[LUXURY YACHTING:-

 

                                         -:BRING BALLAST FOR]

The energy broker living on solid fats

blast through the mantle to extract dividends borrowed

from times immortal furnace.

You’re rich now, so what you gonna do? Divide up the words

or would it make the homage louder. Hard days of serotonin 

bleed seamlessly into melatonin nights. Opprobrium sought for roadside CPR; though

congealed days request that creation myths be soured first in busted

puddle pipes that bite at what the suction gives.

Wishing away waste water under a schedule that blinks at what it does not know.

Your kin, but this woe is wasting my life; beyond safe words, beyond masked and writhing structures. The next choice would be a promise to the guards of cascading philanthropy, bouncing out of jail, a jet ski on choppy waters.

 

 SENDER APPS

Appointments are kept arraigned and infolded; shored up against the wet weather insurance.

Spinning home south

facing globes of dancing light that are all so

ah………., grisly yet tight as air.

The supine watcher clenches a fist at the deregulated dance. 

Sloop down below where

ground by distraction &

marked; the seal is broken.

Contemporary phantoms drill further than the skull allows. 

The gallows is set

shrink-wrapped good to go

when whoosh under the stars we fell headlong

into it.

What savage proposition takes place today?

Pies are pork or mince.

Desolate warm and empty across mizzled panes that

squint at grossly welcoming ale jazz.

Hibernation ritual emergence under leaf fall garden tumbler.

What’s left? 

Deep and nutty jousting jelly

fine pies with eyes all sparkly

spot the entangled sediment 

across a dark brown trick

lurching forward guest to ghost 

before it begins; ready for

THE EVENT.

 

  

MENTAL BRACES

 

A siren brain of broken song

Too long in tooth for that

Break beats on the shore line

A woman in ‘panties’ only

Do not speak of grace or leaf frogs

Canticles of distant home

Swell up to meet the brake lights

Your gone and it is watery here now

Droplets of air form around our noses

Shuffle scratch move silently

Words are like tryptamine

The intelligent boy is swimming through them

We received word on this

That you can fall in different ways

According to the season

The sentiment is infectious

It walks to greet us wearing only shaman’s shoes

You will know when it's time for that unruly battle cry

That screams at every soured second 

With every stir of half-light bitters

Pointing and laughing

Shouting up from the street to the book that creeps

Over hands of green furze 

Wrapped in a sickly detournment

Underneath the mistle toes. 

 THE SMARTS

 

It’s a photo real life; it comes complete with inner meat shame & an 

 

afterlife of hospital glimmer.

 

The gimmick is to make it feel like you’re removing.

 

So then, the 

 

pub life made good by the hill by so and so; 

 

such and such

 

sucking scum in through a straw out through the nose

on the edge of the forest

 

you’re on. 

 

Sleep dissolves cold bombs of magic gore. Snoring synapses stop and glare 

 

we demand more                                

 

and more stacks up

 

You hand stand in candy to

 

shake up the frills 

 

powders fight the frozen radiator angst 

 

while daily discord mounts to a crescendo. 

 

What the words mean and why they are

 

comes heavy in blows 

 

great dynastic plumes of dust pick up to greet them

 

Apathy is a gong we all chime 

 

and laughing, make the cut.

 CHRONIC ROMANCE

 

I’ll go where the drugs go thrilling; who’ll follow

willing the drugs onwards screaming follow.

 

The skittish cat the sticking post the

best lie that you can.

a writing day well

 

the drilling put paid to that.

 

just think what we can do

with all this; take flight 

into the image world 

 

gratitude for life; opulent springs

a thousand vibrations fluctuate

 

Keep moving along a line they say

Advance against the rebel distance whisk through washing lines.

Keep a secret seance under your hat

 

Creep through the undergrowth, it’s yours!!

And your mine, in time we crawl along down days

 

breathing, thinking, waiting.

 SALINE INTENTIONS

 

Greet guffaws hollow home spun

sleek in length obvious not warranted

like nailed to a tree. Each new discovery

a sentinel of chance. 

Down the years the horror churned 

our guts to cold. You danced on the tree line.

