clifford frigs himself as pigeons slide into listed buildings,
as he fingers the life support machine of a chav queen,
chav christ, ritual sacrifice. rosy-cheeked and dewy eyed,
weeping about the witch at the bottom of her drive.
on a checkerboard in reverse order i read out loud
the sources of my boredom - morons on forums have
simultaneously decided there is no more art or fashion,
only records that whisper "HOO-ray for satan" if you
spin em arse backwards.
like perry, like gaga, like callahan, like pink.
a fresh assignment lands on his desk as he exposes himself as a poet in progress
as he parts his lips and expresses regret at having never seen the whites of their eyes
only broken bodies after the fact. it's like seeing war rage through a phone camera lens,
blitzkrieg in ten million pixels - "oh the humanity" on the digital zoom.
zoom, zoom, zoom,
zoom, zoom, zoom.
Saturday, 22 December 2012
Friday, 16 November 2012
banned from the library
he wants a job where he doesn't even have to think
about joe and mary public. but everything's ringed-fenced,
previous experience, re-deployees only.
"it's like I'm trapped in the ...."
I've been stitched up by four works of fiction; matt, mark luke and...the other one.
and for a series of innocent blunders i find myself barred from MCR's central rotunda.
shrieks and howls in the bowels of the listed buildings,
they have just twigged i cannot borrow but I can still go in and read for free.
imperial novel guardsman trains his hardened gaze upon me,
with a look that's bought and paid for - in a town of draft dodgers and collaborators.
he's a peculiar sort, cut precisely to primark sizes.
in every new edition that arrives he scribbles out all the words he doesn't like,
scribbles out the ISBM so that no-one could ever order those books again.
who wants a job?
about joe and mary public. but everything's ringed-fenced,
previous experience, re-deployees only.
"it's like I'm trapped in the ...."
I've been stitched up by four works of fiction; matt, mark luke and...the other one.
and for a series of innocent blunders i find myself barred from MCR's central rotunda.
shrieks and howls in the bowels of the listed buildings,
they have just twigged i cannot borrow but I can still go in and read for free.
imperial novel guardsman trains his hardened gaze upon me,
with a look that's bought and paid for - in a town of draft dodgers and collaborators.
he's a peculiar sort, cut precisely to primark sizes.
in every new edition that arrives he scribbles out all the words he doesn't like,
scribbles out the ISBM so that no-one could ever order those books again.
who wants a job?
Saturday, 1 September 2012
citizen spy
doing his bit to spice up suburban life.
he likes to think of himself as the provincial eye.
a martyr might cost you up to half a million
but a shill will still only set you back a shilling or two.
a broad sweep,
operation snoop-while-you-sleep,
a town of amateur sleuths,
i think i heard my letterbox snapping to.
villager volunteer swat division all rounding us up with grim precision.
train guard pulls magnum from hidden holster
and trains it at the temple of amateur photographer.
speaking for a certain kind of saviour
about certain kinds of uncertain behaviour - citizen spy.
he doesn't care if their cameras give him cancer.
he likes to think of himself as the provincial eye.
a martyr might cost you up to half a million
but a shill will still only set you back a shilling or two.
a broad sweep,
operation snoop-while-you-sleep,
a town of amateur sleuths,
i think i heard my letterbox snapping to.
villager volunteer swat division all rounding us up with grim precision.
train guard pulls magnum from hidden holster
and trains it at the temple of amateur photographer.
speaking for a certain kind of saviour
about certain kinds of uncertain behaviour - citizen spy.
he doesn't care if their cameras give him cancer.
Saturday, 2 June 2012
bass creeps
bass creeps
through every window and every door
leaks through your ceiling to my laminate floors
and the malaysian jelutong knows every note and word of your tremendous song collection.
rattle the ice
thats on the inside of my windows
set your watch by the sirens, hooligans who are always right on cue.
hunt for clues
in the choreography of the city below
in the tattoos of those in the know
seek revelations in their blots of inky constellations.
don't turn the other cheek
turn that set of speakers back around
and turn your neighbour into soggy ground.
and they will know that this is not a bluff when i reveal my six foot golden sub-woofer.
bass creeps.
through every window and every door
leaks through your ceiling to my laminate floors
and the malaysian jelutong knows every note and word of your tremendous song collection.
rattle the ice
thats on the inside of my windows
set your watch by the sirens, hooligans who are always right on cue.
hunt for clues
in the choreography of the city below
in the tattoos of those in the know
seek revelations in their blots of inky constellations.
don't turn the other cheek
turn that set of speakers back around
and turn your neighbour into soggy ground.
and they will know that this is not a bluff when i reveal my six foot golden sub-woofer.
bass creeps.
