Henry Areola

Inversely Maggie May - Nothing Else on but the Guilt of Living

2007-05-11T08:01:00.004Z

1.

It was a shuttle-service embargo. I exchanged the checked
shirts at port 1. I saw the Mammas & Pappas. I didn’t spot
the thumb-print of this outlet. Her name tag was poorly
filleted cod. Him with the early beard filled out a pad
newsagents don’t stock anymore. She asked why? Folding
up the zoo. Folding the polar bear - bored assistant #2.
‘I just don’t like them’. I veered off to the right into the
greens. I recognised the crease in someone’s arse. It began
with corduroy

2.

I have only down-beaten my curiosity. I have
re-shaped-spread my curiosity-admiration. I
took the axel from the geranium. The quoted flower.

I still gaze hard at those two pieces of coal in the
snow. I dismantled the arc-welded monkey-bars.
I hang my washing on my arms. I don’t ‘hoot’, up
on the first rung. I got this ‘normal’ syndicate arranged
(now).

I'm very bored at the dinner table & begin tracing
the patterns of the mat. It’s a puzzle for our window-
licker souls. I keep the posse occupied. I smile, smiling
Who’s timed-out? I got inspiration from ordinary things.
They have this much < > luck.

3.

I took old slim Michael’s thumb and pressed the
mushroom red button. I held it there to emphasise
waste. I heard some northern cack. It was Burnley
Burnley removed his cap & wiped his Jackson. I am
trying to tell Burnley without trots. I am drawing
back my bow & arrow. I see the youth sneaking
frozen chocolate into frozen condition jackets. The
Brylcream appears through the cardboard. I see
the canteen fish in the vent.

4.

I get a castle thrown at my synapse. I lick the cauldron.
It was not a free promotional activity. I was in a fix. I
slept on the angling-trophy steps. I returned to the cap-
ital the following. I had a quick look at Peter. I had a
quick shifty at Paul. I encompassed the bearings. I used
a list bullet-pointed with thorns. 1. 2. 3. etc up to 230.
I swapped seats. 1. 2. 3. etc up to 232. It was the two legs
on my glasses. I was bent. I wasn’t going to get arrested
for my anvil. I couldn’t see anyone lifting it. (it was all
another udder else)

5.

It was palm delivered. I froze half way into the
first gambit. Isn’t that the smell of burnt cheese?
I re-directed the complaint. I was asking for my
£36. I enjoyed the sliver in her jukebox. If I had
put a seat out for any, it was the madam 65%. I
I had her Neapolitan weighed. ‘Is that the heating
again?’ As bold as soaked wrestlers. She rushed
me against rules and regs. On Tuesday that week
it was just 61% madam. I am just one of many
card players.

6.

I am the guy talking in the audience. All through this live
recording of Oscar Peterson. This is 1969. This guy is still
talking. Talking out loud. Barking out gibberish. They
should throw him off the record. They should kick him in
the arse. There is no security listed on the sleeve. This guy
is making me paranoid. He is a lunatic. When everyone
claps, he claps loudest. & when Oscar announces a new
line-up for the next song, it occurs to me this guy is the
mob. He is the price. The drunken half wit brother-in-law
of jazz. This drunk. This embarrassment is what Oscar
must suffer. If Oscar wants all these wonderful instruments
to remain wonderful he’ll just play. & Oscar can iron
around him (of course he can, he’s the best) And soon his
cousin Vin will come collect him for some work and ask
him why he’s listening to this shit. Oscar knows the price
for assembling a successful trio on such short notice

7.

The jurisdiction of the puppy. America and its
neat lawns. I stirred the Christmas sauce. In the
white-house BB Shivers took down a centre-fold.
I froze the screen. I partially heard the phone
conversation. I tape the way he tenders to the
net-curtains. It is customary to drop a 20 into the
gut of the less well-off. Out on the White House
lawn a puppy sniffs floating seed. I have the op-
tion of two potatoes. I agree the linage and toast.
A say of absolutely no kudos.

8.

‘isobars’, by Miss Pratt. A luscious bird teacher home-
maker. I impressed the graduate with my comprehens-
ion relay. In all that was fair to the NUT I peered over
the numb-nut kids shoulders. ‘It’s in the swagger’, edu-
cation, emceeing. I tapped the barometer at the end of
the classroom. I wasn’t sad to see Mr Miller turn to
veg. I tapped again harder. I heard he was buried in
geography. I didn’t care. I had my pearl-necklace
dripping into the bosom. I tut-tutted as a trustee does.
It’s green and it spurts out green grass.

