Silver ghosts

float in on the angry word

stumble rushing to inform the violence

 benevolent priest in funeral garb  

says 
ARE YOU JOKING?

FAT FINGERS FLAILING as the soil pours in

Just ignore

it 
will go away

that’s it now                    
                                         back her up right there. 

Find a parking space for those grinding gears 

                    please !  No more gnashing of teeth you brutes !

honestly  I would not advise you to take these but they might help

more slurping more nothing talk crouch and grunt intimacy displayed in large format

overtones , the whip and slap of sparring

slurp

smoke

pin your heart’s desire on great slab of NOTHING

well done now you’re learning, don’t worry it will all be over soon.

Close your eyes feel the mandalas on the breeze that’s right

Lets undo your tiny fragile tattooed hands while you mumble savage nothingness to your hearts desire

Today the world seems less real than yesterday, will this carry on tomorrow?

Thoughts brim over like the arriving light from a million year old star

tenderness and the barbarism of the moon

you fell away

out of my slippery grip

less than


pulling the tideways to bits

smashing

sending us all mad

smothering in your cold grey light

illuminating rituals

The floating people the mad dog man tense and confronting / giving fatherly advice to his young companion while rolling a joint one handed three lads tops off tattoos in the breeze those dogs are frankly terrifying / seriously unchained master / rotting engine debris hulks rusting / encouraging his dogs to fight each other brown tanned quite insane pit bulls or whatever uncontrollable / slow meander tame herons the boat cafe gateway  to Essex or Hertfordshire / discussion about free access to a well known festival and the smell of bacco / a  young orthodox Jew with wisps of fatial hair flying a remote controlled plane that crashes into a flock of pigeons on the cricket pitch oh the absurdity oh the rapidity of events unfolding while bees buzz under a white blossom canopy / a gypsy encampment by the side of the industrial estate  / the sandwich man on his rounds towing a great big cart of carbs make way or get mown down / dog walkers carrying hot bags of shit / belligerent geese / the accumulation of plastic crud by the sluice gate / the feeling of early summer lightness and now a three legged Rottweiler called Rocky

There goes that old man with shoulders hunched, i've seen him before, faded clothes in grey black and brown, thick long straggly matted hair down to the shoulders , slowly , methodically climbing the steep brushy slope next to the park above the canal. With his head  down he scans around his feet, battered hold all style bag over his shoulder, stuffed with stuff. A hoarder, lost and forgotten.  The trees form a canopy over the  mud track that snakes upwards to the ridge, beyond which he must live, only you can't see over the top, we're just guessing this is where he stockpiles his treasure. Probably doesn't stray very far from this small area.  Beyond the top is a small parade of shops with a launderette and a store for basic items, milk, tinned food and the like. No need to go further afield, maybe for years. Not an unhappy sight, just lonely, disconnected, out of step, forgotten but perhaps likes it this way. This solitary backwoodsman of Springfield Park, hiding in plain sight acting out his morning routine in the morning sun that falls short over the bank of trees where the path winds over the ridge. Taking his time looking around, inhabiting his space, largely unnoticed by the comings and goings on the path below where runners, cyclists and dog walkers compete for space. This guy is camouflaged, you have to look hard to even notice him, his movements so small and slow, like rubbish slowly flapping in the breeze.

Questing for the solar lodge, the white men are mad, extraordinary

Our saviour you have too much too loose of course now

It is the time of the starving freak out moon

Stammered all his life she cried, overbearing grossness like a thistle patch

Water collected in a butt over a lime fired winter

Don’t leave us behind.

Brambles, thorns and the briar patch. Yellowhammer, pied wagtail and goldfinch surrendered to the shadow of the lunar, eclipsed by necessity of course.

Of gorse and bulrush and horse fly, flayed, withering, paint peeling, that feeling of closeness, lights around the bay

A dray horse a dragonfly and a damsel in distress

Please turn out the lights when you leave.

