Silent stagnant poverty pooled over
worn-out macadam smoothed by relentless
Feet, bowed at the corner shop entrance.
So far outside of real no need for constant visits the idea
Of ‘socialising’ grates so what is it to be living well?
Anything so disturbed becomes distinguished by habit
The unlovable in turns liveable aged by repetition, complacency
Repetition. And your right wrong aspect of what your told to write and feel: so now that dog
You taught to love will turn to bite us back.
Greying at the edges another post everything day turns somnolent.
But what about the soul’s report; the gathering of reproachful wonder often transcribed as bliss? The loving grace of an annoying off-spring that homely hatred nestled in the heart of the homunculus. You remember this more at the end; the middle part is blurred often lost to intoxicating grief.
We must believe in bliss or at least come to understand its legions as a goal. Forms of nobility: constant clatter : interrupted thoughts : insipid nostalgia masquerading as fear of death : your constant companions : old things
Humbled hive jumble sale
Processed cheese slices can’t remember anything good about dad?
Old photographs of school days with you not in them
Flash back to idiots that rendered you speechless over and over again
Giving up giving in just about ready
Giddy on pharmaceutical serotonin
No there is no time for that
Never has there ever been any time for
That
Because we are mad, because we have been made mad
It is now common for us to hurry through the days
Achieving nothing but spending every molecule on waste matter
Inside a bright shiny cave my laptop gently melts into a substance like liquid mercury
Dripping vertical lanes of luminous ichor
Rotating 360 degrees the birds and butterflies and bees
Tended well to pick the bones clean
His skeleton resting in repose an almost grin is grimaced from the teeth
Fine angular jaw bone burial sump
Well socked a soaking up then sliding round
Through hoops and loops to dollop down
Right there; slump in front you roll your eyes
Your legacy was never clean or acted out
But divided into gain so many
Crummy rooms, hallways, shared kitchens are your stock
Dust covered mannequins shuffle to life the listless dead air of
An inner-city blank holiday a sigh draws dry toast into a death roll
A last rattle before connecting trains lope off to outer suburbs of
Further heavy minds.
Meanwhile she continues to hoover.
The discarded buggy and the broken swing
England is so much faded plastic now
The once bright sheen of future prospects burnt out myopic dystopia
Of fried eggs scratch cards bad skin bloated corpuscles ground up
Lips and arseholes on every corner dragging a shitting dog by the neck is a freedom that must be preserved against invading hordes that would seek to do us down to erode this majestic life of Albion preserved in aspic.
In empty low-level bungalows
A wardrobe of meagre keep sakes
A porcelain Labrador
The smell of stagnation
Once communal garden now over-grown, cans and carrier bags, long grass browning and burnt
Municipal play areas turn into a dog shit zone
Magnificent melting eye balls
Shovel food nervously into mouth
Big dumb droopy grin
Happy to be out socializing again
Loving your friends and their cute dogs
Just a couple of pints
But I want a million pints so I can collapse into oblivion
That’s what I desire
One of those knackered fifty something guys that walk with slow methodical defiance
Arms out to the side; a studied pace, you’re not hurrying me sunshine all frosted with a passive aggressive menace. That dog trumps it all.\\\\\\
