Your breaking up the past again

At night after hours smashing it to bits

Plaster boards flailing dust smash gasp thump ridiculous

And the smoke from below hits the back of your throat

Choking half asleep broken in dreams broke awake not one place to escape to but

This rotten imagination that offers an open door saying run from this prison escape now while you’ve got the chance because the body is a prison too and it won’t last long

Other more optimistic people would say I’m wrong but they are just deluded we all know that

the flower analyst responds to accusations of brutality

The pain of life is a reflection of your indifference to death it is special nurture it coax it feed it grow it sow it stow it. Use your blowhole like a spirit guide shove your spume into the world each time you resurface grabbing what you can for the descent back down again into the daily depths of the oceans dark dominion or something like that obviously try to suggest a greater good a spirit leading towards what you might suggest could be a thing that will save your mind from neurological tremors and thought whips that lash and sting the minds horizon with indigenous poisons that roughly unfurl into luxurious purple gasses like the ones in Batman from the 1960’s.

Within the silent second of a breath

Is the thingness of the thing

Shiny enticing glimpses

That make your heart beat faster

Not knowing anything 

Knowing everything about a small nothing

Glad to be on this spot now knowing everything and nothing all at once

Like breathing 

Is a miracle

Like the moth still alive in a pack of spinach

We survive 

But our bodies weakness is the enemy of consciousness

If art puts truth to work then the body is art and the truth is the work of life

But what does that grinding of stone signify?

The need to dwell? To remain in one place, in order to work, is this the truth you were looking for. Sat staring out on the wettest day of the year

The rain tears over the roof.

BREAK HEELS CLOP CLOP

Into a head spring barrow ball of great strong winds and time

Bends into the wind also you know

But what are we communicating here? Who will know this when 

We are gone long for to take time back upset alarmed and furious with

The weather strong like fresh baked bread smells form 

The under pass and where is my copy of Adrienne Rich and

Will it do to just read some Frank this week and will the knees hold out too

And really you shouldn’t start smoking weed again not at this time of life

Ah there she is next to D.T. Suzuki, Marx and Beckett, some party that would be

Hold fast for the arriving birds

Hold fast for your arriving omelette

And hang on to your soupy pulsing brain brow that flickers like a light bulb

Just about gone because as complicated and cultured as it all is

We are just adjusting to death at each microbial twitch of this passing flicker of awake dream called life

Inside the blood soup of molecules cells are jumping

Music makes them swim faster and the red green blue crystal colours that can be seen when they cut you open will spill up into the air when you jump for joy

Or fling yourself of the highest board slithering down 

Into the water the greatest sensation

Of Earth knowledge .

Time will overcome time will undo you overthrow you pour through

Like mountains tumbling at your feet the city is hot and sticky and icky little bits

Of flame lick out of the corners of busy men and women’s mouths like small glimpses 

Of insanity and I am writing backwards again today later on running fall to sleep again something to drink only understanding forever will not wait to come but

If this will help I’ll take whatever I can get

And the kids meet up in the morning they don’t care yet really, they don’t

The pavement is a squashed flat trifle all that is left of yesterday’s Purim noise 

A green parakeet’s silhouette is on the bough of that massive oak (?) that they

Said they could cut down in two days as an experiment

It is so fucking quiet this morning the silence is like a drug that seeps into my ears 

I almost smile

To know when to go that is the creaking secret to understand the rite

The ritual and the romance, “It’s about time you got off…”

The second-hand bookshop blues, the citations that you will never use, a literary response to

Repressed energy slowing down machine gears breathing slowly into this impatient day

To find some meaning to this rhythm translated thoughts into word patterns that think themselves and operate a fragile democracy on the page to keep on writing and thinking and keeping the blood pumping over the trench warfare that is not fair but more like the folk of a night mare clomping its hooves through the darkly satin black curtains exit stage left now the minutes are really slowing down and not even the final straight is in sight yet some couplets may ease the pace like black dog / shiny frog / peat bog , but they don’t have to rhyme again