Burn stronger now, honeysuckle, red rose and smell of camphor

Summer storm, electrically charged moisture, micro density, low pressure, sea swells.

Twines, galleons, the forgotten

Branch line, load stone, provincial treasure hunt, moss covered caravan

Toadstool tenements, broken artefacts rusting for decades not moving

These are your friends; this is where your power lies.

M.R.I

star faced teeth in darkness

"once we paid off the mortgage we stopped selling
booze to the drunks, they'd come in at ten on the dot, practically throw they're money at me they were shaking so bad"

warm glowing excrescence, unperturbed in over our heads
pliant in amber surrounded by new buds, blow bubbles at the cortex the levantine advises, distracts from the sound of the magnets.

Field gradients advance the knotty flame that asks the opprobrium of the fat and fluid response
data achieved by our binding to this endeavour

Granite Redoubt  

Waiting for the gasman
the centrifugal force of parenting, the wow and flutter
stars forlorn in the waxy ochre of the crescents gases
underground fissures open up to receive the washed away poor
funnelled under on plumes of brown scum
star analytical, don't think about grace, dominate with effervescent energy, a clap of the hands can puncture the intolerable claustrophobia in the room caused by your pain body crowding out everything
broken metrics, cornerstone integral to the journey south via airport, yes we are flying this time, it should be by definition a holiday of course.  Look down at myths below then clay, shale and gasses possibly. Gulls wheel over the dump , to the north east Forest Island where it is the tradition to briefly embalm courtesans before flinging them without ceremony into the brine.

Famished ghosts enjoy their dominion

Balfron Tower shade stalkers reflected in the glass

Of a cabinet of medieval jewellery

The Goa Stone like hardened dung in its intricate case

We hobble on working backwards towards the first Roman settlement

What splendour what progress

Is it a symbol, a sign?

Crossed sticks in arrow formation

The golden voiced ear whispering

That can only been heard by a pure mind

Run towards it

The future that is

Only you can’t

Its comes to you

Don’t try to fend it off with that broken stick

The river flows

The rower rows

Towards a place

That no one knows 

The man that woke up and could play the piano

Flexes his muscles

His heart soars

Outside Springs 

All this time waiting for this moment

The music flowed through him
His fingertips exhude exotic meditations of sublime brilliance

His reputation spread

People came to hear it

To emmerse in the healing balm 

He played

So much joy heaped upon joy

However this does not end badly

It just gets better and better and better

Celestial Ghetto

Saturn fell last night; the wad of putty that held it up broke free

Bounced off the chest of drawers

I on a mattress on the floor, it glowing fine twine curled up around it

One boy rolled about in his sleep

As if unsettled by these nocturnal cosmic collisions

A tiny glowing plastic planet

Made on the other side of this earth

Loosed from the rest of the solar system overhead

In this cold old room, late Victorian house  

Shelves that heave with books cats that chase in the dark

Two sleeping boys

                                                  

Pushing at each other’s orbit   

                                                    

Moonlight creaking through the gap

In the mediaeval patterning 
on those heavy faded curtains

Dust motes like a thousand meteors

                                             Coruscating in some outer province

Of an unknown nebulae

That is the future

Vegetarian of The Mind

Lies awake at night

Can’t sleep troubled by carnivores

Stalking the orchard

When it gets dark we’ll stake out the foxes

 paces  along the estuary’s edge

power station  our iconic monolith

                                     ecosystem of octopods

On high summer nights the spectral marsh would glow phosphorescent

Underwater jazz 

Out manoeuvred on the chess board the old cheesemaker sighs

In the dream door opens bare empty room wooden floor sound of footsteps

Pull the light cord

Wake up

Debris, a sudden jolt, shocked awake by

Bicycle wheel suddenly hitting a fallen stick

One of many that litter the streets

From yesterday’s storm

POWER

The kind that protects itself, that you know is there but you won’t see it

Until it kicks in your front door

A DISTRACTION

It’s unique in that it can form a hard metallic shell around itself at any time

It has the resources

And you my friend are outside the perimeter fence

ELECTRIC SHOCK

Chinese investors

Docklands opportunity

YOUR FREEDOM IS AN ILLUSION

Like a Bob Marley t shirt or an ice cream

It’s obvious

HOWLER

Forced up the Seven Sisters road (stay with me it gets bleaker)

