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.