Melt Away Poems (2023)
Dimensional Beings
lunar halo
when the stones
were still soft
flame-licks
the squatter's boat
all over the globe
men sit down in front of the TV
with dinners on their laps
the guitar fell out of fashion, Elagabalus misgendered
piercingly sincere on a rendezvous
every morning I check the paper
nothing ever happens. But last night
I had a perfect self portrait
in my head, and he was
haughty
effete fret; white woman views cloudy day through shades
Chicktopia has been taken away from Lakeside
Amelia Earhart sampled by coconut crabs
downloading over cellular
consumed by old lace echolalia
my fellow commuters- please stop smoking Sterling Duals
and sorry for sniffing.
How much CCTV am I on
did it record the first othering?
Tramp on a flower bed, staring at a pair of trackies
with 'juicy' scrawled on the backside
beauty queen in space, Mona Lisa on EasyJet package holiday
Sharon Osbourne gone bleach blonde
no smoking anywhere on the underground
soiled president, poison ladybird
apply to the court of protection. The train's always
a minute late- the taste's
always a bit off
car-fogged up.
One final hit
of crochet
red flags:
asking questions
not liking the answers
cheap thanksgiving
turkey taking care
typers, ghost writers
possessing LinkedIn
ride a Honda over Gower Street
third of a second swifter than sprinting
some guy's reading this over my shoulder
with water brought to you by Severn Trent
queuing up for gender and ethnicity in the labour market like
I'm in a line for Pelmeni from the Novosibirsk grocery
pop psychology-self diagnosis
in the Political Science building, backroom deals are struck
between businessmen for mobile games
you'll be out of my utility by next year
all the druids, gentrified
Nike is forever forward
ectopic pregnancies aren't viable
lobster quadrille
cardinal objects
I strangled a fox in my dream
and fed it to a black cat
Billy The Kid
Arch Stanton,
victim of the Samson Option
swapped cobbler; old bones nebbish
losing my edge
penny war
passive Leyton tramp
Palace logo morphed activism
in flat, free Kebab headland
there are homophones abound
the Imam steps on Mome Raths
trains: now on Uber
clothes dry slower than stalagmites, if only
Baron Cameron of Chipping Norton
could lend me his tumble dryer
and let me fish in his bathtub
back to the future
planes on ice
broken beds, mugs
my refund is processing
(riding in circles)
I'm the face if you want it
Shein slave, remaking mirror
like the British Airways star bus
or a Canonbury palm tree
railway rumbling, party-edge
tree fingers wiggle on dun Downs at Hackney
A Waging Pascal
John Merrick,
silk road through the Cloud
remember me from
my Universal Credit journal entries
and our time well-spent in the Trevor Mann Unit.
Rising lake, jacket-fetched depths!
The families in those John Lewis Christmas adverts
don't actually exist:
they're paid to love...
Dinner-plan-man, she holds a knife with her left
millia lids hug eyeballs
as we're seated to observe Farage scalp French Fred
Jody's a doctor now, her conjoined
languishes with the cannibalised cabin boy
how would you know, if you were James Franco
and lived the life
of an armless piss-guzzler
would you still sing Fairytale Of New York with a smile?
Years together, and all that's left is a shrug
outside a St John's Wood deli
I was just a passerby until the light in your
face was snuffed
riding Vera; glide my old girl
Ryanair swoops into mudstone country
nobody lives in Woolwich, just a diesel smell
and pilgrims journeying to
the Deptford Head Shop
customers in a row; Millfields Cafe swiped dog-pictures
tasseography oblivious
to be an adult is to rationalise being uncharitable
maybe slip up on faded soles
camping mattress graffiti
craft tonsil music from a Pravha
desire paths, the new pollution
200 hundred light years away
droplets of sand land
in lieu of rainfall
knotted-scarf whirlwind beyond three-mask periphery
they say they love E20, but they don't own
those East Village bricks
they don't own
those empty gyms
all they've done
is lease two shopping trolleys on Abercrombie Road.
Egypt Is The Mother Of The World
fireworks in a stove, fairy lights on oil-paint rim
the Guy Fawkes mob all but dappled ash wisps!
It is the night of long butter-knives...
apathetic punters at the Anchor and Hope
watch Suffolk refugees paddle in lukewarm-immersion water
hundred years from now a double breasted suit
will be fancy dress
from red to black, Pasternak in a malaise
cheap sirloin cheered up by hollandaise
dog's deaf, landslip-caught
on minimum-wage with the Mithraeum
government body kept arms-length
hinging on an ex-scab pick, songs about me
you know what you look like in the lens
decorations up an attic
want them lighter
embankment ephemera
shrivelled gills
tsemishung, I am mortar.
Knitting with solder
a pogrom moonwalk
child-pose budding Spring thing
love letter in Times New Roman
upcycled tiles for commuter consumption
Farringdon interchange slow-down, editor's playing
with the frame-rate
much too old to be train bunking
Thameslink ironing board-seat grown around backbone
and even your dad's heard of Weyes Blood.
Others have stood, with shoulder-length hair and lucky L&M fags
since before there were towers over Lovers Walk
pebbles sneak-in boots, no matter
can't wear Doc Martens in the Second Circle
10 Year Old YouTube Videos
reporting for duty in the toilet trenches
a taste of honey, tasting much sweeter than punk
headscarf emulation
wild pupils.
