Sunday 8 November 2009
Thursday 5 November 2009
No Barking
Cris is ever so good at regularly publishing his posts. He is also ever so good at expecting people to read them. I think I just post this shit so that if the shed roof caves in beneath the bonfireworks tonight, and I am found impaled on the tails of the beastly Crocosaurs and Robo-Dogs with which I share this 'room', when my slug-appareled, unplucked and unblown form is recovered from the dust of the big man's broken dreams, then one of the somebodies that knew me won't have to delve too far to see that, huh, you know what, she wasn't shit. Right up to the end, she was not shit, ya know?
How's that for posterity? I'll make it reallllllly easy for you not to forget about it.
No Barking
What use are baked eggs
in the morning?
Before coffee or doughnuts,
The acquisition of rest
Thwarted, recompense
Suspended in a jellyroll
Dial tone.
What use are pink pyjamas
in the evening?
When oil magnetizes wine
Plucked from the bare bones
Of an almost hairless chest;
Matrimony a matter of milestones
And memories.
What use is a lie?
Drawn up between two posts,
Each strung out nerve host
To the latest version
Of the last goodbye
That got away;
No barking,
No use.
How's that for posterity? I'll make it reallllllly easy for you not to forget about it.
No Barking
What use are baked eggs
in the morning?
Before coffee or doughnuts,
The acquisition of rest
Thwarted, recompense
Suspended in a jellyroll
Dial tone.
What use are pink pyjamas
in the evening?
When oil magnetizes wine
Plucked from the bare bones
Of an almost hairless chest;
Matrimony a matter of milestones
And memories.
What use is a lie?
Drawn up between two posts,
Each strung out nerve host
To the latest version
Of the last goodbye
That got away;
No barking,
No use.
Monday 2 November 2009
Receding
This January, whilst trying to squeeze, squish and maim my round peg through London's various, interlocked and rapidly disintergrating square hoops, I wrote this. Promptly forgot all about it. But it's not rubbish, is it? xxx
Receding
Some trotters roughen
In delight, my mind
Coughs. Toughened toes’
Fair white hairs curling
In contented toil.
Chipped, chalky heels
Soldering sediment, stacking meals.
Amazed, by the parting ways
Of a horseshoe?
Slack shod concepts track
A jealous politics, a narrative
Of two looped misfunctions
And dispronounced frisson,
Running ten minutes late.
Nothing is typical in mirrors,
Votive facades, arrowed alcoves.
Five seconds silence
Rushes tough above,
Obscuring the passing
Fission of mutual accord,
Bloating those strong disappearing legs
With all you can’t take back.
Receding
Some trotters roughen
In delight, my mind
Coughs. Toughened toes’
Fair white hairs curling
In contented toil.
Chipped, chalky heels
Soldering sediment, stacking meals.
Amazed, by the parting ways
Of a horseshoe?
Slack shod concepts track
A jealous politics, a narrative
Of two looped misfunctions
And dispronounced frisson,
Running ten minutes late.
Nothing is typical in mirrors,
Votive facades, arrowed alcoves.
Five seconds silence
Rushes tough above,
Obscuring the passing
Fission of mutual accord,
Bloating those strong disappearing legs
With all you can’t take back.
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