Sleeping bags flapping in the wind by Finsbury Park gates

I’m just going to come out and say it (raises one eyebrow)

‘You mention deep state’ (and thinking of Deep Time, as if that could be another cabal)

Trees uprooted in Canonbury

The fumes of another week stop for breath, a drink

Tensions, paranoia, visions dreams. Placating, smoothing over

The poet diarist, syntactic enterprises, local archivist in peril over lost longings, words uncovered with a small scraper, those phonologies

How so and to whoever unfurled, matted grey hair picking his way up Old Compton

That was a child,

Two sleepers by the warm air duct waking up with a what the fuck just happened look

Haul another day

Phalanx (or Muscles in 7 days)

Cobweb splayed taught over a stick on barometer

suction cup dust field its not moving

lets take a ride to the cosmic jetty

purple rock salt crystals in the rearview

death dirge on the radio

don’t touch that dial

pinned in onyx anxiety shards impossible but itemised

like the geodes

swing round the narrow one lane track to reveal the salt lake

are you landing or launching today sir?

crystal cosmic jetty

blue sky

empty roads

cactus

the motel

the idea of you

two figures at their beginning

waiting

obediently at the corner

these guys are launching

hold onto us they say

be kind they say

ill try to shake the scum from my eyes

treat you right

push down hard on the accelerator

make it to that spiral nebulae

before our new friends close the door

sealed off they are gone

were just standing looking out across the salt flats

crystal crunch, gentle mesa

plane in the distance

freight train across the horizon

remains of a fire

a terminus 

a rain soaked bus window

expedition to England

departure point 

east of Tilbury

a technical nowhere

the passenger ferry still operates

across the most northerly reach of the thames

cold snap in the air increases our anxiety

we skipped the light fandango

average house price at riverside heights is attractive

the increasing freight market we can accomdate it

a low expectation high yield market

frost turns to ice

high sided tipper trucks 

missed the turn off for rainham

non existent ancient fortress

car park monolith

cul de sacs are fancy dead ends

comes from a lomg line of scrap metal merchants

going back to the bronze age

"I'll give you bronze age mate"

the bare knuckle boys

tarmac layers off the books

the bite the swing the fist

first light 

Solve et Coagula - (dissolve & combine)

The known world

the places we understand, the way things are done, assumed notions. These ideas that we use to navigate ourselves from the waking moment to the end when we exit the day world and enter that other place. The idea is that all this can be worked on, as in made to corrode or dissolve, make rusty until ultimate collapse. Fictions can be introduced, fake tomes unearthed, of course you don't know they are fake, yet or maybe never will. This secret knowledge once disclosed and disseminated then goes to work, floats through the air like spores. only a shadowy cabal control the production of these volumes, when and where you can find them, strategically placed in obscure antiquarian book stores on long forgotten streets deep in London or New York City, occasional volumes appear in auction houses. the text pertains to a forgotten civilisation , there is moral philosophy, long lyric poems, etchings the like of which have never been scene, completely out of step with the timeline of art history as you were taught it. Fancy that, a society of contentment and idealism and artistic purity, not a utopia, a place that really existed.

Hair brained

how to describe the woodpecker

the silent muscular meditator

hands moving through the air

gestures

cardiovascular cessation

laughter therapy

its occurring now on the platform of our station

At this juncture we don’t want to examine things too closely

Diagnosis will be prolonged over multiple departments

then we will have to find out which trees to go for

sound out the soft woods

rapid burst of gunfire with extra reverb stops suddenly

is it right to want more when others expect so little?

Rapping at the hollow darkness we carry on

it is the only way we know.

