Thursday, 4 May 2017

never ending renovation

in a panaroma of partisan land
the king of the minglers idly stands
and pleasures himself by the endless fences
and dedicates the act to past and future apprentice...s

read all about his heritage in luminescent lettering
as a look of the hunted creeps across his forehead
as lonely as a lamp-post in a peripheral development
as nature re-arranges itself all around him

he said "the curse of perpetuity is nothing really new to me"

a million different disciplines of minimal coherence,
ending every sentence asking "any other business?"

in the city of no-known limits...
eternal selfless servant to each one of his senses.

Tuesday, 6 December 2016


dumping ground for dead ideas
hidden deep in the museum of finders and keepers

a new exhibition of true ambition
presented to you by dr prudence and mister diligence

sudden bursts of colour above the blankest of all canvasses

an anxious narrative announced
the last of the mass distraction techniques...

offer up your commentary
rigid and anonymously
on this celebration of quantity

a synthesis of cynical myth
and declarations so designed
for minimal disruption that are
airlifted to brilliance from rivers of indifference

a retro infectious feast for the senseless
born of a canyon of laboured conversation
where celebrity has not met sophie ellis bextor's expectations.

island psychosis

something has taken up permanent residence
in the corridor of permanent pleasantness

that which cannot be captured on camera
flickering in the periphery of your vision

go easier on your only opponent,
he's blinded and bloated with island psychosis

the apotheosis of all that is wholesome
hitching home along the postal road

from the death at the centre of the island of lights you
must trap it forever in the depths of the pre-terite

push ever west to the land of low density
as they fill in the tunnels and reman the battery

flickering footage of history
from all the angles we never normally get to see

solemnly demolish your dynasty
and send yourself a letter of indemnity

the dust at once diminishing and endlessly replenishing.

Tuesday, 25 October 2016

dig for victory

each one of us is a witness to
that which is glistening in the distance

spinning it's soliloquy of silence
into the brine that surrounds us on
all sides in times of great stress

and above a town without any honour
the sky is alive with lancaster bombers

as i whisper all my tips unto the grizzled god of the ad hoc
he sat me down and me talk of topics, ghostly and ferocious

and how we might stitch the rustic to the rigid and digital

it's the time of the year for incredible gestures
something to minimise the difference and stitch us all together

and somewhere in a village stripped of all visible history
our siblings have somehow learnt how to drink themselves to victory

to victory, to victory, to victory.

it's the opening night
and the opening notes
and the room is alight
with the hologram of hope
reflecting off varifocal lenses
miraculous happenstance
miraculous happenstance

fulfil your attendance with no hint of duress
at the festival that never lets you forget

miraculous happenstance
falsified in electric light

la danza

our guests are knee deep in la danza,
dazzled by my most impressive palabras.

if you are unsure of the angle:
bring all vacant units back into utility.

a new dialect for every weather,
stripped of all diphthongs and silent letters.

silent letters.

Friday, 26 August 2016

book of beasts

you will beg for the army.
make your pitch as you're leaving.

they bashed in your head for a pack of cigarettes but
you are looking younger from the trainers upwards

you will beg for the army.

he said,
amenities and luxuries
never meant that much 2 me

consider the ant, consider the bee.
forget your centre of gravity and
throw yourself at the lion's feet,

take your cue from the book of beasts.

Tuesday, 28 April 2015

soap factory

i play bass in a band,
we practice in the place
where my dad's dad lost his hand.

it's great working here,
you stay late and you get
free pizza and beer.

as i told her this,
she rolled her eyes and said

"is this some kind of sick joke?
we get paid more than that
working in a mexican sweatshop"

here they come, the super groups,
everybody always says they're good
at what they do and between black
walls of marshall stacks the drummer asks:


i went through the north and the west and nobody gave a damn.

and the asbestos halls just laughed.

i always dreamt of peeling the lids of off tin sheds,
holding companies folding, moaning low in pomona...
in clippers quay, in merchants quays, in exchange quay..

where rows of condemned souls - unfit for purpose -
are all lined up, waiting for their turn to be converted

and every click of the mouse
is enough to feed a shanty town yeah.

soap factory, soap factory...

and if you ever stop to miss us,
just wish us back into existence.

soap factory, soap factory, soap factory.