A postcard

“Remember”, he said, “It’s all just a crazy-ass dream – the flowers will fall, plastic and false at the first break of dawn. Mother Nature resides somewhere, out there on a rock, clutching the real deal to her bosom”.

Jfk

I see old men running in the rain, children smoking beneath those golden arches: princes street rots into its night this way and I recede. There’s nothing in the world that I’ve wanted more, than to sleep and wake to a world where the trees walk tall & dismiss our illness

early morning poem

and the world laughs with and around you: the moon sags low in the sky. It’s december but your mind is in june. the years fly by like this – minutes in the mind of the mad ejaculation of matter that will soon cool, settle and expand towards the vast and flat. the phone is ringing like it has done a thousand times – humanity is a joke when you consider it all.

The coming

to the sheer hopelessness of grassy roundabouts, too many birds in the trees, friends on boats, racing for the north. The dawn is coming, but first the night, the good, long and cleansing night.

tv breakdown

bite teeth nose
bleed bloody
wildfire in the
middle east. jerking
off, body jerking
smooth jiving sky
diving (dirty bomb dirty
bomb)

L

Hello, stiff lipped and covered in classic jam.
Enter the side door, next to the void
Let’s get down
Laddie, let us down.

Old friends

You grand bastard!
I play you like a piano,
and dine with you in the evening.
A round of pernod,
cigars, and talk of poetry and youth.
All the while slowly sprouting whiskers,
whiskers from
our fuzzy chin.

remote in hand

Monotonous piledriver
pounding the truth deep
into my skull.
rabid dogs
chewing at the eternal
ear. Mid morning tv,
a hopeless condition. (all of
this being said without
knowing, caring etc.)

Snowy morn music bus

Those sweet bars
and my eyes
roll back to
gaze at my
tingling brain,
power station in
the mist. 128
bits doing their
bit to push me
on through this
snowy Monday
in swirling joy flakes music bliss riding in the happy bus.

(bracket poem)

r(oss) main, hanging there
crimson hue rolled up and
smoked; chewing won’t suff
ice (ice baby)
(yeah that’s nice, baby)
and still you hang,
choked on a rope (picture hook, look, chinook (etc))
and i marvel at this, your little folk
carrying umbrellas, goats and walkmen,
walk, men, escape the tide whilst lending
yourself as subject matter for a
masterpiece of modern art, cast
your eyes out unto my well lit
room, spanish guitar, peanut collection nesting
in a bowl (i eat one now)
and eyes, yes your eyes, burnt umber holes
burnt into wood – grainy brown stars
dancing for me (he, she and they etc.)
YOUR GETTING US NOWHERE
(peanuts in the bowl etc.)
just keep walking, linseed oil feet
and turpentine will (will) get you there.
and please, if i annoy you, just say
so.