The rain, something other!
And leg pain
growing sane
not brushing my teeth
j'adore Dior, clown makeup running rioja
inferior mirage like Colombian jeans
pied-à-terre; any living tissue
a radio voice of Bow Porcelain
old Spurs fan, trollied at midday
high visibility mannequins. Influencer factory churning
a jaywalking roadman
travelled Turkey teeth
he's Wellman now
smart birthday card
robot Lennon wrote Moonpig
fool on the Blossom Hill
where grass turned mud
Adam and Eve never went to the Frieze
how many deserts left to reave
in the battle of the flood
ubiquitous rollie reusing words, selfie-critical
swallowing bacon to geese music
here's looking at you, Morrisons!
Thought I Saw Snow
get back, get back to the playground stick-fight
where blood shed. Even a finger-trickle's sufficient
to lure red-sea predators; it was second of my mirror-scuffles
after the trail of index-skin I peeled along a brick wall on Dyke Road Drive
the Palace watches our marker-pen lines meet
simple binary to planners, tailgaters
Rowland Hill centuries-cast
bollard-fodder for hungry snails
Scottish Widows caked in Metropolitan soot
the sheer scope of binned fish!
Gucci Cosmos and Fiji Mermaid
Argyll Street filled for the ex-governor
some are well poisoners others hibernating coccinellidaes
in superfog, Barbican reclaimed by Arsenal fans
Stanstead Mill Stream stoned like Jelly Roll
the 242 gallops down the passages to chest-pain
affects repelled, kite shield with heart shaped shades
on your left orthodox brothers spinning twine in ebbing glow
we tried to find turtles in Clissold Park.
If your heart's cold I'll give you a blanket
shining tears refracted the
oversized analogue clock
its minutes, flowing
water becomes other water
on these old tracks
carriages growing moss
don't fall off this planet-edge
the Shard from East Marsh
smoke fills the wedding tent
swap roses and burn
green wood.
Lori Sampah Man
murder mile, with its
co-prosperity spheres
a general systems collapse
holding, folding
what colour are your overground dreams?
I'll be in them,
if you can be in my Evening Standard cutouts
Cambridge Heath drifts by
a lot of looming going on
a lot of pouting
but with cans on your ears you could be in Tijuana!
And with locally sourced pork in your tract, you could be
in Wiltshire, those druids building blocks (before it was chic)
now of course with pay to park, you negotiate with a virtual jobsworth for reimbursement.
Liverpool Street, how is it every morning the pendulum swings!
Where do you keep finding these taxpayers, the bottoms of pockets in old trousers? When donated to the PDSA, where do they go? Riddle me that Ms. Eilish
I watched a Bodhisattva enter a Hackney Carriage
he was employing the science of self-locomotion
shortly after I pickpocketed a Starbucks chocolate coin
cash, cash in the queue!
Jesse minds the parks; he caught a Congo Eel in Dungeness
chagrin for the Catford gangs
he measures distances by McDonalds
nothing can stop
my hunger for money
my hunger for dill and thighs
see these lines through a pinhole projector
every time I'm on Platform 2 I think of blue. A bronze penny coin
kept by people with their birth-year tattoos
lost in the glass tube dividers is a dead pixel
We Will Have Words
push my luck-boulder ever-farther, the cup runneth
ten foot flash frontiersman plants flag in scotch egg
bedbug with an embassy signature
no fish in Watford
no kilowatts in the Monastery Of The Date Palm
seven habits of highly effective plainclothes bicycle cops
civilian or river-robber; split-second causal analysis
neighbourhood bully removes balaclava
witnesses gather, lo-behold the red heifer!
Morphing into a Corinthian gaucho
wet-shaven after a three year hiatus
Biro dries on printer paper
and occupies the white
the Blue Eyed Maid shut her doors
she's cooking for someone new
the sum of square residuals
soulful bones; hip-harmonic echolocation
hungover for sleep
it amounts to granite
Vanessa Bell
drew so well
every spiral crackled vinyl
recollections poured out the cliff-face
I can get any of these trains, unmoved blackbird
praying hand bananas, revolution in my back yard
nauseating chorus; differences-in-differences
orange paint splashed the Wilkins pillars
Dying Gaul
Punjabi whispers;
cost opportunity for
bad road crosses
ascetic clearing
at Hull
the fake building that they
practise firefighting on
Tuffnell Park connection, present-living Reiki
overtaken by time horizons. Dog whistle
through charge rage
a chance to settle old scores
Balkan pottery, mashallah
gas lies longest in the hollows
swallowed bread, lonely circuses
I dropped my dummy there
in those St Pancras Crypt holes
released dopamine, everyone on Baker Street's my brother
and the wrapping paper's thin like a Chinese cigarette
meal deal Meng Po Soup.
Change Eyes
glimpse of Tuesday-
stole a bus, stole a sausage roll
described a silently falling leaf, brushstrokes
behind the frames
the old benches had fallen in
where golems feared to tread
old soldier's boots, embers in the wind
lonely Riverstone outside The Alpaca
bagful of Aldi; flames in your blind art
Slade tears are special tears
glass wharf, narrowboats to Bavaria
every old flat you've ever loved in
they just can't bring themselves to kill Neighbours
combing a life, statue fraud
I'm back in your wings again
no teenager can get paid £7.49 to strip beds at the Royal Albion anymore
central vision
gone like the Great North Wood
doodlebug in the chamber, applause for Galicia
Cecilia road, Greenacre Court
(moody pavement face)
the sport of a nation meets the beer of another
who remembers the Gilet Jaunes?