Hope fell like a bad apple unripe too soon.

The image stays unfolding horror, the tree, the bindings, the nearby river.

 

 

 

REAPER SHADE

 

The talk of the town tragic soloist

refrain outside windy city blow through

as if tumble weed was magic and could follow.

Are you receiving and when does the magic start?

Tire tracks leading up to an old shack made of angled language.

The lamp lighters come on swinging the brush kicking up dirt,

upside down in the half light just receding, moon, sand, desert, stars.

 

 

ARE YOU SAVAGE?

 

Will the sun fuck off sooner

or later than the seeping mouth which flowers into something

like repose. An art so broke it encrypts itself. Oh

you’re sore now; it’s the same perplexing muscle 

blowing coffee breath like hand spun glass.

Choreographed half-life based on pressure under the skin.

Skim off the scum sway in packets of steam; fissures slip out across

jagged angles of inference. Our stake in it all lies frozen lidded

fed by an old grey pipe; gasp at mum and dad, the whole gang are waving.

Look there’s nothing beneath our feet now

but cold dead air.

 

 

MAYBE, TEA?

 

“It’s about mental illness; about folding the fronds

extending out to turn them back inwards to shine a light

on the inner darkness that burns within.”

 

“It’s about inner-city consciousness and the lie that won’t hold; all that

buying and selling vomit displaced at the crack of meaning.”

 

“It’s about what’s taking place behind the battlements on the frozen skid plain; taking it way past the peak of normal. Placing that moon eyed guest in the path of such slithering blood bonds, broiling backwards out the window across the valley floor born aloft on rolling coils of spectral mist.”

 

 

 FOLK CAMERA LENSE

 

Adopt a state insert four fingers

to grip against the rim. You are

blackened ruinous by nature

we will try and take you back

there where multitudes flock.

On the flightpath bending towards

the obvious savage drone’s mind eye.

Over-watching the intensity

Peregrine swoops to prey

Pulling against the will of the world.

 

 Take a long low-slung line lazy at the ankles

 

Wrap it to the trees

 

Long low lines tethered to an ankle say perhaps

 

Loop it over the moon

 

Loose limbed lines following the footpath of ages

 

Now slowly descending lines

 

Limbering up laughing following the line

 

Formation is important it begins at the back

 

Of the line. Progress in a slow linear fashion.

 

Lazy long line don’t panic 

 

They steal your life away

 

Strip it silently from your bones

 

Years go by and you don’t even notice.

 

Sling a line around the body because it lets us down

 

Heap armfuls of fronds onto the outdoor fire

 

Smoke is not linear but dump the lines anyway

 

smell the burning line between us

 

The sky the rotten fruit the grave the moon that broken branch

 

Long strung lines washed window lines steep climbing lines

 

Dangle on a line time burns it

 Stop holding on

 

 

The serum is illogical and close in time to drink it. Spores fall short on the wind-blown path; besides she chides too hard too rough for it be inconsequential.

The fateful blow is dealt on a record of excessive violence in the line of duty. Speak up. Sneak out. Control if at all the meltwaters desired folly polished screed multiples in favour of a muscle mine.

Each magical mixture redolent of some invested need; to be sure we will back you this time. If it is at all feasible to presume these outcomes based on information gathered.

Meet group cloaked in ambergris markers divine integral wave fissures up on told the build.

All invoked by staggered drawn smokes of berry purple dangled plastic exploding shark; sort of haemorrhaging a wave we were told. See that space fill it. Do not expect each moment to be burnished in enfolded gold leaf over tight knuckle rapture. Burnt ends this time of year umber flame cosmic jetty stone spoils slate cracks underfoot moss soaked fungus due.

You’re not impossible it’s not that we doubt your first forest favours. Lashed to the mast. It takes time to become brilliant; to dance the dance. In traces were fund distillate multiples of the husband of the famous actress. Sordid fore chance affiliated to prospector’s discourse; untrampled also untroubled by recent events. They chose to close it down out of choice. Nobody forced their hand this time. Moonlight illuminates a slither of street that bows and buckles around a cobbled corner. Untroubled night lights here and there. The distant sound of a motor scooter. The barred windows of tiny boutiques. 

