LAKES OF PASSATA ON FIRE  

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Supreme being 

brittle 

                           Elemental god shapeshifter eternal

Is that life for you winning

         Seeing all the golden malice sparkle

Yes, you Loki !

the morning dew spectral.    Charming

                                    In its youthful vigour

Ripe summer heat draws it out 

                                                shoots from the earth

cars heaving in magnetic heat

                           The Whole Earth frying in a backward glance

over-night burial mounds collapsing

                 chancers score the plane looking 

For trinkets; magpies spy the real gold first

              Hot inside the pines

Roadside picnic casket cooling verges

        Chilled meats march on credit 

sweat white on skin

summer swell

                  Breathing in 

the last days we 

look back on

                  tins of whatever you want

From wherever with abandon

           Dutiful in the aisles scrutinising produce 

in a trance of wonder                 hypnotic awe

                          Draining the vats 

such leaping  wonders

                  Scorched under plastic tunnels 

Funnelling monies hand to hand      

                            The tomato barons peel back to reveal

Unsafe temperatures 

                                             Lakes of passata on fire

Your goal now is to survive.

  

SUPERSILENTWONDER

Hoping to host a new mind soon

Already swollen out of memory distraction

Pills found in the street

Keep rebuffering the value of selfies

If you didn’t see it you couldn’t feel it

They only knew certain people he

Was irrelevant even though

Semi famous

Like Columbo humbled or hobbled hunched over a cigar 

And that car was so beaten up

Any kind of routine work will do

The blue chromatic flash in the sun

Of a Lea Valley King Fisher

That everyone else has seen except me

And that’s the price of destiny

Take it away after your done

Pick up your crap

And move on to the next place.

 

 BACKDOOR METEOR

 

 

I am avoiding my dreams. 

 

L has a remote-controlled vacuum cleaner.

D is waiting to explode.

 

in this situation; in need of 

 

time to figure out.

 

night creeps around, pokes through rubbish by the back entrance; puddles of phosphorous. 

love from a dying star 

 

truth reveals 

A billion years 

 

now will be dust

 

Plaintive strings.             before the final descent.

 

 

The noise from across the street is a constant source of irritation

In fact, it’s making me ill.

It takes months to carve out the inside of a house; one that is loud 

Relentless human toil.

Each grinding layer another din. 

Already today my brother and I shifted three tons of top soil.

He said wondering where he will live as an old man is making him sick.

I said we have to keep moving.

But the time sits like our shouldered sacks, it’s there and getting heavier.

Still they drill into the framework of the house, squeezing themselves into 

Accommodations. We didn’t know where we would be ten years ago; could not have

Known who we share our life space with now.

I couldn’t say what or where we will be ten years from now.

  A PLACE TO STORE SORROW

Make any sense

Alcohol makes my body sick

Sleep

In the bright resplendent day in sight of the dome

Funnelling in all eager with cash to spend

Too soon don’t go to soon

Look take it all in, it’s yours 

You have found society 

Walk freely in the sunshine 

Give the poet a penny

“she’s a feisty one” or “our big day out in London”

What you throw to the winds becomes a cherished artefact

 

Clutched in a hot tight fist

Fleshy legs get their first revealing

Rosy faced and sun burning the tender parts

The Thames doesn’t care, that old predatory snake

Has an eye on the banks, one mistake and it will

Rap its coils around you and take you to its lair

Literal facts and ambiguous narrative forms fall

Short from heroic love against the odds we all battle on

No easy life for us one that’s not worth living

Our best fat friend keeps up

Hips bulging over the lips of too tight jeans

Eager with beer and/or bravado

To make this day the best imaginable or

At least memorable

Tomorrow’s sore heads will decide

And beautiful butterflies on tanned ankles

Will appear from under the morning’s wings.