Wednesday, 23 November 2011

n

flim flam
filthy flan
pussy tan
bang!
bang!!
bang!!!

Wednesday, 16 November 2011

C (a slight return)

Suited,

booted,

and hypermuted,

slap those metro dicks against an oncoming train.

c

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

L


the best job
you've ever had. just
making it up as
i go along,
these lies hide incompetence, one hopes

and hops along, towing the line
in kilt shoes and
thick itchy socks

sometimes its
working alone in a room,
next to other empty rooms
on top of more empty rooms.
spending empty hours
thinking about the empty hours
that are still to come

through the glass,
watching them move
from their own
empty rooms.
honest indignity,

they
enter and leave
wanting to fill
bellies or boxes or heads
so they will not be empty,
for a wee
while.

orgasms, smooth jazz, sounding like...

something old, something
new,
something borrowed and
fuck you!

taking your
chapter to a
new place,
dusty apples,
dundee cake/emotional baggage

i like my men
like i like my cofffee,
she wares far too much
on her face

honestly i am sorry,
but I do not care

Thursday, 29 September 2011

we sat there,
playing chess - just
me and that dirty mother
fucker - bastard pawn til the
break of DAWN
we each slammed a
sweet measure of whiskey,
and stabbed each other
right in the eyes.

Cunt

Fuck

Shit

Thursday, 8 September 2011

n (afternoon coffee)

migratory buzzwords!

sweet caffeine buzz to ignite
the old pocket bird,
twenty6 charcter orgasm
stunning
exploding
re-loading the old dusty cells of
a parched baked mind,
brought to life with
such sweet clarity for a window –
a brief, brief window – where
the cycle is broken and those keys –
those keys gleam and dance and arrange
themselves in sexy little rows
practically spitting out the words,
each bent over and whoring themselves
to your mind.
the clouds have c;leared and a million shiny
pricks
on sticks
stars of the lid
present themselves to you.
your dirty consciousness can’t get enough!

n

sometimes i'd like
to find a deep, dry well
and climb down to it's core
with only my mind.

down here i would think about;

last night's dinner,
bus fares,
20p coins,
poetry,
sex,
work,
oil paintings,
wallpaper,
phone numbers,
rauschenberg,
hemingway,
grass,
e-mails,
shopping bags,
masking tape,
cold beer,
camera film,
communism,
art school,
dust,
mistakes,
toenails,
numbers,
flowers,
bedsheets,
television,
postcards,
picture-hooks,
vehicles,
dylan,
carpets,
home,
grandparents,
paint,
holidays,
movies,
newspapers,
boiled eggs,
despair,
ducks,
9/11,
hotel rooms,
drawings,
tooth-brushes,
cats,
los angeles,
oranges,
toilet roll,
cigarettes,
evolution,
mushrooms,
consciousness,
tooth-picks,
war,
central-heating,
whiskey,
bleach,
telephones,
fast-food,
chess,
winter,

but, I'd probably be too scared
to go back up.

n

cold autumnal morning
signalling said season
has arrived.

and so the spiders roll in -

big
hairy
motherfuckers -

bastard children of the summer,
going for the shootout
kicking
screaming
biting at the face
eyes
throat
of the year.

cold energy condensed
into a bloody 8-track.
finding holes within holes
terrorising the walls
with mad syphilis minds.

at this i sit here,
drinking coffee and
spinning good morning
mr magpie for the first time
this autumn.

Tuesday, 30 August 2011

l

you know me,
i'm mysterious - i disappear
like
a fart in the wind.

I enjoy a good cup
of
coffee. made buy myself or
preferably,
a beautiful woman.

"you like any language spoken by
a
female." shit,
she
was right.

my mind is
wrestling
with its self all the mother-
fucking
time.
Clad in Ash,
Naked, Erect, Proud.

two half's of a
soft,
grey matter fighting
constantly.
for an outcome that will
never
fool(y) satisfy
.

Wednesday, 17 August 2011

L

standing still and screaming

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

L

"I want a picture of you taking a photograph"

"why?"

"so when your a famous photographer they have pictures of you taking photographs for books and stuff"

"but the caption at the bottom will read; photograph courtesy of Mr Mitchell's first wife"

- she did not smile.

Wednesday, 27 July 2011

L

fat man in red
Red shirt,
Another in sky blue.
Many miles away
a woman realises,
Everything only gets
Harder.
Another tells a child
to shush. A seagull laughs.
Somewhere else,
Questions are being asked.

Buildings stand proud, like
Books lined up in a
firing squad -
on a giant
shelf.
A shelf where insects
play.