9.

I could pick his puck-lip out of a gristle cabaret. I
know 2+2. His is his hiding as an orphan-boy. I don’t
let on the weak shatter of dustbin-lids is ‘less-is-more’
Under the cardboard Venetian arched window (saw-
marks apparent) I see his mother dearest shave the
pooch for fleas. I got how his father dropped a loading
gate onto his chopstick chopper thumb. (The family
went a week throwing food down their shirt-fronts)
In that doorway I sold reggae and home-brewed
lager(s). I appreciate the sum of this life (so far) is a
woman putting your penis in her mouth upon a 2.4
litre mini-bus. I’ve sussed out the smell on the landing

10.

Miss Stephenson caught me stealing Monster Munch from the
tuck shop store. Caught me red-handed. I played the
idiot savant. My defence – I have no perception of any-
thing. I flashed her my pad, which was full of numbers &
letters. ‘That’s the formula’, I ran out. I hid in the sick-bay.
I met a curious fellow. He was feigning mental unrest. I
sold him an idiot savant pad. I now had an enterprise.
Within 2 weeks the whole school were idiot savants (even
some of the drama teachers) I got the best girl in the
school. I left with erratic qualifications (1 A, 1 C and 89
U’s) I got her pregnant but I didn’t know why. I went down
the social services and showed them my pad. I got a
mansion. I painted it bright yellow. I sold more pads.
Postman threw all the mail in the sea. Nurses turned people
blue. I got a film crew follow me. They made a program
about me. I met nelson Mandela. I sold him a pad. I was
always welcome in South Africa. I was knocking out 1500
pads a week. I shipped the operation to the Philippines.
I got pads in all languages. I got Bill Gates on my mobile.
I got NASA fitting me up the ultimate TV. I got 18 sets of
my old school uniform. I got Armani. I wear them in
Milan. I go by helicopter when I do.

11.

I wasn’t going to go ‘frank’ with ‘auto-tune - we tune
your motors’. I am happy to gurgle over the phlegm.
I twiddle a button and agree, ‘what a large manifold’
I traipse inside to fetch a cup of side-sheers (2 acres)
‘How’s she looking?’ I praised the counterpart. I want
his brain-nose algorithm. I don’t have a rag to wipe-
up with. I jelly-fry his gold sticker ripping into the
throng of back-roads. I got a speed-hunch (customer
of a dude sank under my bonnet) Justine O’Neil.

12.

I took the journey of a squiggle. I went exactly to
our still. I lumped together gorgeous curry smells.
I made a meal. I ran my finger down a panelled
division. In the seconds lace takes to understand
In the south-westerly edges of paper flutter. I turned
a corner known as ‘knuckle’. I said his Labrador
was seasoned. ‘Open the packet (meaning gate)’
I hate musicals but I love walking into one and
fucking it up!. My my the shingle was special. I
changed my name to Roxy. There is a magnitude
in the unofficial types

13.

If I don’t make claim on the estate. I’ll be the escaped
wheel from the racing-car. I said exactly what I’d pra-
catised saying in many dim rooms. We don’t even ever
calculate acting-ability in nodes of confrontation. Bizarre,
since, when it’s direct & on the button, life=greed. This
smooth sliding transition, one-only, no-replica. I scooped
vanilla ice-cream with karate eddies. I slung it at his bib.
I added (ring on finger) rip open that muffin – them berries
don’t show skid-marks.

14.

I went to view the house in elasticised waist-band. I
saw into the large cove. I only picked the apricots of
the shattered branches. I found this family-font brown.
I had my binoculars and went unlicensed. I roved in
the middle of negotiations. I undid the laces on mini-
flowers. I saw the attempt at Siamese sheds (one guy
complained)

15.

Her elder sister strongly disagreed with my use of ‘severe’
The rest was fine. ‘Severe attention to detail’, ‘(a) severe
attention to detail’, would betray our intended. I didn’t
disagree. I only added, ‘as it stands this application should
guarantee you an interview’. ‘Personally I would introduce
some quantitative statement to back up your claims but .., it
was short and succinct’. She had discussed this, that was
so. There was an appeal of it being on just one page. The
hundred or so applications this guy had to plough through.
‘And make sure you ask questions, have a few questions
ready’, ‘whether you’re interested in the answers or not?’,
‘example, how comes this position is available? training
prospects? what’s it like to work here?’ It was both a
disappointment and a sadness that she might have to
speak. ‘And shake their hand’, ‘no limp lettuce’, shake it
like so, and I showed her. Like so.

