Dedicated to the memory of the victims of Denis Nielson.

THE NIELSON FILES

Under rugged admission

the grave mistake was to go with                                                           MUSWELL

under ground cosy crushed with other’s bones

lime liminal lording it up but coy

in the Black Cap.

You’ll never know the trouble it’s seen                                               HELL

up and down granite hardened bus lanes

scored into the earth clawing don’t let me in.

bleach much of it

frozen ground burial mound                                                           NORTH

mouth breather

ffpppppfffffffff

last breath laps on plastic corner                                                  OF

no the eye’s say

I’M AWAKE.                                                                                NOWHERE

 DOING SO MUCH BETTER NOW

Reflected window mother child

power transfer plant based

refracting today into tomorrow

roof spice tingles on the mouth

exotic vignettes to light up the fancy

glowing at night 

 

 you feed me through a spout always alert

forever catching up on sleep’s ellipsis

never allowing thought to win

another green ambush where con trails

dissect the foxes fucking another day forever

washing grips the line unfolding paradise

taste the brushes branching against the window

doing so much better now

in direct sunlight.

 SOMETHING OF THE CREST

Behind the camera slops of disinfected road rage 

some simple stereo coughs rinse out their first lines like a counter tenor; the ambulance glides over new terroir, humping over shaded bumps, life-saving equipment clattering in the back.

When you inhale that first thing thought

 sleeping dreams sit frozen along siren sacks. 

Eyes are so watery.

Whit an oily salute we convince ourselves on the benefits of survival; self-investment is the business of living. A worthy prospect?

Hard tracks across fell tops trampled something rotten; then it’s home for tea.

Throw some more pulp mash on the burner. 

                                       You’re caught up in the utter gloss of

chip shop promises, same as every other throw away year.

Seconds out from a different life all together; just mere seconds from a switch of destiny. Seconds or cells it’s all a lottery.

                                                               Even your grandiose band standing can’t save us. Come whatever dumb dry month you choose. 

Lost in a cosmos of 

“ let’s let the past eradicate itself like so many green and blue flames.”

Nothing means nothing and it all gets burnt or thrown away.

Anyway.

 NEW YEAR, OLD DREAD

Cold tea touches the lips

blanket already twisted. 

We plot our way through perfunctory time.

Greetings issued out of habit 

litter the floor like so many

stone dead bodies.

Opiate star points on a map 

a city swamp divided in time lags 

the rise and fall of

the pain wave.

Breath is close steaming up the window pane of America. 

A snow drift against the door, no you can’t come in or even connect with that.

Fear sucker punches lurching day break

 tear ducts buried beneath the ice

particles of frost glitter in the iris 

the air heaves itself on again. 

She asks if I’m alright, well I was. 

And so the clattering effort of another one begins.