
dub step
not yet.
(stuff happens, then after a
while)
we sail home through
blankets of white
with little red creatures
following behind
dustbins,
wondering just what the
hell we're playing
at.

Thursday, 17 January 2013

L

machines and curves of fleshy mounds
sitting in cafes pouring earthy delights
between pearly whites. let me tell you
the truth.
I have your head in my hand, I
can move it there and
here. white knuckles

strike you
twice
just above the ear. objectified anger
come on get up, you love a bit of drama

the elephant entered before you even knocked.
he barged in and
squeezed your wife's tits
before defecating on the cat.
then you and the rest of the herd

didn't
even realise. fists
into your belly and knees
into soft gaps, you
scream
but I am louder. you claw but my hands
are stronger.
a daily occurrence
its soft, its
subtile
and it scratches you under the
chin right
where you like it

gotta do what it says.
see, I'm just helping
you out. getting to you first
before those
bastards have slid down your
ear holes and licked your eyes
with glossy fantasies and
played mommy and daddy with
your balls.

the
smell of sex is
overwhelming in your mind,
you know where these dirty
thoughts are leading.
a few more kicks
to your guts
and we can be best
friends

Tuesday, 15 January 2013

n

I take my fist and punch
the hard of my neck:
stars eventually appear and
I consider the light
as it reaches my eyes
(surprise surprise prize of the eyes stars of the lid)
until a single black dot rolls in,
the shiny full stop
blown south from the mouth
of a great great novel:
return to bunker hill has
been left without finish,
the little punctu
ation,
vessel
sweet damnation
containing everything good
that man ever had to say.
a life times work goes
into that period:
let it bleed
and try not to get
any on the
carpet.

n

and I say hey man,
your syntax is wack,
shallow and bruised and
way off kilter.
what business have your
fingers there,
being there
on those sweet sweet
keys
tapping like you know it all
tapping like a mother fucker
text message poems
best dressage sowing
stupid smile in your big
ol beaker
go squeak her
come seat her
and stop referring to times
and places unspecified
circles not in boxes
boxes piled on boxes
your hand in the glove
compartment of your
cock.
I'm addressing this to you
and all you've today
is rise
ride
the gravy train
and let your wisdom
touchy knee
touch my knee
see?