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.

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.

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).

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.

roads...

the roads are decaying with no-one to fix em.
i took your facts and i treated em as fiction,
it allowed for a frictionless acceptance of them
when i took your words and i fed them through the pen
onto my pad - they didn't seem so bad anymore.

they didn't seem so bad.

as i rode my my chevalier down the catedral escalier.

kitchen witch

i was breathing in the fumes
of the morning rags
#
it was the same face of every king
that we've ever had

but the hair was parted
on the wrong side

ssstaring out at me from the page with corrupted hard disk eyes

has there been an unsolicited visitor at my flat?
there's a tcp aroma in the hallway,
the milk went sour before its sell by date.

shaken, i await my instructions in the post..

and wonder when i will start learning
about king william the fourth....

when will i
face the sums,
and start following
the trail of crumbs

that they somehow see fit to include but we seldom turn our attention to.

i myself have had a think
about the shape of the scars i will fill with ink

roll my sleeves shut my mouth and let the pictures do the talking for me.

its the fingertips on my windowsill of the witch who switched my vitamin pills

its the fingerprints from my windowsill of the witch who switched my vitamin pills.

its the witch.

looking for a leader

we're looking for a leader
one who knows the difference
between good mussels
and mediocre mussels,

a man who knows his sophistry
can pen a piece as far away
from the actual experience
as it's possible to be.

he woke up today
and swore he'd complete
his tour-de-force
his masterpiece.

but art can't
and won't grow
where beer is
seventeen euros a go.

i asked him
why he paints
and his response is:

for a house with rotting columns
and a bust of ME in your office.

but the handwriting was too steady.
the turn of phrase too stable.

you gotta scribble faster than you can think
force it out through your fingertips and make
your mal-au-tette your raison d'etre maybe
learn to write like an impressionist might

delivering more beauty more efficiently.
the throb in your noggin:the reason to be.

it's another must-watch, another must-see.

but once you've seen one sculpture, you've seen em all, haven't ya?

yes you have.