16.

I was rushed into mini-jeans. I am getting the
crowd on my side. My mother is turning me in
to a commuter. I wave from the balcony. The
girl next door has thick lice. I get a smack on
my bum. I am not allowed to accept my award.
I am late for school. I hate all the women in my
house and down my street. I whipped a girl at
school with her own skippy rope. She will know
not to tell lies on me. Where are all the men? I
am hailed in front of Miss Delhi, Miss Waltham-
stow, Miss Mum. Where are the cowboys? I hate
all the men too. I feel a special stone in my pocket.

17.

The economics of caviar brings the parental outfit
to customs. In the large fish eye was a disco. Moving
coarsely (some say) in the abattoir of astrology. Is
it a new wave? Storming up the stairs. I’d done it
recently too. I missed the final episode of ‘Open-All-
Hours’. There is the internal carnival of each rider
to consider. I dare say the Chancellor finds the odd-
glove on his desk. Concerned. How the fuck did that
get there?

18.

He was as old as a lamppost. Negating a fall
from a climbing-frame (out of hours). Grit
stuck into his lasagne face. I did have little
hands. We didn’t watch the road on crossing.
Throwing off sandal, after sandal in his mad
dual. The catholic priest would punish him.
Rod Stewart sang so pleasantly. ‘for sale’, junk
in a neighbours yard. He threw over a stack
of tyres. He didn’t give me time to choose the
hardest best ice-pole.

19.

I got welded into the corner seat. I didn’t think
any of her horse stories would ever sell. The
anecdote was always, ‘we took it out the oven
and it hadn’t risen properly but ha ho we did
what we could’. It was organised caging. It was
a small factory operative, ‘o you must understand’
I poked the fella next to me. ‘You getting any of
this’. He stroked his beard. ‘Is she actually saying
they bribe this stallion with castration?’ It is not
o.k not to be free I murmured. A horse isn’t a pet

20.

‘I’ve got a wet bum,’ I didn’t look up. It was from
her cycle ride in. She wasn’t in the same room.
‘You should have used a plastic-bag (to cover the
seat)’, ‘I tried to dry it, but I need to get a bike cover’
‘I'm keeping the bike outside’, ‘just use a plastic-bag’
What was so difficult with this logic? ‘That’s what
I used to use.’ I went on to add, it’s light, and cheap,
and you can pop one in your bag. ‘I can’t change my
pants, the boss is in the toilet’ I left it there. (2 hours
later) I see her jeans drying on the Jesus.

21.

On my gap gazing at the works. The colour of
cocoa for a moustache. If the itch was a cap, it
was summer. Dawn relayed an in-house cat-fight.
The radio was awful. The dentist had extracted her
nasal freight. The concert began. ‘It is white you
wanted’, ‘to go with the rest’. The radio was more
awful. I had a standard birch ready. I navigated
the piece-meal by bending bending bending one
note. ‘I don’t know where he sleeps? His room
is a box.’ The hole in my head chewed on its hole.
‘I think my brothers gay.’ I got a new stud.

22.

I approached Lavender Hill. I was the concierge. I
muttered the conkers. He was a possessed architect.
He was organised in July. His plastic see-through
wear, his shinny shoes. The builders mate was only
being his age. One minute later the hats were swap-
ped. They squabbled. A hip-flask unified the choir.
The hip-flask and the neat chair placed in the corner.

23.

I didn’t understand her Neptune. I didn’t compute.
I kept whittling waiting. I patted the back of the sick
canteen. It was all obscure motif badges. It was a
very new stretch of motorway. There was no livid
wildlife. There was no Mardi-grass posters billed. I
was an aerial. She was St. Petersburg. She spoke in
block-capitals. I extended them out to the perspec-
tive. The intrigue was shopping-cart. The holiday is
time-share.

24.

I underestimated the lagoon. I merely sniffed the
porch. I put a ball through the glass door. I lifted
the lid on the toy-box. I sat and took in some air.
I was locked out. I surmised an experiment. I
would quantify all this bad pope. I slammed my
goon in the door. I slammed my saucer in the door.
I sat and cried. The number 24 above my head.