When kingdoms collapse                                                          MEZZORANIA

  

Dishevelled secrets pile up                                               

Lichens gather around an idea                                                     VENORATE THE SUN

Wet granite glistens                                            

A scathing review is just that

Ephemeral

Already lost faster than it can be placed on the page                       THE EASTERN DESERTS

Still,

Embrace the rain                                                                       SYMMETRICAL CITADEL

 Run outside

Get soaking wet occasionally

It’s good for you

Tumble

Happy faced Buddha’s                                                                      VERDANT GARDENS

Here’s one now at a friend’s house

Moss around its base in the longish grass

Morning drizzle

Pearlescent drops roll down

Makes heavy a blade of grass

That springs to a bounce in slow motion                                             BEHIND THE WALL

If we get tired we’ll stop somewhere

Maybe a   rest will sort us out

Star fed and too proud to give up it’s about harnessing our energies now

The furtherance of civilisation

Chisel

A coda something spent

The remains of a gathering in the grass

Empty wine bottle dregs stain red and rolled down the rows of hard green cusks

packets and papers

An interesting diversion from

the normal mode but with some unusual key changes

creating a juxtaposition that stops you for a moment

oh its live!

My eyesight is getting poor on the close range stuff

It is very subtle

the body

it turns on itself

you have all this freedom this time that can be removed in an instant, kinder possibly

or gradually layer by layer peeled away

now the sound is baroque inflection over the usual spectral

trombone

now we begin to think

blossom on the street already shoots

and then we went blind

Old monkey boots

A valid hardship

Injustice shelved like dusty books

Those browned and curling pages, that smell, hard to un love once hooked on

The noise those owls made

Hoots resonance across the empty village square

Now it’s the cats that disturb my sleep

And a forceful wake up

But those old roots

You can’t dig ‘em up

Got to keep hold of them

Like when a tree grows close to a house

You get rid of that tree and the foundations will crumble

Got to live with it see if you can adapt to it

Make the adaptation a nice personality trait.

Like the sudden boom of the owl bouncing of the church bell

And the absolute inactivity of the village after midnight

One lone car beams perhaps moving off

The glow of a lamp through multi layered nets

Silence and twitching

Freezing and adapting

A life stranger than rich slipping across mud flats of samphire and plastics

The Acid King

Path to the throne paved with broken fractal carpet of smashed fireworks

Ordinary and at once forever

Chemical contusions scarring the brains aquifers

Folly

Dusk

Disarray advances, it pinches the cheeks, makes them ruddy. Mercurial bystanders jeer as this holy fool careens, tripping over his velvet robes, but this is all ritual

He wants to be mocked

A female human encased in fat makes slow progress past my window

Hot coffee cools to this

Imprisoned in a decaying body that has broken down a voice sweats through the flesh

Old age you bastard, this push cart survival, this endurance

The day I die new sparks will illuminate the unquiet dark

Seven battalions of Brent goose will fly in unison across the River Blackwater

Megalithic stones will rise up like overnight fungi out of the damp moss

Owls will descend on the city

Ordinary bus routes will make wrong turns into miracle valleys

All poets, street ranters, mad men and women will be given life time bursaries

To continue living the way they want too.

Black cat asleep on the bed

Artifice and edifice

Increase mineral deposits

Escape this night by water

Cars sleet past the road outside

Dissonance and resonance 

Brush the aisles of sleep

Coping mechanisms involved in loving

A hollow noise from behind the walls

Ritual and rhythm

For further advice consult the cards

Involve no one in the nights thunder

Cestus

Reservoir 

Under psychic duress

A few ducks and  gulls

Cormorants on a dead wood pole 

Two swans land erratically but perfectly 

Two  spoons clash 

The green ingredients are perfectly blended

 Your bus ride south will take no time 

Venus is your guide 

Wintering 

Shielded by towers 

Ghosting  on the edge 

There is potential for development but the reality is footings wouldn't hold