mud & blood spatters the flood is a slab so hard, only
the message can move Earth to inhabitants:
‘We have your children, Release the Hell-Hounds;
We will allow no brook with your elders, We will not listen to bureaucracy
Your hot breath is cooling
Solve Et Coagula
You now have the time it takes for broken pots to mend
The clay people have spoken’
Remember one:
similar coat that everybody loved
mine to have purple as a royal
or a picture of the coat
mum memento mori
several winters brisk
all my own not just for teens:
Childhood
placed within an empty biscuit tin
darker 1970 went for a brown
style coat rails
to pattern paisley filled
missed bus
with their kindness bought
a great buy 1974 early winter
maxi for floors of sheepskin
decked halls
many goods badly named
—you say it’s all inevitable but you don’t know what I’ll do next
in this moment my movements are unknown
yet to be beamed in- negotiated- settled through a teller’s window
cheques crossed and coins counted and collective convictions scattered
for the machine is being dismantled
toothless and mute
cogs & wheels thrown to the wind
shrapnel buried
a vacant lot marked by a rag as a flag
tomorrow is the bogyman your parents warned you about
—here is a close up of a mountain, a gun and a broken vase
fingerprints are wiped yet intentions remain carved in stone
clues are the characters in this whodunnit not the people
you are the story a delayed narrative as illusory long days
now and not never a novel but a short story shrinking with
a final page that makes all that came before seem
vainglorious
—the sound of progress faltering
a scream or a whisper
or maybe something less profound
here’s to blind fortune even though you don’t deserve nice things
I ask for no great changes yet I hope everyone gets what they deserve
let’s be Fairweather friends even though we’re better apart
vices are for the weak and the wicked alike so here is your fair share
roll the dice and let the chips fall where they may
and pray karma’s not a bitch in the way nature intended
Happiness a button away
Freedom at the flick of a switch
Contented with the contentment content available
All the while the scratch continues to anger the itch
My work will be finally done
When the tree’s branches resist the rising sun
When the wax cylinder records the silence
When poems erase themselves from people’s minds
When humans are self-effacing self-correcting facing self correctly facing
When umbrellas stay up in heavy winds
When the rain pours upon the wicked and the divine together
When no one knows what romance is
And become passionate about starting again
It’s on full screen
‘I think you know what I mean’
It’s horizonal
And you can see the sky and the sea
–
It’s switched off
‘I think you know where I’m coming from’
It’s late
Black as coal and down for the night
–
It’s switched back on
‘I think you’ve been here before’
It’s morning light
No need for electricity
–
It’s switching back and forth
‘I think therefore I am’
It’s all too much
The fault is in my program
A bunch of flowers in a pint of Vermouth
You’re the cats sneeze to me
Isn’t she the lady from that famous shower scene?
First movie to show a toilet flushing, I heard somewhere
The weird and the eerie are kissing cousins
Cuddling up when it gets parkie
To spend half an hour in Hancock Park
Is to be the scarecrow
In a field of dreams
The loneliness is spoiled by you
Joining me and becoming two
I apologise for the world we’re in
You tell me it’s not my fault
But Eden’s immortal sin
I see Jonni eating ice-cream
The vision is blurred cos the camera’s hot
The church bells do not ring for thee
Baby on a blanket
We go to mass on Sunday
I prefer Coke over Pepsi
I’m a kerb crawler on a register
Can we table that suggestion and run with the first idea?
We can’t buy second-hand sex toys
Cos the clean-up is expensive
Money is around here
Burning in the hand
All suggestions should be taken as red
Did I mention I’m a kerb crawler?
May that be stricken from the minutes
you come on all like new york subway graffiti in the eighties
bad for the wildlife good for local morale
spraying bleach on a petri dish
harms the nightlife
saves the soul
You hop on one leg and are far too confident for a vandal
And I don’t think you are— it’s just others bigotry
Passing the window, you give a lacklustre wave
I’m not sure if it’s a lack of interest or you’re just acting coy
However, this is recent events: reported by friends
Being fictional is no excuse for letting people down
If you don’t exist— just try harder
My father was a graffiti artist
He only sprayed moving vermin
Bad for the wildlife but he was always
Good to go
And now the streets are gone
As I place the glass upon the spilt sugar
Through no fault of my own
I feel in my fingertips rough granularity
The optimist has no need for compassion
As the depressive has no need for a clock
We must traverse life with the possibility that
Everything is dangerous yet nothing is real
Without escaping into congenial madness
malleable art 