Keep the peace, send a single bullet flying through a windshield
every European lion has been felled by the arrow
glands jiggling at twenty thousand feet
rolled-up note with a dead woman's face on it
the Union stripes are like ropes
Jordanian, with a Netflix idiolect
roundabout refugee eyelash rations
basement dusty with screen prints, pedestrian dreams
vaping behind the dashboard, exit stage right into
Disney Land, where rent is paid to the mouse!
I Want To Believe
afford you raised eyebrow;
a searing city, sweat to-stay
loco zone implied yellow stripes, that's just fashion around here- the clocks burn so fast trends never last.
Every stop on the Elizabeth a billet
shuffling future-dead-body seasoned by Maersk, bug under glass
Fish Island transformed
passenger toeing the line
working museum, church repurposed Mercato Metropoliano
prospectus caked with rusted false-hope-plasma
limited clearance
your heartburn is contagious, you're the same shade of white as me
stories, the oldest profession!
Sentences in stilettos, dog bites flesh, assassinated Sikh
I dreamt about Heaven last night; an absurd Facel Vega wreck
can you remember the last corn stalks from an oven window
douse yourself, can't conduct
who guides the orchestra?
Don't smile before Christmas, Pontius
entire Iberia, star fort
Tartaria the legendary bad joke
18 year old's maiden stick and poke
Judas Priest's gamble backfires
fated to trace meteor trails with an
empty wedding finger
one could disappear completely
in the reeds at Manningtree
me and Black Jack Davey, fake laughing, watch telly for three decades
I touch myself to the tune of an abandoned textile factory
erotic thought experiment to piles of granite
whatever happened to Anna Nicole Smith
when did we go from bookmarks to turned-over pages
license plate melancholy, Mr. No Fixed Address
one day they'll lose your Instagram Archive, like my Russian friends
the Old Buttermarket isn't actually old
your laundry was all over the dew and
slow clouds brushed the feather barn fig-trees
eternal return
Mashonaland
Well dip me in brine and call me a gherkin!
Life as a steeplejack
the Chubb went unpicked
for decades
sugar paper, even flies can be clumsy
if they don't commit to the bit
like silent wheelchair basketball
right-elbow yang, the left, ying
in hermit nation
brittle-beach-bones and proving dough
there's always a woman at the window
the Cabinet Table's vacant seats
time-amputated from bone
together apart, turned-over poker cards
that are baptised by boat-hippie's-carbon-footprints
and their Eiffel Tower Tinder profile photos
totem, a milk-spotted élan
waterway-veins pumping Anadin Extra
and the nexus; tea leaves
leave it at the door, carpet legs
welcome to Brutalism Survivors Anonymous
holes cut out of buildings
like surrogates for old faces.
Empty Wilkos', unsold Harrogate Springs
assaulting a surgeon while scalpel's still in you
to disobey the flame
a noiseless crow
resists planned obsolescence
tyrant in the wings.
Discarded rings hold twisted things
trudged-broccoli outside the Holocaust Library, little pieces of paper
not every child will see space
learn to stop worrying and plant a fake bomb
Waft Of Cantu
Sam Smith on stage; cue outrage!
I feel for you, one-step away man, I do
button press, slip-switch-railway-cross my expectations
by beaming Sainsbury's lady
I used to sail in that boat, see I don't mind playing Cagney
or wearing a black hat. We all embody the headless cat
but who's commuting a crime at 7am? Seeing Royal Oak in motion this early comes as some surprise...
online Barbie doll or golden-retriever boyfriend
same difference, dance monkey!
Does no-one ever use these corridors?
Object flairs in the empty research rooms
the futile notetakers
and a mass disabling event
what's in a Foyles shop-window?
Cath Kidston's cadaver, Tamil-stuffed
an attempt at bloke-core, Gregg's seating-area-chic
Abandoned Eurostar and Barclaycard Dysfunction; it's very common with men your age!
The grim rehearsal is never over if you rewatch the ceremony through Saharan mist
died is just a four letter word, hamfisted synonym
every lecturer has some pitiful backstory akin to controversial public sculpture
make your shrink giggle like bastard faith or a melting snowman. Stop dancing, put your ear to the wall and listen to the jackhammers, each a keepsake. According to one of these midnight-blue-polo-serfs I could be a Logan Paul impersonator, I could be a postcolonial granddad-cigarette-lunch-break, a legion of hippies march through desert mud. They're in the preoperational stage, because behind every Caesarian awaits a
Goodbye To All That
Climbing the Peak District for a selfie reminds me of
a memorial bench written in Comic Sans,
or The Good The Bad and The Ugly; dubbed
the last enemy to be destroyed- the language barrier
the other is inside, this
dust cover is possessed! Time for tweed, time to
enjoy Brownlow Street. Enoy the Doctor Johnson's company
in his racecar jacket
as long as my deposit is protected it's kosher, it's IKEA flat pack, snared
in a Pret A Manger death trap
the hitmaker, lends things to people, never gets them back
bombarded by ads for Royal Match
be sentenced to life in life-sized Monopoly, speak only in a mummified blaccent, be a Disney adult, or failing that
shot point blank by the Homerton Birkenstock Military Police
thousand year Reich, algos du jour!
