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.

Rode it long through the acid night

Chirping the pulse

Of a malfunctioning smoke alarm

Brought to abrupt dream end of toasted bread

Aches and morphic response to the crash of wakeful thinking

Clearing it up with it 

Getting on

To the fast lane attack of rhythmic work impulses

“beware of the dog, it needs cuddles”, barks the kitsch sign

Ironic to find humour here

In golf land 

The soft thwack notes the rising sun

The dog barks from a one-mile radius

The motor is diesel it sounds rougher than a regular petrol engine

As I take the rolling hills at speed time stops

To breath in ‘personal’ and blend out with ‘distinctly your own’ is todays goal

The apparition of an old couple eating food at the table next to us

Is spectral

In its intensity

Pre-frozen they thaw out over the first course

The look alright like life was spent doing the right thing and sleep comes easy

But

What if that happens to us

Ruefully eating out a metre of pasta on a Wednesday night in an empty pub

With each mouthful the middle distance gets further away and the gears change and the diesel motor responds with a rush of blood to the nervous system and the last fifty years explode behind the eyes in one second of remembrance that is just a few colours blended

And there is a spectre at the window behind the glass

That was something like you

You remembered in time for pudding

Accept The Terms

Thrown together in an artificial reliance; yet the quality of service remains

acceptable. 

Because of the necessary obligations you will receive this disbursement towards

the end of the week.

Let’s feel powerless together but expect more under the crystal ventures that streak across

the sky.

“Life is a theme park” half whispered, I can’t agree, but more than this it’s not true but it doesn’t 

matter because as usual you are half right.

Shit, in a west coast of American way, re-arranged without concessions to this relentless ice pan

screeching to a halt.

 the heart murmurs  protect your ears

 sonic decay dancing around the garden.

Arriving early we watched and waited for signs of life,
small moments,
a door opened and someone threw out
an empty packet of croissants.

If I could control my thoughts what would it mean, ideas arrive to order or blank walls

dripping with nothing.

It’s ok, I’ll just live in the library, find a significant corner overshadowed and out of sight.

Stay there for years. Move section by section guided by the noise of the fans on the roof. Mesmerised by the sound of typing, in a trance walking through the rooms at night, turn into a gas to get through cracks in the walls, might meet some other eyes , mine glow red, the other pair pulses back blue that’s what you call serendipity or circumstance.

Spend a few minutes stretch the brain panels and wash the bones down to heat up anew procession.

Take on a passage like Benjamin cornered, battling the ghost of Baudelaire. Staring into the museum of emptiness but quick you grabbed it, now flee.

4:33 am rain on the roof

Is proof of life

Rain in the eaves of the old loft

The breathing in and out of a child on an adjacent bed

Is proof of life

Being inside in winter

When the weather is foul

Is part of life

To be outside at this moment 

Would be survival 

At the best outcome 

Last night we pulled a cart around the city swamp 

Rain soaked pub cacophony 

Was bewildering 

We stopped to look

It did not look back