Eccentric battle-axe / overpriced ideology / General Consensus (that’s his name) / blown up life situation / the old escalator / oh my knees! / flaming chops / and if that was the medium what the hell is large and now for goodness sakes the overwhelming hell and high water of it all comes tumbling and tearful like an overwrought conceptual artist bubbling into steam on the very edge of their creative leash

That siren again bless it the only thing apart from the birds chirping that breaks the silence here this morning / it can be fraught with desperate edges 

A ship lost at sea comes into sight of land at last / the monstrous hand of invisible reactions

The theory of Abjection, being not wholly Other or inside or outside not caring but not growing either / some couplets to speed into the end minutes

Oriental glow / young bucks / southern gothic / winding path / shuttle bus / morning glory

A cake squashed flat / flickering fancy / leave to remain / the journey man / the journey woman / a wicker man / a glimpse of Pan / dusted down / frosted up / unfinished business

You can / you can / a memory bank…… the orb is growing dark now, what strange prophecy can we cook up inside the glass domain 

What breaks out across the flat expanse

Of deserted marsh

Fractured blown wide

Inside a white nothing

Floating with furious force

Now above looking down its almost over 

For today we hang on

Invisible wires

That lift us up and down thrown

Together blink 

The one-eyed stare 

Your hot breath on my face indicates that we are alive

Today

Wind in the blood sails

We chart a course towards our next meal

Or observation that we exchange with

Whoever comes our way today.

To Dad

Take down that picture

Put it up in another space

Remind to Tide Table

And a saucer of secrets can be our own

Shed to find solace inside 

Light beams pulse at The Gate

Will we recognise ‘It’, will we be sure

As strong as this wind is will it break our energies today

Should we mind this

Can we summon the strength to finish this elegy

To push our fists up through the Earth again and

Snatch a lungful of the peaceful air

Shared breathes bleurgh you smoker on the street

Man you almost got killed by a falling ton of bricks that day

Unlucky I suppose maybe perhaps withering whatever

And so it grows, where it is going etc

But up out the gin mist comes our favourite sprite

Let’s call him, Her ! so there you go 

With your points of view about modern Horror

When the 360-degree spin back around reveals the ambience of this deadly threat

Where will we or can we retreat and look out of somewhere hidden that we know exists that we can be sure about on the grey green edge of our adventure

I’ll call this one Adventure into Nothingand then be done with it good god a ghostly apparition worthy of excitement and gangrenous ghoul ghastly as much as ghostly GOD

And so off on into another night of call it sleep but mainly awake in terror not rest but fear slowly down now into an 

Ending sigh.

Something vanished into the scrub

Behind the wallpaper 

Is it so difficult to obtain an essence

On the track today, we, that is myself and the other person together 

Saw somebody frozen under the ice, discarded shiny metallic bottles of gas

Miraculous as a fly in amber this flowering mind germ starts to gestate, to unfold

Turning itself over, revolving into another shape

A crescent of new bulbs starting to bud

A faerie ring,  a ring of fire 

Take the ghost out for a walk, give it an airing.

In slo-mo the folksy grain soaks inwards toward a night time state 

Can you believe the temperature the amounts they talk of

Pushing in further swimming through the weeks like weeds

Skimming over time side stepping a week to get from the beginning (now too far back) to the end (which is now revealing itself in a mist)

String them together hang it all up

Have an egg beat out the wasted energy

Cope on rubber petrol oil gas electricity

The density of your ‘soul’ got to keep it pure somehow

Something stirring now like a hare that shoots up from nowhere and races of across the shingle

We saw it that time, but did we really recognise its portent, its folkloric significance in that

Eerie context among the marrow grass and the sea wort

The lonely lighthouse silently rotting on the peninsular redundant

Out of place like a spent candle on a crumbling cake it waits for extinction

Like the fuse for the bombs they test nearby once

An idea is alight then 

The chain of events has almost already happened

To begin again the loop continues

The train arrives and departs at once 

Then you know you live in ‘forever’ space.