Hugo Boss SS-fit, rejection of haute couture
the Blade Runners hack Heathrow
while burn does Bow
It's a long way to Tiperrary, if you believe contrary Mary
with a soundtrack presented by the dastardly Mike Love. Sadly he couldn't be here tonight, so he sent a flaming Maori on-stage, the show must and so on but somebody's buried my tewhatewha.
Pigeon on the red carpet- give me agony! Give me flu!
Do they know it's Autumntime? I scan my exit slip
nobody hawks heirlooms on Antiques Roadshow for money
the value's just gonna go up. That's Montgomery Clift, honey!
I'm Raymond, I Carve things time and again
like a ditch over Saffron Hill
I'll trade you three oaks for that, Bill
conflicting accounts, even in a miniature Giverny
with my dead breast-pocket flower in this evening draught
traffic is never too far away
sacrifice regretted, seconds after the wood catches
rescue efforts are sweeping seawater
the curators making off with idols of Zarathustra
stuck under London Fogs
at heart-attack Hague height, why the Three Cornered Copse recalls to mind a cocked hat; choice today projected backwards like a prepared prophylactic
and Jehovah or Jesus, tripped up by a Bloomsbury bum
en route to the knitted gritbox
how much more Canaanite brass can a fellow take?
Eggshell
N10, peek of pink sky. And beyond,
all the way to Clapton Pond
shared grin, liquor fiend
all of us, one year older. Put on our faces like horrible mascara
tapering; a practiced caucasian indifference, perpetually wearing
peacetime scarlet
they say clothes make the man; thus I must be half Oxfam
my spiritual advisor raises a hand: she's cab hailing!
The Domesday Book, presently undisplayed inside a Kew-box
an argument in German, a union of sweat
the lunch is stale: the photograph still-life!
How'd a Mancunian end up in a Marylebone deli, anyway?
And have you really been to Chiswick, if you can't remember it?
Like a piece of red thread on the tube-floor
Lord's Cricket Ground empty: the spirits, bat
shuttered budget cut canteen, feast for one lucky rat
how does this affect my farm, my garden- a constituent heckles
it doesn't, Coffey quips, but we are coming for your shekels
bookshop sized pocket watch- the hot bus, take a chance with us!
Clerkenwell County court; you, Angel
to be a wet-alley curiosity, a smug stubbled smile
the last twangy bald denizens of Victoria Park, under trench-fire
some of these men have seen Sevastopol, the Peninsula War
come, let's follow those airtrails as far as they'll go
like a towpath motorbike- a thought for
your brothers? Skim the tragedies.
Brand that crooked house upon your brain
like a Woolworths-hippie-wig, obsessive compulsive
with muscle memory brain-training. Untouched first class, dust-off that ancient moquette
the home wrecks itself
East India Company; refurbished
by mixed signals, mixed race
it would seem Blake's got a new face
while meditating in a sundress, gazing North
Jim and I, scalding prison-sugar water
will see him up in heaven, not only here
never step on the track!
On every bookshelf, a Lee Child
a perspective denied, water down the wrong throat-hole
we are Victoria's kids, spoilt and gape-faced, viewing bespoke content
we are 20s people
wallpaper bones, you get the idea
we're out here, choking on Skoda smoke
and smuggling Aromat on Southern Rail
to places unknown, outside comfort Zone 3
please never read my first poem! Never
crease my spine
if my body was a temple, it would be the Temple of the Golden Tooth
I want to be a flickering, naked lightbulb,
I want to be a place for you to rest your hairy toes
like spiderwebs, illuminated, innumerably condemned
for you are a choir baby skinbag,
born from howling symphony, a soprano
for a square-capped English teacher. The fields of Britain
make fine pastures for a cashmere goat. Black and white lies
(a fog-firm-handshake)
to serve Lugus,
you must first make a noise; because nobody knows you're there otherwise, and if a tree falls on your chest in the forest while you're on Facetime does it make a sound- and other muted activities may include;
carpet sex, and
scrolling glass
and wishing and hoping etcetera, and
turning into a portly old fool,
writing a memoir to be left unread
and referencing the recently deceased
as Wayne Shorter's saxophone can no longer
speak for itself
Just How Many Times Has This Street Been Pissed In By Now?
another face in the Victorian filter beds
Nandos gone neutral, decrees a sign
deep down it has to be Heinz.
The pushchair-lifter, nail-picker, victim
of a malfunctioning wardrobe. A rare thing
that Sudocrem can't fix. Forever profiled as a huntsman for licks
three unmarked cars race down the road
I shrug and a cabbie shrugs back, how well does that bode!
Drone attack insurance- foretell sages
hark, there be cats in net cages
familiar figures stuffed in Oxford shirts
erstwhile Olympic visions, even softer hertz
when Bond jumped, he took England with him
now that is a bygone brinkman.
I'm a hypocrite like a Zoom Office building, a Lizzo fat-shame,
how many smoulder on the ersatz altar of fame
see I can be relevant too- not only musings drenched in blue
I have a finger on the pulse, my eyes see somewhat through
mind you I can't keep pace with the horses, wild
too near are the days of being a lice-ridden child
cycle lane 38 is now complete
how could the inside of a traffic cone compete
fork in a road, spoon on a bus
drunkard weaves in the traffic, modicum of fuss
chair made of smooth milk, and why not?