25.

The fantasy still is in my wrist. I have a deformed
bone. The luminous green tie was not cheap. I gal-
vanised my new lover in the stock-room. There is
a comic-book of his drying on the stool. His hair
is cut to manage the quiff. I’ll ask you to sign here
& here and just there. ‘What happened to your wr-
ist?’ How they ever got them boxes up on that shelf
I’ll never know. Scribbling down notes, peering over
the pomegranate.

26.

I haven’t seen Corn for some time. She was irregular for a
patch, now she has totally disappeared. I see her French
colleague (which is odd). Her French colleague never had
time for me (now it’s her who comes to me in the yard) I
was having a cigarette with Dip who is asthmatic and she
appeared. We said hello but she didn’t join us. & then that
happened again. But now she does. Twice now I’ve been
sat on the memorial bench (alone) and she’s appeared.
‘What you doing for Christmas?’ I made a conversation.
She was going to see her family in Lyon (I confused the
Pyrenees with the Alps) Just so you know, ‘everyone asks
her if she uses the EuroStar’. She has the figure of Diana
Doors. & when she smoked she couldn’t look at me
though she did remember that I lived in Claptown, from a
conversation we had in a work party environment.

27.

‘I'm going to invest in lycra’. It was a con-calibre
reward. The sentiment grew on a fathom, click.
Emboss your personal journey, slay the rain-water
on them ass cheeks. One mini turn-table checking
out its own egss. I knew this carton. I nodded on
the gravel to my pal. ‘I'm not in shape yet’, (she
outburst). And so the stadium was up for sale. The
bidding went out as a fishing-line. The weary mow-
ed on their ways (cross-eyed)

28.

Stripped to the cliché cache of bit and bob. Franz
Ferdinand secured a plate of sandwiches for free.
Endorphins were asked to leave the premises. Goo-
gle found them some epoxy-resin. Jim a town clown
stumbled into the microphone. The trapeze swung
across the back-biters. Severe dystrophy panicked
practising student-medics. Boom went boom (say
kiln over & over like)

29.

Cuck fever. The complete wiring in a caravan laid end to
end. That length of boredom. I brought a card that planned
the band and poured it out a contractual speaker. I got quite
angry when he didn’t even organise the event in front of
me. I misbehaved. I doubted Cuck fever dangerous. I re-
aligned the spindle on his yo-yo. A watercolour sublet his
possessions. I watched it again in black & white.

30.

I got married at our book-launch. I stole the
show from the alligator. I did a number with
an interlude. I removed the port-caulis. I’ll
re-issue. ‘will you’, & I did. The present of the
gramophone was special. The sea-food platter
wasn’t even ours. I had a stack on my arm. I
waded into the crowd. The coins were warm
with speciality. I garrotted the hymn. I thank
Stevenson.

31.

I’ve decided that I will get the inflatable 2-seater settee. It’s
12.99, and I can reserve it at Argos superstore in Victoria.
There is no mention of how I blow it up, but it comes with
a ‘puncture repair kit’. It is blue and that’s it. I will cover
it with a nice blanket. I will add at my own choice a small
bedtime table at the right hand end, for my glasses and
ashtray. I might add a lamp (I have a spare). Other than
that, it is 175 pounds for a proper 2-seater settee. & then
it has to be delivered, carried up the stairs. I could ask
myself, ‘jel are you expecting company?’ Don’t jump
ahead I will reply. It’s for me to read and watch TV in. I
can sit in the dark and watch the LCD counter on the CD
player tick over. I imagine two people sat on the blow-up
settee will be a joke. You would fall together like the walls
of a swimming pool (with the water quickly removed).
This week I will leave the flat of the bed. It’s something
new for me

32.

I will look direct into his southern-hemisphere eyes
and mark out my pitch. I have trained not to gloat.
There is a record of achievement. I don’t hold this.
There is a conservatory to study this. I don’t and hav-
en’t applied for their courses. I am self warned. I am
self taught. I will just make sure I catch him on the
stairs. I will put my marriage in his eye. I will put
a grazing cow in his eye. I will greet him on the steps
of a Harley street doctors. I will give him no funds
for violence. I will write him off in the italics of
eastern thought.

33.