 

Work bond is law love sample overall entreat egret dance heron on the wing shadow space open round. Now the tempo is raw bound singular with pretty white flowers to meet and greet. 

 

It’s great now there are no more second-hand book shops left all folded into each other like infinite masks of sorrow. But we will miss the smell of ‘em. Those silently rotting cousins on the till playing at coy intellectualism. Oh wasn’t it miserable that time when and of course come back soon. So goodbye this time off you float piecemeal orange bower sagging serpent’s breath extends into the garden taking sly caresses each newly budding wonder. 

Saxophones reach out with handles your time taking up with train doors slowly closing and opening; the ripe rubbish simmering strafed by cobs and webs dormant fear eternal drilling ancient pipe-works. 

 

Singing to remind love to come out against the dark. You have to remind it. Next time leave choices and monads at the door. Like you used to believe in things and beings that flourished before beings and things became all but one to notice too soon it’s gone. Dance spring ecstatic throw fresh bags of rubbish high in the air. Exhale the court is majestic once more; inside the walled garden the earth folds in and around ornate orchard succulents. It’s a wonder behind the bin truck crushed gulp of all ours; that we achieve this frenzied celebration at all.

 

Entertain the lip of the scum pipe suck off the residue spat lime green juice splashed cortisone filial grip-lock. Sporadic bouts of frenzied activity against the stagnant bone floor. What’s all the knocking for mate, I’m trying to get some writing done; trying to make my way across the frozen lake just like you. And all the other hordes waiting outside the gate. Two approach, one is heavy with wode, the other more articulate speaks first. All history has happened now is just an afterlife, you will see. All interactions are merely distractions; this in time you will see. Digital networks our folk lore answers against the dark sound mirrors of the first rebuttal as the human thing. Wake up drugged heavy with panic and dread is this it am I gone what where is this? Just a smallholding is all we need, enough to keep us from holding on dangling. Two climbers entwined skewered by a serac left to unravel on the frozen scree face, left to wonder on it, a cruel death. The shape of the fault hangs dismal against the energy halo of its pursuit. Cold under rotor blades, you’re at home and can wonder on this glow over the mountains. The glow that draws them on to death. What twisted formulations drive us onwards here?

 

 

 

 Stuck in some crayon canyon

Fog bones drizzle clouding over

Dry air 

One of those just out of reach days

Studded with ideas 

Just try to grasp and it’s gone

slipping into somewhere

Chess in a vaulted room

Summer in the garden house

Free falling into a feeling

that

Yesterday meant the history of memory

Where we send it spare or awry  

Where do we send it?

Pour granite over 

Spilt slides side to slight fall

Down tomorrow

from whence

the bone the breath 

all else is for us to do

 to compensate to feel good

so as to not feel pain 

that be real or imaginary

fear of night of no warning

of beasts

Of dusky bats flittering  

Bringing memory to bear

On it all.

 STAR ACADEMY

 

Lifted as if out of a fog

Bones barely breathing life rattles

On and on

The piano next door

The knocking on the stairs

How we spend our time

Not really noticing the things closest

Until it’s too late or gone

Little frills of piano flourish

Hold ripe imaginings in their folds

A conker falls and all we know

Is that there will be more day’s like this

Until there aren’t.

 AND I AM

Beyond a wall of sleep, beyond coughing

Able to function outside abject philosophy thanks.

You ask how it’s great and green and there is noise all the time

Pinned writhing to a board in a dream not washed

Yet the dishes will not]

Wash them selves are not good 

Add jazz jangles to the poisoned toilette and you’ve got it

Mate what’s up are you fucked up

We’re fucked up too

Turn over and thrash against the pillows

The dark clangs around me 

I am falling through space and time to

Get to the cabinet

To take another

The fridge glow

Is a pathway to the astral-plain

How this once was a way of

Describing the A13

By Jah Wobble once bass player with P.I.L

But they fell out. 

I don’t believe in hyphens she said uncommon

Symptoms include washing up and obscure

Single decker bus rides

Get off now!