I would agree if you asked me, replies the
Know-It-All Godbot
a love bomb defused, the red wire a cuddle and kiss
£6 for a sandwich, the suitcase colonisers hiss
you may be entitled to a tax refund; the glad riposte
in the back of your head, you know to protect the baby at all costs
a deluge of Peter Gabriels with their license plate vocabulary-range
Muswell kimchi to Hollybush half-pounder, that's some exchange
pop the clap test in that Victorian postbox
would stick my head out if not for the blighted pox
this Brompton is a spear, snapped Arlo Parks LP bayonet
veer by Highbury-stucco, couples carted by horse-Volvos, whet
no smoking pavements, no garage-fire shindigs
pay the unmet binman's toll; quoth the prigs
Green Beam Soliloquy
that deaf Polish Doctor owes me money!
And a cup of tea; 10p
I declare insolvency, I
will burn any unsent letters
remittance, cowardly remittance
your experian credit report, a message
forwarded from the underworld
learning from the boatman
as he forks the algae from the Lea
through gazebo curtains, through bluebottles
the nurses are at it again
meanwhile,
wildfires in the City of the Violet Crown
stayed mock-execution, caught by Golden-Gate netting
the brigand wears a Mondrian tote bag
prohibition in Bourneville, Draco's embers would be proud
Hess strikes a D Minor in the Barry Gallery, Turner's Dido's Carthage adjacent to Ovid rendered prone, grape-shaped consolation prize for banishment
can't hang a sign on everything; play by ear
tender headed, unprotected
mistakenly unleaded, covet the wan diesel!
Lashes over rods, the convict whispers
a Germoloid droid, donning rusting dogtags
my La Creuset brimming with Puglia piss
barking, collarless, at LBC
all my favourite albums are fifty years old
steel pan drums, softly rounded crescent moon
to Poulenc and back, the banker
never wears a mac
you and the 56, its seats
are your freckle-legs
a chicken from Smithfield
shadow buried underground
some words for posterity, please?
The latest story that I know is the
one that I'm supposed to go out with
Napoleon In Rags
sponsored by Rothko
cognitively and behaviourally in my bone marrow
the whip cracks;
pursued by pop in every pub
a teapot, scalding premonition
your nan's knickers, your distant
friend's parlour games, the lounge-stage
the first lashes of warm rain on my scalp on the Limehouse Cut
to stay in this bath forever, to bed-surf, try on
different lives in this corporeal dressing room
to be Sandra, to be Hugo
spotted, smiling, on the Ring Camera
I'm Eel Brook man now, I'm
the patron saint of this induction hob
drifting down a beginner's ski slope
we are the District Line
and this feeling's a green signal
scuttling cardboard- rolling traffic cone
swarms of goose cars, no sense
to bum a cigarette from a working man, there's one down every drain
latin-squinting, ad orientem
a St. Dunstan's picture-pose
Shein dress billowing in the bombed out ruin, air-gun stiltettos,
watched by Raleigh, the dirty pervert dangling ward-strings
no mooring
bicycle crusader; Dubai grimace-pout
to Halfords or Valhalla
the white women picnic table belligerents
offering an unbrushed gum kiss
ink drowned, delicate drink sip
low rise state of mind; a filter thief
pick apart a Pixel stare
index finger swipe, don't care, don't care!
What's real to you is a reel to me; unspooled like a disembowelled Hetty Hoover, jugular cables
you can tell where I've been
from the placement of my biohazard bin
our shadows fit like two gloves
there's a sunrise living in your piano
a pulsebeat in your organ
you and your tarot pack nose
booking dot yeah dot driving 60 in the bus lane
relive
a song for a life, in the assembly room
cherish the cool July
on this train to cry
we're idiots, baby
stained windowlight, a pavement magic-show
you are here, now, once more and without your sunglasses
fast forwarded clouds, Alexa: resume
27
the escalator slips out of my hand
big hat orthodox Jews on their bicycles drifting
through 1am traffic
the bitter end of this tobacco pouch
like a tube headed to its terminus
and whisper promises, we are perfect strangers now
an empty pair of slippers and the door, ajar
I'm toenail fungus, I'm a queue jumper
like future dreams, skeletons of Rodin life models
everyone with their locks, their keys, their carbon footprints
old Saint Lucian men in their hats on community transport
this is my heaven: polished marble, wet eyes
your ceramic animals gathering dust
following footsteps, leading you
from this rock-crushed limb
self closed like a cough syrup-bottle-lid
in a funhouse gallery of coloured eyes
resealed piercing hole, face-down Polaroid
draining bathwater, draining
drained
that's the red admirals edict
Linger On
you're all I need, star nosed mole; digesting calories per hour
inside cottages, inside
antique dreams and Swiss waterfalls
the redeemed zoomer, no more explore page titillation
no more traffic gambling
the ubiquitous LG TV, the shared experience of
a dirty sock weekend, an accelerationist coal miner
ash washed up on a beach or train platform
I, the groomsman, father's son
perpetuating a vein thread
under the tall shadow cast by Joshua
me and the 600 year old rug
Albert's ghost, moustache-clock hands
Wimbledon refugees in exile to ley-line land
floral shirted podgy dad martyr complex
my hands still smell of you
don't touch the tombs. It's bad ju ju!