Wednesday, 6 July 2011

knee log

i've read one of scott fitzgerald's books
- and now i want to move to france: i've
always been a weak man (moved to throw
possesions out onto the street after seeing into
the wild) and so now my mind travels south.
It crosses dreary channel+england, and on
through to paris & nice nice. but the rotten glamour
is gone in an absence of absinthe - it's all toxic beaches
and the stink of revolution wafting from afrika,
and so my body resides, on the couch, playing my xboxx.

n

out there in L.A the people
grow weed in their gardens
- huge bushes burning biblically,
forest firely, and the people
- of this they think highly.

Wednesday, 11 May 2011

L

a fools stop
at the progress of
academical chatterings

all gather and raise
a collective sigh, the
work so far is done but
only just beginning

Friday, 15 April 2011

n

Bitchez brew! fucking me
fucking you (ewe) gods
flock at my door (an
invitation to join jesus at
his dads bday) this sunday
the butcher
supercollider
things to look forward
to
fuzzy bass
in
the
face
of you, lord. (you kicking screaming poor audio streaming cunt)

Thursday, 31 March 2011

n

penny change
changing lanes
modern man
a cunt and
a half
ounce
of golden virgin
ia please fucking
squeeze
the life outta
me
bastard custom
carried forth
rotten ecosse
filthy limbz
you people are
vampires
rotten to
the bowels.

Wednesday, 30 March 2011

n

purple sneeze
dungareez
fucking hell
get on yer kneez
a spit sliding /
back gliding
ejaculation of
the mind.
pot flavoured
dirty stiff spliff, biff
bang wallop, on yer
KNEEZ, smoke em treez
beheaded by mother,
smokin' chokin' on
her nature.
yer on the crazy train,
relax man, where's yer
brain?

Friday, 18 March 2011

n

and even those
with the mankiest
cocks must come up
for air - stopping
to fuck some clean
water and chlorine.

n

there are trees and
there are plants
in your own back garden
and

you don't know
their names.

look at you, you fool

this is natures way.
being anonymous,
in the 21st century.

Thursday, 10 March 2011

n

rich enough
to buy the times
not enough
to have delivered.
you daily bastards
rotten lungs
whooping cough
drops
cough drops
motherfucking cough
drops
dub
step
door
mat



and reflect. ms word poems
auto updates // ad nauseam // avec laudenum

and now consciousness is naught
but an annoying state.

Tuesday, 8 March 2011

L

the whole city is
in my hair
and my eyes,
dust barrels up from the middle
of the roads. it is every [one] thing -
a rolling bully of grit,
true grit that clogs.

something is crushed
a faint cry from under the boot
heels
its just money.
like glass how it cuts,
not the soles of the feet
but the soul its self

Friday, 25 February 2011

jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez gar
den fence,
gard
en fence.
(magpies tweeting
all around).

Wednesday, 16 February 2011

L

A taste has grown,

I have

Known, for some time

He said why’d I

Come back?

She said it was god

I laughed,

“You know there’s no god”

the coat’s zip

is busted,

I can see all the way

Down

The street,

I am the

Only

One on it.

In my ear

Butchering

sounds

That send eyes to sleep.

Egg shells between the

teeth

winning games

and the lot

Monday, 17 January 2011

n

and here we have
miserable modern
man, sitting on the
bowl, staring down
at his boxer-short
ankles, shade-less
bulb buzzing like
flies (and hanging,
having killed itself)
shitting out the sugar
making space for more
and that other drug (
affliction #2 of this
sorry character of 21st
century scripted world)
buzzes like the bulb
spitting out cancer
and all the cures for it,
mid morning tv, cash
for gold, free* year plan-
ner, easy pudding trif-
fle. more, more, more
and last night candle
floor vinyl sleeve effort
to escape back, run back
to the past now forgotten
as the sugary shit comes
pouring out and teeth are
cleaned and all of the above
is not even realised by
this walking whale has been
loafer of ignored uni-
verse.

Monday, 10 January 2011

n

a winter hiatus (an
interruption in space,
time, continuation)
and now a brown needle poem
rotting on the pavement,
grit in the teeth
blackbird thawing
thawing into 21st centuary
britain (11th year, NOT OK
) - still not OK, but rolling,
rolling along in the filth and
the grit, red elastic band post-
man streets (the stage for all
of this) bleary-eyed actors,
forgetting broken promises,
stars of the lid & etc. - under the rug,
wandering on, wounded,
managing JUST enough
to shut up shop at the
end of each gray day,
pounding the pine needle
streets to get to micro-
wave living rooms. summer
will soon be here, 2weeks off alco
hol laptop rusting on an off
ice desk easyjet, easy, let
us off, blank blank blank summmmeeeeeeeee r r r
snow rain ice what oh
hol
i
day hay,
i want __________________SALE!!!! oh
deterior
ating (grating, )
into summer (then happy family XXXmas
tree buying - (something to look
forward to) -).