Monday, 28 May 2012
ferris wheel
the ferris wheel rolled into town it made me feel like i'd dropped down right into paris knee deep dog shit vulture culture pick 'n' mix two double oh eight dead weight culture of capital gains under pains to deliver a meaningful experience in DUMPlington centre
on the finest booze in the bestest bars where all the locals and losers have been barred i sink my teeth into stale bread with my feet on the leather - its my only pleasure where a fella named never does the same old shuffle never says a word never moves a muscle with a grin he teaches em to operate the machinery that'll one day replace him
i'm dressed from head to toe in silk in a town that reeks of rotten milk on a wooden bench for our arte and labore another peel town another white acre -
stand at the intersecting vectors of cross and fennel street
speak your troubles to the spokes be the residual of a visual joke
mr leese
sez
my hands
starting
to seize
penning all these hymns to the wheel underneath various pseudonyms.
on the finest booze in the bestest bars where all the locals and losers have been barred i sink my teeth into stale bread with my feet on the leather - its my only pleasure where a fella named never does the same old shuffle never says a word never moves a muscle with a grin he teaches em to operate the machinery that'll one day replace him
i'm dressed from head to toe in silk in a town that reeks of rotten milk on a wooden bench for our arte and labore another peel town another white acre -
stand at the intersecting vectors of cross and fennel street
speak your troubles to the spokes be the residual of a visual joke
mr leese
sez
my hands
starting
to seize
penning all these hymns to the wheel underneath various pseudonyms.
Sunday, 4 December 2011
bird in lead boots
a fad diet of whiskey and biscuits,
polishing the mask of daftness and distance.
we tracked him down to a twenty four hour
associated dairy on the edge of existence.
he was wearing super-tight clothing
to guard against any potential walk-ins,
warding off alsatian faced spirits with
a permanent cloud of twenty benson and hedges.
he spent his whole summer wondering
if it was dancing that let the devil in.
he could sense he was developing the hunger
of a man many years younger for the crumbs beneath his keys.
the sad sum of his ancestor word processors.
they had all clubbed together
to send him on a riverboat tour of the irwell, up through the sludge - dodging the draft of the war that can never be won, he was transformed from tv through outdoor into an advertising hoarding. the serpents were boarding as he put the finishing touches to a short story about a bird and his boots set in the days of having something to lose...
(you don#t sell a soul in one go but instead it is through thought and deed you see it slowly erode or recede, if you will. and you will).
polishing the mask of daftness and distance.
we tracked him down to a twenty four hour
associated dairy on the edge of existence.
he was wearing super-tight clothing
to guard against any potential walk-ins,
warding off alsatian faced spirits with
a permanent cloud of twenty benson and hedges.
he spent his whole summer wondering
if it was dancing that let the devil in.
he could sense he was developing the hunger
of a man many years younger for the crumbs beneath his keys.
the sad sum of his ancestor word processors.
they had all clubbed together
to send him on a riverboat tour of the irwell, up through the sludge - dodging the draft of the war that can never be won, he was transformed from tv through outdoor into an advertising hoarding. the serpents were boarding as he put the finishing touches to a short story about a bird and his boots set in the days of having something to lose...
(you don#t sell a soul in one go but instead it is through thought and deed you see it slowly erode or recede, if you will. and you will).
e-music
the ancient symbol of
the ancient symbol of
the ancient symbol of
the ancient symbol of
pigeon pecking chicken bones.
eunuch music.
he strides in from the office
and says there is nothing
that can't be accomplished, if you like,
with a combo of this face and a butter knife.
eunuch music.
unique musique.
the ancient symbol of
the ancient symbol of
the ancient symbol of
pigeon pecking chicken bones.
eunuch music.
he strides in from the office
and says there is nothing
that can't be accomplished, if you like,
with a combo of this face and a butter knife.
eunuch music.
unique musique.
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