Saint Paul's life-cult, a looming misty Ranmoor
metal plated coffee, dwindling
your parents were babies once
oh painted-face
now you're speaking my love language
Brother, Brother
you put your fingers up my nose
a thinly lifted vape cloud crawls over Cheapside
sucked by exhaust pipe
jettisoned by the inevitable heart
strapped to a spinning wheel
shying away from flying knives, silver linings
you quelled all my pealing bells
Indian teenagers; world-wide laptop-cancer bollocks
corrugated metal souls; where are you from? where are you from?
roll again. It's a man making love to himself
I'm ensconced from my bickering neighbours by bamboo, Raw-paper
it's always side-pick-fence-sit time, voices in other rooms
wet floor requiem.
toenails turn yellow
a fly caught in my piss-stream, dissolved
summer is halfway over,
i owe it to Indeed.com, and
waiting for it to be nighttime
Dead German
out of a lineup-
of teachers, family members, area managers
god has the expiration dates; jotted down on holy Moleskine
15, no good age to speak to career advisor lady, no age is
just a new fixture in a dead, yawning gallery, at its nadir a chipped skull
the other end a peacock strutting across some battlefield
dancing over memorials, sidestepping Hapsburg territorial markers
why do the poor float towards East? Why grin in this mirror?
There's an art to this delusion. The spotlight construct- a commute staged perfectly
the algebraic gut punch, the awkward Preston Park tree-kiss,
shuffling through life like a dollar a day zombie- enacting directorial edicts
lightning creases the sky, like a crack in a kaleidoscope
heaviness, always heavy, not my brother, falling out of a trolley in Brighton Marina
beckoning black sea wall. The man-made beach, host to forays
selling yourself like a Lycamobile SIM-Plan. Eye-contact from a bus window
clutching quartz, for what if your parents don't return from the Badgers
and what if that sonic boom erupts, and all that's loved is rendered dust
the sad piano would play us out; depending on the master
unvarnished truth, cloaked in scorn
It Never Entered My Mind
Paddington; heaven, white and grey and trodden.
Coffee defibrillator, every public place should have one
just like they have tramps to say sorry to
tapestry heads and marble galaxy brains
I spy a terrible parent from a distance, you play to win
hey Hoodrich. What's inside your black plastic bag?
I'm brushing against the man with the faded dead nan tattoo
this hayfever; this rude appendage
land-locked from my own limbs
blue shirt floater, on the first train out of here
magic orange visor
blood on your saddle;
your mellow dream.
A 3am moth, the needy socialite
wondering, in the dark, whether the Sea Peoples ate cardboard chips like us.
Trading just got so much better with Trading 212,
real-time seasickness, real-time Abu-Dhabi TikTok content
kiss me, moans the plastic cigarette
this world today
I wiped god-water on my forehead
a lit match suspended in amber
like sunken glass,
my alien clothes, my alien face
some advice for tourists: try not to slip in all that blood on Westminster Bridge, bleeding through the hot asphalt, bleeding all the way down the cycle superhighway
it's all dry-mouths, bus-people
and tomorrow.
Ode To Oldcastle
I'm loyal to the bystanders;
legs crossed, tricorn hat on
pinkie raised while bandits ravage a buxom dogwalker. I holler encouragement
like I'm watching Dulwich Vs Enfield
for everyone, with their head holes,
fills them with God and Malteasers, invariably
leave that dog alone for one minute and he'll forget he ever had an owner
sounds only 2000s kids will remember; that is to say, jingles, the whispered melodies from dead Britain's got talent contestants: Atlas-muscles twitching under this Dick-Skin lobe-tether, the rapturous sounds of Maroon 5 on the Kenwood. Bins full of Yorkie wrappers and documents pertaining to the Tooth Fairy Conspiracy.
Nothing like busting from a dry clothe hump; I be Germoloid cream cuckoo-man, straddling this slave triangle statehood- sustaining eye watering eye contact with the bald, taut maths teacher (Mr. Something Or Other)
Lying's easy... if the movies are anything to go by.
And so is to shovel deeply ever-more into this minus two thousand great British pound hole. Link clicking in Hell, brought to you by the OVO Energy concentration camp, take a selfie with the two headed dog, I'm adjacent, window-gazing at the BT Tower, that bewitching-pigeon prune glass eye neural network, ticking off another arrestee, summarily executed in M&M world, and the ghosts of all your dead relatives lovingly waterboard you with your favourite IPA, and even as you struggle to breathe you still expell your favourite catchphrases, your favourite favourite favourite things all easing your expiry, I'm adjacent, I'm adjacent
Interview
Beyond the Pay Wall
a street fighting man, ever-tall
shadow fragment;
Saxon circle-layer of a pine
formally uninvited, yours and mine
roll within.
Thames, Hudson- facing
Arno. The Tiber's timbre
people; umbrella statues
the hanging man under Blackfriars
I can feel the Dalston Stare.
Pearls clutched, behind a glass wall over Gillet Square
humdrum journal, every entry a slog
softly sinking petrodollar, inching into the bog
takes; a la stigmata, pepper a soul
my jailor wields kompromat, sent to the hole
roll within.
