Thursday, 23 February 2012


cup-a-soup fuck!
humanity diluted
in lunch time boiling
water beside a cooler
that REALLY couldn't give
a fuck! sandwich board dreams
sliding down the faces
of all of these would be painters
and talk show hosts,
pay-check masterbators
deluded by the interest
separating self from self
(the observer must observe that
he is the observed)
and it is thus
we conduct ourselves: thousands
of years -
tearing at the tear-glands
bending all the mind-strands
from water doing hand-stands
- to now sit here,
vegetated and cello-phaned
mundane fucking lame-game
let's all play the blame-game
- evolved from it all,
polystyrene cup in
keys in pocket,
paper on bus,
always holding




all the juicy fruits
hanging from the juicy tree
(tits cock pussy)
free free free!

Saturday, 18 February 2012


We wake up
in the hotel room
where the windows
are hot and
the water is cold.
Last night flower
wilts in cold glory
a poetic pathetic
slice of it all
(what flowers must fall,
in spite of it all)

Thursday, 9 February 2012


a couple of bowties walk in,
real starched gentlemen
of the finest liquor.
i open door, good
afternoon them and
politely smile.
the more portly of
the two quips
from a mouth silver -
spooned / dirty croissant /
fellatio wrung /
"yeeeeessssss sir!" retort's i,
bend over and assume
my place in this horrendous

Sunday, 5 February 2012

Progress (a work in) N

I'm lying here on this
whisky morn, the houseplants
accusing me of terrible
I have poisoned mother N,
sullied her with a real
concoction - filthy red
alarm clock booze.
outside her birds twitter
and tweet, thousands of
tiny missiles bombarding
my curtained window, soul etc.

Thursday, 2 February 2012


Simon says post hardcore is the best
Simon says Pols make the best
Simon says he can't stand
milk in his
Simon's feet smell fucking
disgusting. but
I am happy to help,
Karma and all that shit.

oh yeah there was this guy,
from my high school, he was in
some [shitty] metal band too.
bit of a prick he was. reminds me of
dickhead from that time. Was an
English fucker who laughed at all his own
bad jokes, big glasses and a
big gap
in his teeth.

I hope he's dead. hope he
choked as
shit in his mouth.
hope it was slow and painful.

Simon is still talking,
he's alright really,
for a