Dadaistic...

What . . . ?

In a single floral stroke.
What is there?
In these depths
Of these walls…

This gap in time,
Against which we have been projected -
Mystery of missing ships -
To follow this path of their brief blossoming

And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed…
Is your ashen moon to grow?
I might have happily lived some other childhood

And the worlds—skiffs rudderless,
Roiling on and on and on,
This season not their own,
Come, swallows, its good-bye!

Hell

Alone;

Arms
Outstretched -
Mother holds
Her hanged baby
Unable
To free
The rope…

Made for it

Nibble and gnaw

Tiny snicker-snack teeth

Voraciously chewing; devouring

Through pinky red outer layer

Into softer innards...

Time

Twisting leap and spiral kick

Brought him down

She left him there

Dented faced and shattered

And walked away

Slight limp from strained ankle

But no misgivings, none at all

For it’s past time for regrets

And before those lies where told

All was good and well

But that was then and this is now

And this is now…

Never the same

Sucking frantically

Trying, hoping, against all odds

Twisting those frayed ends

To repair that damage done.

Ch...

Her next

Time round

.

Glass chink

Sloshing spilling

.

Firm hands

Around neck

.

Thumbs pushing

Pushing up

.

Hard, harder...

.

POP

.

Another bottle

Opened - drained

.

Later on

Around neck

.

Hands firm

She's cho...

Dispose

So bored
Of it all
Ye'ken? Huh?
But it's my call
And yet
Those hooks are deep
And barbed
Rusted and flaking
But still stronger than I
So
A little longer...
A little longer...

I remain.

Span

See that!?
That glint, that sparkle
Over there, beyond that hedge
I often end up over there
Along that grassy rarely trodden path
Instead of being where I should
Along that well beaten
Long straight and narrow road
Partially due
To my concentration span
Being as long as these words…

It seemed reasonable

Befuddled – half asleep
Sat in car
In car park
Breath misted windows
Giving outside an inside feeling
Trying to write
With broken tipped pencil
Graphite tip smudging grey residue
Across crumpled paper scrap
This snapshot of clarity
In fog filled thoughts
Why don’t cars have sharpeners…

Changes

Nine am,
Sat in a public house
And
It’s crowded…
Not full, but enough
Too many really -
For Thursday morn.
Seven forty seven spent,
At nine ten.
Strange day – just begun…
Our society, our world…
It’s flux.

Glitch

Rapid response – action reaction
No thought – instinctive lash
That’d be my problem
What’s yours?

It Happens...

Came home
To find
A muscle-bound hulk
Bending my settee
Twenty stone of testosterone
My girlfriend calls
From kitchen near
Dreaded words I can’t quite hear
Of how it’s done, it’s dusted, it’s us
We’re through…
He’s the new guy, a boxer no less,
My twisted mind thinks it’d be cool
To rant and shout, for surely
It’d be his bad if violence ensued,
Bad publicity at best
Maybe his job lost…
"He’s retired," she says, before I spout…
"Enjoyed it too much, needs to calm down."

So I pack up a bag
Head out the door
Only to see
A big brand new car
I’ll have my revenge!
Down both sides with my now useless key
Doors kicked, dented and warped,
And after several goes window-screen breaks
Sweating but joyous I’m now aware
Of my neighbour
Looking angry, mobile in hand

“What?”

“That’s my new car…”

And and and...on and on...

At cessation God twisted heaven and earth.
And earth was again without form, and void;
And lightness was upon the face of the deep.
And the Spirit of God departed these waters.
And God said, Let there be dark:
And light was no more…

Recurrent Itch

I’ll scratch that itch
With blade from razor.
Try to slice that itch away-
Yet now that itch migrates
Settling once more
Along the brachial artery...
.
I'll scratch it this time...

It's Nurture

I go now.

Rope in hand.

Limb of tree,

To find and

Rope secure...

It's Nature

I need

A new rope,

.

And I’ve nearly

Worn through

This branch,

.

Friction

From constant

Swinging,

.

Though that branch

Appears higher now,

.

Due to

Constant erosion

Of ground below

As I traipse to and fro

Perambulate, mimicking,

.

That dangling sway and swing...

Swing and sway…

Finally

Today I die
That’s it.
.
Nothing to be down about
Nothing to fret about
Life ends.
.

.
Everything dies
And today it is I.
.
.
.
But tomorrow…
Ah tomorrow…

Possession

My fathers’ house
Has many rooms

Most are filled with clutter
After all, when immortal,
Things accumulate…

And So...

And then
Then they had the nerve
The nerve to say that
In front of my kid too
Had to slap ‘em down smartish
Can’t have that sort of shit

Going down around your kids can you
It’s just not the done thing
Anyway that’s why I got the new paint job
And a new wing.

So, anyway...

Anyway
I was minding my own business,
When out of nowhere, nowhere I tell you
Out of nowhere came the biggest fucking one of all
Out of nowhere and slapped down right next to me
I thought I’d lost it for good
Thought I was for the white room

I can tell you.

So...

So
I whacked that
Pustule ridden monkey fucker
About the head a few times
And told him to leave it out.
Though I doubt he’ll listen
I doubt he’ll learn

Warm Happiness

Sat at sea’s shore,
Watching land slowly drown
Fingers caressing smooth shells
Glistening in early morning rays
Finally to select
A single golden cylinder
Slip it in a chamber
And raise it to my mouth

Further Exposure

Figures of light and dark - these two are walking

To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.

Figures of light and dark…

.

They’re returning to a town

Rattling, gasping its last.

Your blank slate, you’re black on white,

To run, as in apoideas’ time of seeking

Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a woman

Snowflakes are swirling - boiling out

Winged winds, captives of that age-old foe

Dim, and die tonight

.

I think fifty six was a killer.

That last day, endless and genderless,

To listen, by a sputtering, smoking fire,

To matter, for flushed boys are muscular

My mind groping in mud

Blotting out -

Scrawny wolves, and you,

Clear-voiced despite its years,

It's snowing, it's returning to a town

Strong, eloquent—

.

Dismal, endless plain—

Centimetres—that height of canvas

Your impenetrable wasteland,

.

I know,

Snow haze gleams like sand.

And still,

It's snowing, drowned snow

Now I figure you for one of them

Of light and dark

Pallid waste, rattling, gasping its last

Returning to a town