I am introduced to the electrician brothers. I stare
at the gash in my speaker. I undress the pile of my
possessions lifted by two sets of hands onto my bed.
I can see that directly. I sweep the debris. I sweep
the dust out of the glass. I impose a curfew on my
anger. I don’t have a camera to shoot the afterbirth.
I have evoked their wrath. I was warned to shrink
into the centre of my space. I hold my poor toothbrush.
I have now no water-heater. They have auctioned off
my soft broom. I shake out my 4 duvets. I worry for
my inflatable settee. I will cherish forever my tale of
the blue teapot.

34.

The hallway is shattered. I walk and see the broken
matchstick. I have to study the hanging warning. I
test the switch to the jetty. I look to the dark room
before the roof. I ate beetroot on a very similar pattern.
There will be a petition. There will be subsidence. I
know flat 10, flat 4 & %’s. I think our best option is
semaphore. High up semaphore. I will be best on the
right hand side (facing). I am best forcing the gravity
into the centre from the right. I push a leg up into the
hip. As a household waving into the nocturne of the
rich-mans house. I don’t think flags will scare the
little girl and the teddy. We may appeal to him through
her.

35.

A donkey is trapped between the view of two piers. His
tattoo of stated woe is larger than the cannery. I rummage
through the basket-of fruit. I know what can happen in
them. Helsinki, the child runs licking his new edition.

36.

I do not want to pry in my friends second baby (due)
I will wait until the good news surfaces. I could put
my foot in it, ‘is it born yet?’ I may ask. And it is, but
it’s a mongoloid, or it’s on a machine. And we joke a
lot – me & him- about where we grew up. We have a
wicked sense of humour. We pick on blacks, down
syndrome, sex, and girls with large tits. It is good fun.
But if there is something wrong with the baby, I want
to give him time. I want him to be able to joke without
guilt. I never want to lose our sardonic exchange because
he made a defect. I prey it is not bad, but some of me
wonders if that will be the downfall of my friend?

37.

I will always stalk. I have an immune blunt
social chisel. I will prey on the whichever
walks through the evolving door. Female,
female, singer-songwriter, female. I don’t
have blips. I continue to back-fire. I aint
heading for B. I'm enlarged in self-sacrifice.
I have a humble Corsica. I rep with my arm
always pointing at that interface. (I survive)
Golliwog

38.

I offer up my head for hitting. I offer the
crim. his first textbook. I bathe his saw mitts.
I chocolate his dingy cell. I frankly suck-off
his nebulae. I and my NASA direct them together.
I arrange the cartoon. There is no conference
in Blackpool. I'm just walking about love

39.

There wasn’t any way I could injure him. He was
speaking fast and erratic. I didn’t concentrate on
his menopause. I edged out of my seat. I did the
required hospitalisation. I egged him into outburst.
I was waiting on the waiter (there is no waiter) I
felt his communication toad (ok). She circled around
the coral. I reminded myself to reassert. This would
be an ocean liner voyage. I flipped the calendar and
saw a pyramid and star. She waved hello-goodbye.
He accepted date & month will be uncertain Harry.
I hit both cymbals now.

40.

I have fell in love with a picture of a woman who
is remarkably beautiful but different. I think I
could be a help to her in intellect and poetic structure.
I could say a lot of things that don’t make sense now.
I could lose her immediately and that would hurt my
nine. I wonder a lot about us. There is some people
that make you do that. She is that person. It’s a chance.
It’s a risk being yourself. It’s the one thing that could
change your life. I want to be completely wanted by
at least three of her. I hunt more open now than ever.
I want to say fool but I can’t.

41.

Her dress was peculiar. It was the nozzle that succinctly
said. I dreamt linseed coalitions. I recalled Falklanders on
the news. I grew great knowledge of Perspex. I cut a rosette.
I pleased her in the job-centre way. If Mike was here. If Terry
could walk again. An extremely warm Dot-Cotton ‘sign languages’
our rapport.

42.

Part 2. Complete Neanderthal rights. Close her conniving
hotel. Shower with puke. The kid had bitten his tongue. I
was exhibiting fresh apples. I injured a small rodent on my
drive here. ‘She is, I’ll tell you what she is, contemptible’.
I hadn’t seen his hair greased. I see his youth singe the
timetable. A porter phoned her mother. His parabola
flapped with the fishes tail. I fed him on ideas of her wake.
I cabbaged the union of sympathy. I slipped them a disc-
jockey. I played the lucky lady card. I helped him re-heap
his acquisition.

43.

