Rode it long through the acid night

Chirping the pulse

Of a malfunctioning smoke alarm

Brought to abrupt dream end of toasted bread

Aches and morphic response to the crash of wakeful thinking

Clearing it up with it 

Getting on

To the fast lane attack of rhythmic work impulses

“beware of the dog, it needs cuddles”, barks the kitsch sign

Ironic to find humour here

In golf land 

The soft thwack notes the rising sun

The dog barks from a one-mile radius

The motor is diesel it sounds rougher than a regular petrol engine

As I take the rolling hills at speed time stops

To breath in ‘personal’ and blend out with ‘distinctly your own’ is todays goal

The apparition of an old couple eating food at the table next to us

Is spectral

In its intensity

Pre-frozen they thaw out over the first course

The look alright like life was spent doing the right thing and sleep comes easy

But

What if that happens to us

Ruefully eating out a metre of pasta on a Wednesday night in an empty pub

With each mouthful the middle distance gets further away and the gears change and the diesel motor responds with a rush of blood to the nervous system and the last fifty years explode behind the eyes in one second of remembrance that is just a few colours blended

And there is a spectre at the window behind the glass

That was something like you

You remembered in time for pudding

Accept The Terms

Thrown together in an artificial reliance; yet the quality of service remains

acceptable. 

Because of the necessary obligations you will receive this disbursement towards

the end of the week.

Let’s feel powerless together but expect more under the crystal ventures that streak across

the sky.

“Life is a theme park” half whispered, I can’t agree, but more than this it’s not true but it doesn’t 

matter because as usual you are half right.

Shit, in a west coast of American way, re-arranged without concessions to this relentless ice pan

screeching to a halt.

 the heart murmurs  protect your ears

 sonic decay dancing around the garden.

Arriving early we watched and waited for signs of life,
small moments,
a door opened and someone threw out
an empty packet of croissants.

If I could control my thoughts what would it mean, ideas arrive to order or blank walls

dripping with nothing.

It’s ok, I’ll just live in the library, find a significant corner overshadowed and out of sight.

Stay there for years. Move section by section guided by the noise of the fans on the roof. Mesmerised by the sound of typing, in a trance walking through the rooms at night, turn into a gas to get through cracks in the walls, might meet some other eyes , mine glow red, the other pair pulses back blue that’s what you call serendipity or circumstance.

Spend a few minutes stretch the brain panels and wash the bones down to heat up anew procession.

Take on a passage like Benjamin cornered, battling the ghost of Baudelaire. Staring into the museum of emptiness but quick you grabbed it, now flee.

4:33 am rain on the roof

Is proof of life

Rain in the eaves of the old loft

The breathing in and out of a child on an adjacent bed

Is proof of life

Being inside in winter

When the weather is foul

Is part of life

To be outside at this moment 

Would be survival 

At the best outcome 

Last night we pulled a cart around the city swamp 

Rain soaked pub cacophony 

Was bewildering 

We stopped to look

It did not look back

Tidal time

moon time 

pull on the tide

up now

ripping us 

together 

apart

torn

throwing time 

fact begin

does fact begin

memory time 

die distilled

artefact. A snapshot

so clap 

now stored

liquified brains

this or that

you snapped it

forget the warm block 
the blood pulse vortex

purple and writhing his legs 

my mind

as usual

Shit 

the vague recollections 

ripped up 

scattered to the wind 

romantic metaphors.

‘Imagination dead imagine’

As a point

To depart from the

Thing in itself is a landing

From a raft made of twine

That comes below the tidal flood plain

Take horror

Rusted causeway 

Over the flats

Seeking stars 

Useful guide

To the brain skin stretched over

The skull

If indeed we are being in time

Then to know time exists

There must be

This idea

To belong

On the frosted bus lanes

The music box chimes up

Dainty and supernatural

Like a daily dose of something good

Refusal to engage will

Lead to alienation

Chastisement

The hard bop of an afterthought

Not fully formed yet

Still moving towards

The novum of hard thought

Of conscience

To begin 

Let’s play

In case of indeed yes

Beginning to unfold in time

Dimensions resist to rust

Machinery left out over

Many seasons

You’re not dead yet she said

Laughed we

Without eyes without teeth

The village rests on a pile of bones

That people call home

Fall into abyss

Feel the hot weight of time

Night surrender 

Time is endless 

But also finite

The creep is crazy

Years pass like days

Dawn crawls around

Try to take control 

Of night winged territory 

The casement for the 

Window is solid

The thought process is

Robust against terrors 

work

home

sensate eclipse / belief system

torn morsel / placate standing

inchoate uninhabitable

song