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.