Wednesday, 30 December 2009

n. Wednesday evening reflections on the toilet (my phone has wifi)

snow falls and i snowball towards january.
christ shrouded in mystery, i drinking in misery
greet a bombardment of emails
all offering me unbeatable deals.
a lager cracks open on the tv screen,
and the recipient dowses his inner fire with 4% danish joy
and 96% denial. copenhagen! success!
another decade rears his face above it all,
another decade slides below,
warmed by the earth,
at peace, under the snow and
uploaded on youtube,
chronicled by the generation
vile and ignorant in its twitters and tweets,
fucking off in my hopeful mind.
it's bigger than us, so large it blinds us.
we don't deserve to see,
all we can do and all we can be
is organicizing and retreating under
the awe of the sun
the roar of the sea
the glory of the stars
and the mighty redwoods,
reclaiming our cut-price coffee tables too busy
nursing the crumbs of another yule.
to quote in summery,
a hum hum hummary!
a hard rain,
is gonna fall.

Friday, 18 December 2009

L

Think i could piss in a coats face
If the roof kept from touching my chin
Then again if tennis ball could talk
They’d ask for orange juice squeezed from the
Sex of an innocent young street vendor
After they passed their iron mongering test
Of pixie deadlights in my car headlights
A glass of wood and a jelly bucket
Gives me permission to burn an oversized truck
Filled with gob shite old wankers clad in meat
Of ox and poo nosed Arabs saw what I was doing
To their mothers being attacked by pink poofy ninjas
Slashing dildo swards toward my rear and blonde hair
Dyed by blind horses did lead my hands towards wrinkled
Breast and suckle upon tiny teats of fully grown termites
Munching my ol home around my sorry filled ears.
Damn, I thought.

Thursday, 17 December 2009

L

passing
a bag in the window
that paints my dreams
its call crashing through the dark air
slap.
slapping the binds that hold it fast
everything will be ok.

steps follow the sonnet of the evening
time folding memory over the gaps in
my head
looks and movements in an unidentifiable place
just occurrences
on the earth
living only in magnetic pulses
across the river of your mind

everyone together for a
momentous
heads down
frowns to the ground

wait and wait for a turn
the maid takes so long
i need hops and greased gears
and open ears
but eyes can’t help but gorge
on the opposite sex
a feast for my trouser beast!

my early days were built for this
if he saw it he’d cry
for the bosom of one

trees in a forest
bending to catch the light
steal it away
it is not there
it is
here.

what is this place they call fun?
a tight test of youth
a calling to the grave
in memory saved

beautiful people
everyone

n fuck

tennis ball cunt i break unto
your court and steal what is neccesery and then
i break home and listen to sigur ros.
ross maiN? Dunblane?
what the fuck happened?
andym urrmurray accepted both evfents in a hurry and struck the ball forth
and i stole it and hide beside my living room window
and screamed at passers by: "CUNTS!!!!!!" "BALL FUXCK CUNTSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"
i hark unto them and spread exlixir of lotus oil on thy bosom.
i love thee,
merry XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXmas.

Wednesday, 16 December 2009

c

Clarkson blubbered into the Italian leather,

Hammond approached from the suprisingly spacious passenger seat to lick a stray tear.

The two men smiled into each other's eyes as Clarkson gently ruffled the manicured hair of the doe-eyed runt.

The two laughed, once, then a second time as they drove off into the sunset achieving an above average 32 miles to the gallon.

Tuesday, 15 December 2009

c

Attenborough reclined to the sound of his own liqueur tinged laughter.

The animal kingdom was his.

Deals had been struck with the gorillas and tigers, if the war went ahead then he would be well looked after.

His cheetah skin pants growled as he pounced upon the last of his whisky. Grunting and groaning his ancient skin contracted then expanded to expose a tattoo of the North Atlantic starfish residing between his bum cheeks.

Saturday, 12 December 2009

n (for a day marked 'birth')

birthed, girth and all. twenty
one years, fucked and small.
Big C! now glorious in presence,
staunch in stature
and winged in ascent
to the upper plinth,
on which life's answers lie.
In my minds eye,
i see him,
clawing for the edge,
scrabbling for the scroll
Big C! i cry; halt!
your time will come,
bask in the glory and flounder in the sun.
for now you are a man,
but soon a child,
returned.

Wednesday, 9 December 2009

n

Meteor shower

Last night i was lying
on the bonnet of my car,
watching a meteor shower through
a gap in the clouds.
A sudden feeling of worthlessness percolated through me,
trickled into the gravelled ground
and evaporated into steam.
All around me, the cold December air
glanced at me as if i were tinned soup,
nestled in an aisle full of fresh produce.
And above me the stars shot and shone
and below me the earth rumbled and tumbled
through space, dust and all.