Thursday 27 February 2020





The content of landscape
‘From being imagined,’
                                        In spite of a disturbed world
Hot dangerous Japanese day dreams
Killer whales in pods swim in your dream oceans
New prescriptions, new horizons, bending latitudes
Trace the arc of that back pain down to the base of your spine
The post traumatic shock of birth
Both being born and birthing this music is the colour of derelict punks 
You sigh and a world is blown apart
Ancient river of joggers blossoms now
The dredger makes his way through silted waterways
Water curses and courses 
Swoon round the Hackney delta, the Riviera
 River Area.
Rainham, lone horse field more rain 
Solid gold meat wizards with a hard spot for you crushed into
The carvery cavalry.
“What’s the weather like tomorrow?’
“Shit.”
Graffiti tags of Moist, Span, Time and Taste
Grow along the tracks natural as lichen they are almost invisible unless you appreciate
Their wit and ingenuity.
Riding the Medway express bouncing and rattling over the rails
A million pies fly past the windows rain sloshed and frost oh look over there the outline of a castle.
Obscure South London stations break off into rolling fields and combs and wolds.
Bold ideological opposition is what is required from Generation Left they say.
I say “I asked for the vegetarian option”; mesmerised by a clearly meat susage that has been delivered by mistake.
You and I are merely a failed business venture, a vacant lot cancelled out by down time.
                                  Where it happened

                       When existence                   
                                                                               Ran away 
What with 
                                                 All the Being
            Now                                                                                         what

Your                                                                                        tired

                        Walk.                                       Once
Now                                                     over

                                                            Here?

Tuesday 11 February 2020





Catching Dust
Perfectly compacted 
Thought,                       

               Packaging to relish & savour,
Last night 
                            the landscape of my youth was flooded.
A green parakeet sat against a pink background of blossom
Leaside on    the Hackney Rivera.

Potholes in the speed control zone
Lime paste pickles jars of it

Black skinned Brazilian
Another book about the redemptive power of swimming
Genuflect on the gregarious outdoors 
Pile up on the M25
Flooding as an “act of God”
Lattice of tiles
Murmuring in your face
Hovering under the skin
It is the swimming lane
Highway that refreshes the most
“smell the flowers while you can” says Woynarowicz; “you’ll take anything when you can’t get nothing”.
Pub banter over and under and over again,
“There’s always reality, nothing wrong with dreams.” And a face full of alcohol.
Stop, breathe start a pop-up shop to exorcize your grief at a life lost living limp lurching
Forward
Pulse chain 
Berger / Bolan / Poe
Locals
Torrential Ginsberg today in the library
Great beat gusts all over the place
Rock star’s pop up shop again
Nose drizzle speaks volumes of 
Coagulated snot amid a tunnel of parakeets that threaten to kill
The landscape is a midden and you are failing 
Killing time with the other bums reading the paper
Educate yourself out of poverty it says but
Stay in your lane
Pedantic steam punks working in the gaming industry
Arcane rituals / abandoned caravan park / ever more aggressive dogs
Standing at a bus stop watching the ebb tide
Work over rough notes etc ….

Saturday 1 February 2020



Nature's Mad Mannequins

Outdoor and indoor assistant required.
Kicking up an unholy stink from the guts of the world.
Rotting fruits embedded in a thick fur carpet at the bottom of the refrigerator, it smiles wide
An odour of malignant decay.
Shocking electric eel vision
Of a hut suspended as by fronds in
A dream or dance of death decay and depravity
Dressed up as delight
Now dance
We swing this way and that with a glance at the altimeter
And as you frost a glistening smile
I ran full pelt out the window
As you watch
Again, then I reappear later from the shadows
Now do you understand
Again, reiterate the statements that brought us here
The old dole office, a bus ride away would favour 
A few crumpled notes. Is it glamour you require? Like that of a gatehouse belonging to a long- sequestered drive way up to the main house obscured by trees.
Dust and gravel matrix the quadrant the stars the model railways
Over and above everything else
Bright wide expanse of sky 
What is this terrible shit, is it tragic. Is it a tragedy, we may never begin to know. 
Entering the village pub that night bodies roiled in a drunken stupor, the type that inspires great wisdom then after great head pain. Tweed and guns, tweed and guns so much tweed and so many guns. We discussed the local murders among other things. You said I had gained weight, I said, “You are a terrible mad drunkard.”
Think on.