Jurassic cough medicine was in the form of each other. I
don’t chew flesh (who was this Para?). Eating family if all
there is is family isn’t eating family without grace. I’d
marched on an empty stomach to delivery this. You go
with what’s in front of you. ‘synergy’ isn’t an event I’d
enjoy. But if I lived 2 doors down and needed a night out I
see his aqua-related tattoo emerge below his simple-line.
I'm there. It’s feeding the fat around the tombola. It’s
chugging on the nuisance (maybe). It’s need captain (he’d
been in disguise) It became apparent I’d been duped. It’s
need. And clawed with my right-hand first. Medicine took
out our growl

44.

I sat on the couch. The first dad entered. I asked
if he was comfortable. He was paranoid. It was
a routine-high-jack. I polished off his drink. The
second dad entered. His hair was slick. He had his
own father to contend with. He took over 20 sec-
onds to find the baby photo. He did not appreciate
the idiocy. I ended it before he could end. I cut
patches in his jeans for his knees.

45.

I have been told to aim to live forever. I have no threat
of invasion. I have no use in a war. I see health & safety.
I see the ban on smoking. I see litigation peroxide. I have
something to live for. I have liberal god-parents. I have
been given a lot to read now it’s peace forever. I think the
telephone. I think the macro. I vote for the disabled infant.
I enter the days knowing no boats will arrive at my shore.
I am reminded how stupid we were. I can’t decide if I'm
good for doing the good things that made us good but are
no longer good. I continue squeezing the glue out of the
tube.

46.

‘O you’re off’. It didn’t stop her. ‘These are the figures
from Liz’, ‘I don’t see how we are so different’, pointing
to the PGT number (ours in pencil beside it) ‘Did she
include the TTA’s?’ (though that wouldn’t make the
difference) ‘What the PGCE’s?’, ‘Yes’, ‘I know our
figures couldn’t be that far out’, ‘I’ve checked them’
‘We’ll have to ask her how she’s counting, where she’s
counting from’, (and then baffled her with what the
difference could be in doing so) ‘do you think she’s
left out the part-timers?’, ‘maybe’ (I knew that wouldn’t
be the case). ‘Tomorrow we can ask her and then we can
compare, until then its useless’. She walked back into
her office. ‘That’s what I’ve emailed her’, ‘we’ll do it
tomorrow’. Re-emphasising, I'm leaving her now

47.

I sprinted along the edge-lines. I bounced in foam
soles. I was injected with perfume. I was the new
dolly out of the box. I ran right off the bat. I said I
was going to do it. I practised out loud. There was a
large F in the window. I nodded to the guy vaulting

48.

I stand at the window. I see the graze. There is a hovering
overcoat. A shabby mac. She walks along the alley
touching her hair. There is a wig of a judge. The rolls of
hemlock. I breathe out. I argue with daytime TV. I poke
around the train-set. I move the cable between my toes. In
the puddle is a million epsilons. A drunk has curried the
footpath. I do my morning measurements. Tire-tracks are
virile. A baton nudges closed bad-clams. I assess St.
Barnabas (hands out of pockets)

49.

A pause in the exodus. A break for nitrous-oxide. I
am on my back back. I’ve eaten to much music. This
interned camp is partying. The straights still hate the
queers. I peer up at the big screen. A Money-Penny
aggregate flicks the reel. I send visual postcards to
my pals. It’s him, the one with the muscles. Both now
slipping on Japanese-made condoms. It’s him. We
have been warned. We have been entertained. On
the benches one-bar of the fire begins to glow. The
bell to leave may have to be rung.

50.

I can’t have interruptions. I'm
self-made. I’ll fall off into bribery. I’ll sneeze and shake
I’ll blame carnivorous monsters. I’ll end up in bed in a
white hat. I just keep flushing the toilet. It dribbles to new.
I flush it again. I keep flushing the cistern. I jam on the
dregs. I get on my knees to find things with my thumbs.
I do the same howling. I put the same amount in. I push
myself to press record. I record hips. I record anus. I tape
crushes. I record favourite things. I never have to go to
the job-centre. I never have to complain.

51.

It was from Rachel Fielding (the email) She and Laura
wanted (and forgot to ask me when they came to the
office) for the number (the enquiry line) for the CRB.
I’d just had two weeks of commotion with Laura, her
not having her Criminal Check completed, and then her
driving license going missing (even though she left it
at the mailroom) It all being her fault (as I pointed out
this should have been done before you started the course)
But took pity as she is being thrown off her placement
(because of) so, I gave them the number and added,
‘though I doubt they will even talk to you as you are
not the countersignatory and don’t have the access codes’
(Rachel being no better – 4 months for her to provide
her original documentation, and then didn’t, and me having
to brake the rules and use copies, as I was sick of it sitting
on me)

52.