I am Essex Boy, state actor
hands dyed by wet brown leather
I'd like to borrow your paper, bully your nan
ascend the corporate ladder by my cap-feather
steadfastly betrothed to my black eyed wife
send her on a reconnaissance mission to B&M, orders not to bungle
first she'll have to traverse the damp laundry jungle
and through the outer porch, past DVLA IEDs
45 year old Bangladeshis selling Hurt Locker DVDs
picking at cracked feet
what goes on, the beat
forget about your house of cards
the whore of Thurrock
and her flagging baby-dog belly
polyester, roosting pigeons
Grays golly, Vera Lynn in a black tile Levantine shawarma bar
plastic fumes, heart hurt lung-tar
another trip round
the cinder whirls
roll within.
West Ham
AI Voice, inherit my essence. No use, no more!
Distance between, that is, I and thou, wherefore
the south, such a dirty word
plastic cups, afternoon white power wine-bird
smug brow-raising, an excuse of subversion
a quixotic attempt to tilt at immersion
fake sex-moans, relentless updates
your cycle, their process, tax rebates
worship at the altar of the humdrum thirst trap
a black hole consisting of thighs, vapes, selfies and rap
crabby men, decidedly dialectic
I think this and this is this and what is a
gutter full of money? A record with no grooves?
The horseshoe; coveted for luck, designed for hooves
like Diet Coke- manufactured to be tossed in apathy
service the thin-boned Pagan god of untapped rapacity!
I, not cattle, but do moo from time to time
and a sennight from now I'll be a beefy Boxpark burger
lulled to sleep by yet another Julee Cruise phenotype
how quick to forget, become commuter man
BBC Breaking News Updates about nukes in Iran
cold eyed jubilee shark. Back to the wife
it was all a long time ago now, that other life
jet trails are speaking to me, Dockland control to Major Tom
trampled underfoot at mini hajj; distant visions of the Somme
I'm voting yes to whatever the question was
bill posters will be prosecuted, why just because
stainless steel star shower, made in a lab
oh, lucky passenger of this wayward cab
don't sweat the watermarks on the ceiling
a convincing replica- with some semblance of feeling
Union Chapel
Violence everywhere: throat slit motions on the train
forever, peripherally, sudoku in the rain
oh, the night walkers! Trapped in their support slots
a full-day of dishwashing. Mind, body, and hobby-rot
legions of dead girl-scouts, their cookies, stale
irony-poisoned zoomers who never agree to a sale
I have my golden ticket, it'll get me to places
like in Miami, they shoot choppers, hold aces
tears on the staircase- tumbling like light-beams
indifferent sound-man. Baseball cap frothing at the bald-seams
all to be packed down, brought back to zero
good week, bad week, nobody's my hero
the minister's ministry: Starbuck's napkin on the floor
the Milan flower man's empty pocket. Hope he's not too sore!
I will always wiggle out of it, I'm dependably slack
pinch a fag and puff it, with an encore of a hack
Back To Zero
THIS is where John got whacked?
pity they didn't tell him to get the hell back
'I wanna hold your hand...' but it's clammy, covered in blood!
Must have hit the floor with a magnificent thud
insha'Allah, I want to be alive
ham and eggs in the dumping core
oh how the colony thrives!
This Wendy's right here was founded by the Dutch
(transaction of a buck, a lie or two)
'we'll be here for but a moment, such and such'
proto-pilgrim burger. A pity, for who knew?
Joe for up, Coors for down
the act 2 conflict, the villain, the clown
every seat its own masterpiece
ain't a cloud in this deli- who you, police?
What could be more convenient than shooting yourself in the face with a double barrelled shotgun? Children of the new world and their fentanyl fever dreams that only make sense when you're in them. A free pretzel for when you're hungry yet no bandage for when you're bleeding
like paying to enter a church
or a chic MOMA sex kitten. Bing!
Taking a snap of the Persistence Of Memory. Irony? Search!
An inward turn;
short changed for a Poland spring
no smoking on the Staten Island ferry. Lurch!
NEW YORK RUNS ON DUNKIN'
those MTA buses I do be bunking
to LaGuardia or John F Kennedy
this city with its dead jungle melody
Colombia Colombia, Morningside in the afternoon!
My jokes just aren't landing. Kind of a tough room
keep walking, South Beach influenza
letters from Homeland Security sent in absentia
saying cheers to nobody in particular
the Q line- octagonal, perpendicular
lightning strikes, it's Superbowl Sunday!
Watch the highlights with beer and takeaway
Washington Square park; Indian burial ground!
The old World Trade Centre, a hole to walk laps around
hand over your money for a 'never forget' sweatshirt
feelings of a crushing ambiguity that will never not hurt
blinking on a corner by the Baskin Robbin
hunting down the Chrysler building- hobnobbing
shiny Chevrolet's running on drug money
Chopped Cheese Heroes turn solid stools runny
UFOs, exploding over Lake Michigan just like the movies
I ain't paying your wages! So you gonna sue me?
Arterial blockage like the Tribeca traffic
Williamsburg hipsters look positively Jurassic
Jamaica Queens. No ginger beer in sight
wooden houses, air trains, and a single lurid light
hydrants burnt into memory. Movement: choreographed
step through Bleeker & MacDougal, involuntarily photographed
here's my life story, it'll take about five minutes to tell
Dylan's outside the air raid shelter, he gives a holler and yell
the bass is angry. It's been through a rough divorce!
