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.