I’ve always got a book above my head. It’s got
to a questionable part. Self-help- it is written
by a despot. I read by the hum of the marigold.
I look into the charcoal drawing. I have shred
all other literature. This is Madison square garden.
This is a broom-cupboard. This is the plight of a
doctor. 28 years, he ascertains. Columbus staring
at his knees.

53.

I won a brass bus. The fur cones burn remarkably
well. Danny throws on a milk carton. I hear I'm
a contender for the brass bus. I lay my kit out on
the sodden floor. I do not own any special clothes.
He works as a fireman. He argues against us wearing
wellys to church. His daughter has a button nose.
‘Well he can wear rubber-gloves’. His skin was peel-
ing off. There was only the light of the torch. I bangin
a peg and discover a stone.

54.

I looked at her red nails. I got the statement of
fact. I see their sunglasses. I run an election on
that fact. This is boot clenching odyssey. I'm with
the piccolo. I don’t have a coach. These brunettes
say what’s on the box. I'm not with the funk serv-
ing. I'm not with the mutants. These Europeans on
the box. Hives and the bees on that box (all of em)

55.

There were two Chinese purses using 4 dryers with
a stairwell of clothes. I wasn’t from their family. I
played my xylophone. I hustled. I pointed to the ends.
She had no English credits. Her Barbie-doll was
in pink shorts. ‘You have to hold it in’, I took over
her mini-orchestra. I said no to a Christmas tree,
‘I’ll spend that 30 quid on myself’. Don’t say that I
thought my friend. If only my uncle were alive he
would understand my laughing. He too was on the
hustle. I went into the laundrette. I resumed the queue.
She would have to sit on it to close it. Something
busy.

56.

(I went straight in) ‘The RAE, those emails, are from the
RAE, like I said, whoever is using the admin password,
whether it’s the administrator or academic, they’re sending
this email to tell us information is incorrect, it needs
changing’. ‘I spoke to Nicola Sainsbury, all the information
is uploaded from SI, so SI needs changing, I’ll forward
them to the department for paperwork’, ‘so they’re a to-do
list?’, ‘yes, they need action’ (looking confused) ‘but do
we have to confirm they’re done with RG support?’
(I wasn’t going to) ‘no, it’s between us and the department’,
‘but I have to confirm mine, for a change of personnel
I have to authorise this’, ‘because that needs your level of
authorisation, isn’t it’ (agreed but disgruntled) ‘I have to
reply when it’s done’, ‘but this is SI literature, its taken
from SI, these are minor modifications, record changes’
(It would be better all round if she was not cc’d in, as it
doesn’t involve her, and I can’t ever make her see it’s a very
small thing that is no more than day-to-day record upkeep)

57.

My Roger Daltry, ‘what do you do in the time
then?’. It’s a cosmopolitan episode. The dvd is
some gruesome caretaker. (fuck that) My Ro-
ger daltry, ‘it’s my money’. Though it’s a quest-
ion of living the brochure with these lot. ‘There
probably isn’t enough dvd’s for the time I have’
Roger Daltry (mine) continues, I flick through
magazines too. I flick through packaging. I flick
but it’s all sea- shore, sea- shore. Chopping his
bedroom down, and down, as he attacks.

58.

Come out on the 16th. I’ll place you next to
Chris. She has hypertension. Tip: pastry buffet
will always flop. Two spaniels bark. Carpet
bags left unclaimed at waterloo. I pressed C.
The drooping chain around his wrist. I’ve got
a reputation to uphold. I gaze at the finch step-
ping between pegs. Romany lady offers out her
sprig. I never said you were plastic fruit.

59.

Turnpike lane was at the top of the page. Winters
Peter granted us the juniper. Hello from Austria.
‘It’s another world’. I reminded him of the horse-
shoe & the pig tale. The grainy lump of hash on
the ledge. Mixing sawdust with goo to fill the
gaps. Your gullet then swallowed resting in pills.
Taking that taxi to Steels rd. I had been out of
creation for 4 days. Liver on the dashboard next
to an ordinary rent-book.

60.