Its mother the tree, and that conquistador discourse
ingrained dirt and human excrement
I've got rhyming inhibition. Foot, block, cement
all a bum wants is a hey buddy and a quart of milk
while I'm wearing my Kramer shirt with that 20% silk
islands and bridges named after some guy in a suit
the all American hero, killing the weed at its root
the Hudson ends!
Maybe, in some other life my friends
coming home from the war of 1812
our blood's been spilt. Take a look at yourselves
Bus Stop Baby
welcome to dog shit town!
Step through the wasteland in my cap and gown
ICBM BDSM
It's giving Victoria coach station
smell of piss, shit, and iration
new here now but not for long
sooner or later turned out or be wronged
hello baliff, hello mummy
your heart beats- you spy Joanna Lumley
sign me up for a bedsit, a P45
out of your friend group, any yet to thrive?
The guy who failed maths, the girl
who had anal sex in a bush, what a whirl
the homeless nomad, the roamless homebody
stations going too fast to c2c. Nobody
knows the trouble I've seen
analyse the torn dress, seam by seam
by seam. It was all a dream, prank, or meme
a proposal for celluloid, a conversation for
the birds.
A Miracle On Hackney Marshes
perfect Mediterranean feet; oh wet winter!
Fire up that kishka darling, admire my new jacket
one more thing goes wrong in this house, I just can't hack it
I'd like to cancel my emails. I demand an end
to this sneezing attack. The last books of dying men-
my first hot tub experience. my first black cab
it's all me and me and me and hair flicking and scrolling and
I'll never date again and let's watch Netflix and
sit around waiting to die.
Hustle culture. I want that bread!
Every inconvenient truth left unsaid
there's mice in my bird feed,
they live to torment that dodgy electrical lead
set this auto-pilot to deconstruct
fog descends. No time, no time!
I'm a sponge for pork, pistachio man
I don't care about Halloween. I don't care about bonfire night
death to strangers
hypochondriacs and rearrangers
Hungarians, Bulgarians, everyone I don't like
a pedestrian footbridge occupied by little tykes
goodbye Pocahontas, British Red Cross
from here on out, I'm my own abusive boss
Turner on the mast. Aghast!
At the raindrops on his clothes. They can't scream
so deep in this overdraft, statements are sybilline
All Our Operators Are Busy At The Moment
A flaneur around the cityscape of your heart
no regard for zoning, lining, the arterial
I was born in this supermarket, and I'll
die here, all the people like injured
bluejays. Regretful Carribbean dad and a
grey swirling toilet bowl of a sky- money money money
and colour clashes. Anxiously speeding on an electric
scooter, weak pulsing signals from the WiFi router
anachronistic expressions on the poe face of a Potsdam general, carving up the continent into bitesize chunks, Marxism is vitamin A dole it out to the grateful, and failed promises of morning push ups like unmarked Polish graves and Primark underwear with a Tyrol twist, a leering child having given up the act, Velma take this mask off!
Saccharine Christmas advert, an old woman with a big fat red face gets to see her grandchildren on a phone screen and the whole world gets to sigh with relief that the old cow has life in her yet
The Ghost Of Vivienne Westwood
the chip shop scientists
with their history of trysts
my life is one big spend a thon
all to be vaporised by the Human Bomb
industrial action is but a fraction
of What's Going On
the culture, picked over by vultures
it's too much for this bag for life
the fate of an evening rests on a knife
new years predictions, policy decisions
Mr Strummer and his clinical precision
an iron curtain across my mind
checking honey nut for some cosmic sign
I'm immortal, I suppose
legs fused to my boots, fingers like toes
evolution isn't the same 'round here
the jury, moved by one single tear
this empty beer is an imminent terror,
the last Love Actually fans caught in error.
Alternative communication in jest,
a 9-5 job is the ultimate test
brand-spanking village in East Wick
with niche zines, bohemian bones
a dead conversation supplanted by supplements
is it thirty minutes
or infinity
(give it a few decades)
from Shanghai to your door
the false virtue of having 'never been done before'
quality of a kitten; weeping from its cage
welcome escape from all this white sage
space Titanic plummets from the sky
faded memories of a home-cooked Thai
when does a patsy not take the fall?
You'll find me lost inside this shopping mall
Halfway To Fifty
China's in Africa, connected by love
a ballgown mentality;
in skirting a calamity
with tarot luck, an earbud ear
traverse the canal with nothing to fear
ever decreasing circles, decries the dead Pope
oh the dum dum boys and their professional cope
melt away
what they don't teach you at Harvard Business School is
the empty seat grows sparer
a whole armada of melancholy carers
look after the old strongman
send in the leopards
this year's ruled by Mars
it's in the palm of God's hand
winning the lottery every day
time theft, sweet radiator music
from a Mayfair to a Marlboro
who do you think you're kidding Mr. Hitler?
Melt away
bald men are not to be trusted
the old kings lie, disgusted
I own too much corduroy
graffiti plastered graves of Rodney and Delboy
chasing closed doors
George's moops are in reality Moors
a disc without a case
like the lonely Stockholm clock face
digital pennies in my graduate account
charity shop turned taco bell; tantamount
to going bad then worse.
Everybody alive shares the same curse
I am the child of Lagar Velho
melt away
the TV is my idol
the association, nearly bridal
reaching out of the darkness
from pod to pod
woe the Bond Street mod
in his aged Zoot Suit
a meal comprised of only yesterday's fruit