 

TRANSACTIONAL DISSOCIATIVE REDUX 

 

 

This could be the least significant day of your life.

Build a shuttered cave of clutter; 

Dwell inside a freeze frame 

Look up, look out from inside a tree hollow

      we know now things could have been different.

“You can’t always get what you want.”

Internal walls twist and dissolve.

Homely twitching

At a favourite spot, your monogram your coat of arms.

The tragic rivalry of brothers. 

Staying clean; those actions that bring us closer to our dreams ending.

The tattooed hearts that yearn for us.

Delusional thought as self-referential over-interpretations of actual sensory 

 

perceptions.

 

A pair of Grey Wagtails work their way up stream.

 

Cold water freezes the hand implant.

 

This is manifestly not Saigon.

metallic hues of the river flow deep into autumn green, eels of black submerged fronds twist against the current.

Nettles mind the way reaching outwards to stroke a sting.

small talk reveals a draft 

notice the ripening cloud scape 

in the page layout.

The money has returned to the west end.

sides of solid ripple into humble sound.

They remain resolute.

Ear wax vegetation seeds under a full moon’s glare.

Defend your right to fresh fruit and vegetables.

Live the city under-scape, live in overflow pipes, drag a sofa inside shore up for safety.

Old shop fronts hide a multitude of life times; and oh, shit you left the bath running.

routines run down in houses, keep your hands off my sordid milk.

The routine shove; a hidden children’s playground encased in knotweed and ivy, inaccessible unused forgotten fun.

Clothes in an abandoned doorway.

London, central, abstract.

Faded cans among the nettles old lottery and scratch cards bleached white.

Duck into an alcove heavy with piss; a shit explosion smeared up the wall.

Furtive guilt you’ve got too much you’ve spent too much.

Inauthentic no sex. 

A Red Admiral lands on your hand briefly before it is blown away.

pavement screaming objective 

Delusional thought as self-referential over-interpretations of actual sensory 

 

perceptions.

 

Lew Welch disappeared, Weldon Kees walk out; Hart Crane jumped ship. 

 

Come the trolley men with rheumy eyes of wax

 

clinging to life clutching a cigarette; the family rally round.

 

There is still no hope!

 

Is there still no hope?

 

Launch a spear, the air rings with the rasp of rivets.

 

offerings on the ends of branches.

 

It has been decided you are wrong 

 

& Operation Hummingbird.

 

 will be dissolved. 

 

Literally fucking the cannon.

 

Dissolute wi-fi by doing nothing everything 

 

Started to happen.

 

flowing with insect’s above the surface

 

jolts the cold metal.

 

experience doubled.

 

More a retreat mossy sun mist adrift, my little furry friend.

 

Genus loci.

 

fancy bees saunter 

 

 

 

Soaked in humility. 

 

Get on the over-ground.

 

The smell of quick lime sausage and potato pie.

 

Wake with a jolt. It’s not time yet.

 

You.

 

have expired your usefulness.

 

Don’t be embarrassed for wanting a good life.

 

Drum solo.

 

centenary of the world’s most vibrant horror society 

 

Welcomes you to oak panelled bucolic revere.    

 

Waste deep pushing back against the tide against the 

 

Sunk. Orange  and blue flames flick under the door

 

Sexton’s eyes follow the room sparkling against the clash of

 

Cutlery. 

 

morning comes heavy and immobile. 

 

Dust motes, zombies; invincible heroes.  

 

that refuse to die. 

 

come protect us 

 

from this blank inspiration fashion a lie.

 

at night our rooms grow wild  

 

Untended. 

 

Throw back 

 

Violent breath 

 

In towards the ‘whole earth’.

 

that unbelievably gross photograph of the Earth

 

Lace maker at post 

 

Moths asleep in the hall.

 

here, still sifting 

 

Old clothes are all that talk.

 

each intake of breath.

 

 

 

each morning ritual 

 

can be attained by these words 

 

Intervention with the blood valve

 

against a crumbling tower. 

 

every disturbance every clamour of metal against metal.

 

solitude as a powerful muse.

 

live in the head 

 

life postponed for now

 

on hold.