THE GARDEN, WALLED

 

Branched triptych orchard moss

Road bounce

Assisted gloss pink azure eel bright

Roseate fancy

Feels electric frills over fizz bringing cycles

Bright bearing 

Hallowed end of term swells forward

Wagtails are grey today

Overgrown black berry bush

Time tempered backwater radial 

Stamped flat Cornetto wrapper

silvered sun bleaching chocolate smears

Trace remains of the burnt transition ends in seasonal traction 

Bespoke ghosts rise up to meet us in the path 

Early morning befriending 

Fresh wind of chow mein chips glorious gloom

Outside gin and tonic can chasers berating

Tired old dog

Rattled by boards distraught children discredit

Morphic resonance

See them curled collecting in corners 

Frazzled nubs of fag ends burnished with silent insomniac day dreams unfolding in opiate melancholy slowly sauntering into daylight the early sounds of a Saturday night at the end of summer.

 

 YOU DESERVE SPAIN

"The world is a twat!" 

she spat

Out in the grave yard where mosquitos live.

among the tawdry tombstones 

 They thrive on blood. I can’t get comfortable in this world. 

             happier inside  major distraction 

 show 

 some kind of outsider

 a writer of sorts you shoulder

shudder

an elaborate ruse 

  Many have constructed 

 Delete and repeat

                   You deserve Spain

   now there is no time.

 

 DUB RESISTANT HOME

 

Wounded by yesterday’s sandwich settled on overnight tuna mayo.

If you’re not writing well, then you’re not reading well so

Fix it up. They walk up and down looking for food, feeding, relaxing

After earning. You’ve got to earn it. Either that or go on a spree.

Answers to that don’t come easily or maybe they come too easily.

Taste some coffee look for trust,

The instinct of the word.

 

 

 Park time thud slow motion rattle 

Mixed martial arts Dad muggy and overzealous.

Quick helical scan

Suspended breeze, the ghost of rain on hold treading water

Cracked out camp in dispute over reality.

What threatens is lined up with more

On the periphery, lest the sheriff’s men are overwhelmed.

Kicking a determined shadow along a stretch 

Wound lined up in an embrace; so that when we fall back into each other’s moving arms we stay mycorrhizal, safe, and bioluminescent.

Picking along and bellowing against the heated edge saying “don’t run”. This is how we hover just above the future; proofed against the high-speed rejection network lest we face derailment. Once it starts to overflow spill and unravel the wasted time gets gelatinous, greasy out of control. 

 

 Push your kid on the swing; “we tell them they can do anything.”

Your craft is a bugged delicatessen full of fancy food. Ours is a runaway cheese burger, chased by a security guard floundering under the weight of all his gear. Throw it back in the water. Existential trilobite rapid response unit takes a break. Ice creams all round. 

We didn’t want to do it so why did you make us. 

Hiding now 

In the bushes

Waiting for winter.

 The bone dark pain of metal

Enmeshed inside a body

And I am unable to ‘be’ today,

Taught skin stretched over

The wound is mental metal

And I wish I could say “otherwise”

And that it wasn’t yours or mine’s fault

Just like the rain doesn’t belong to anyone

But just agree that sadness is the finer song

And through them we are enmeshed eternal

They inside us;

We inside them.

 THE SAD BARBARIAN

 

I saw that sideways glance

Punching the numbers; killing time.

So, you know it won’t last.

“It lights up at nothing”             & 

“I’ll tell you when it’s going to rain”.

The ghost of Robin Williams floats;

in through the speakers almost nothing but a smile

Remember the film is ‘Jack’; directed by Coppolla. 

A squirrel eating a fig by the side of the pond

Primitive percussion; the rhythm of rituals

Midlife revival encomium paused horizontal

Energetic bliss memorial ice cream coned 

Blizzard walk tough going it’s the summer solution

Soluble if and when rebate back date

When and if the system will be up again.

Meantime here this pillage spools keep it lean

Plunge and purge against the howling wraiths

Deep sea fishing for tit bits scraps anything that sparks growth.

Squalid meandering guitar solo’s sprout from the earth

Distorted morality at its lowest ebb. Log on for another day/night.

Your feelings are hurt. You feel the weight of inequality; it has rendered you inert. The Angry Brigade from across the street keep us awake; the sad barbarian wanders home from the pub. Disconsolately kicking a can and wondering when it all went wrong. That tombstone will soon be yours he thinks. Failed psycho-geographer

 too paranoid to walk the streets.

 

 A SPECIAL OFFER

 

Frisky with blister pack

Eat prunes

Bliss out for days: imaginings 

Open the window discount

Liminal trolley park

Swampy live action anti-vax

Emotive out-reach solar themed 

In the car park it burns.

Private despatch paper cut

You who would wound

Too soon to say

scorn

Then, it can never be late

or the pulse vermicular 

 

central plastic 

nervous for drapes; awkward

for the ‘big day’

We follow.