Tuesday, 20 November 2012

n

we roll from our homes
gangsters of the morn
wallets bulging
with receipts and coup
- ons, get our free
soups - ons
in churches soon to
be luxury
coffins
with mail boxes
and satellite tv
.
.
.
pencil cramp
.
(outside i hear a homeless man squeel like a
girl)
.
a fragile palace
made of matches.

Monday, 19 November 2012

n

why, sir! its winter now
and we all tire at the prospect
of mornings once more.
dirty anal choccy cereal isn't enough anymore
you're filthy mind needs wheat
and bran
and soothing words in sweet cardboard red.
the face drops
into the milk
onto the floor
: sweet spastic tumble
a hibernation
til spring.

Tuesday, 13 November 2012

n

whatchoo doin here
crazy hazy sweet smokin sam
carri-bean man
sleepin on your board of
card with the
cold
hard
penis of the world
jabbin up yer backside
feastin on the free ride
crabs on slabs
of con-crete
all up in your hair
the people they just stair-
case the hell outta there
just
you and the rats
and
even they're scared shitless
of your cock
and
your nob; and
this is why you'll never be saved -
you're dirty
and phallic
and your heart beats
on the cheap seats
haven't you herd?
no-one
likes a human.

Wednesday, 7 November 2012

n for us, upon film again

Cabaret voltaire
don't go there
yo ho there
le donk and us
spittin out the big pips
lookin at the blue tits
stealing fruit from bars
and half eaten rum
from rooms
reserved for brides and
grooms.
jizzy top?
yeah don't stop
dancing on the prance floor
Xmas puds for hats
no food in sight
everything all right
everything not all right
anxiety
fear
stodgy dodgy steak pie
the Saturday night fuck parade
heard on the radio
whilst walking home through
dawn.