I mixed up the Pelican, ‘near the railway bridge?’
I could tell it wasn’t, the bridge is immediate. ‘It’s
near to a rail crossing.’ It wasn’t where Jons X –
who ran off with the manager from’s place. I looked
it up. ‘The Pelican, that’s where they shot the scene
from ‘Withnail & I’, where they’re in the pub, and
that big Irish man calls them poofs.’ He tried to know
it. And that makes sense, as the skate-park he took his
brother too, was just across the rail-crossing. ‘Lets see’
He looked at the screen but said nothing. One of the
reviews mentioned, ‘when this was a real pub’. ‘The
music was rubbish, Michael Jackson, ‘Ben’, about
his imaginary friend’, ‘it’s about a rat, his pet rat’.
And I sung a bit of it. We both sung a bit of it.

61.

It was a two tier thyroid. Someone had sheared this
coconut through the Blenhiem. Went for Tokyo but
coddled together the dry lumps there left. It was de-
livered by the masked controller. A gimpish comedic
appeal in him. A pot for the beer belly. A handle for
that pot. Accessories on his belted corset. The till
being propped up on a wooden thermometer.

62.

I approach Dover. I have functioned all the same. I
go back and forth in the multiplication-tables. I have
two fingers in the cart. ‘You’re such hard work, is this
your LA way now? Ho hum.’

63.

Cornucopia is arranged in bad-shelving. Two stores down
from the cheese shop. As relays the gas supply, ‘there’s
never a long enough sunny day’. I dragged all the wares
onto the pavement but was stopped. Number 67 had
ancestry in their pipes also. Peek-a-boo games senile horny
men play. With chlorine, 8 parts a million in the atmos-
phere. I couldn’t direct a car there. Webs built upon webs.
The changing room remains a cut-throat pineapple of
involvement. Receipts are helpful.

64.

I read into it. I fitted it to my mast. I took
out a MySpace page. I wrote the reply. I
wrote an educational reply. I included the
ambiguous storefront. I was safeguarding. I
hinted in my cancellations. I sat a huge-brain
outside school. I checked in between meals.

65.

Three years (on drawing line there) gone. Propped up
in bed egging on the room to compete. Shy, subtle, us
both. I remember not exactly none of it. Just the block.
Tapping away (I love that expression). I definitely say
it doesn’t matter where I live. I can definitely say it’s
helped. That ‘room’ in a city someplace. I smoked a lot
of cigarettes. I have and keep a private mandate. I patch
up a hemisphere is the best I can do. Inversely Maggie
May

66.

I will shave soon. I will mark the end of my pie-
eating day with a shave. I went to Bromley. I saw
the ad and drove off along its fairway. A result
would be a clock-tower. I can embellish any focal
attraction with a mobile-ice-cream cart. It’s a 0.1
elbow grease farty month.

67.

Without make-up, between the coliseum and the
door jam, poised. The towel was denim around
her upper. It was the carpet beneath my feet stuff.
It turns the sign in the window, ‘no vacancies’. I
pretend I never see the reptile house. The gay sap
cried ‘delivery’. I yanked the door human-like. I
randomise my walk-off. ‘Of course’, but no-one
materialises (unwinding out of story into peddles
to cycle it away)

68.

The doorway, hall, room, beading is mushy yellow
Hampshire-sock. He works solo in-and-out of draw-
ers. He rubs sticks together in my mouth. I know he
has a signal for luxury. He is an extremely cheap den-
tist. He plays the horses. I apologise for the cheque.
Everything here sups.

69.

I dropped my pork loin on the deck. I was in Islington
county. I can’t be the sure the deaf here are genuine. I
married a lass that afternoon. I didn’t know the asshole
from the cunt. I shoved another dough ball in my gob.
What was with this woman’s teeth? Why didn’t the school
photographer want to take her picture? She stood on the
nature table and pee’d down her legs. I would never
do better than 82 cm in the high-jump.

70.

There is talk of Morocco. The lizard crept into his
urn-shaped gift. Them zigzag patterns in mats are
laziness. I’d prefer the random. Say this & get sm-
ashed by the bathroom elite. I draw that little wo-
oden token lodged in your U-bend. It’s a humorous
cross-section aperitif. I chop the desert in two. I have
captions. One zigzag says to the other, ‘two fruit ma-
chines..’ There is no such thing as gravy (here).

71.

The ford escort is every other. I collect lolly-sticks. I
reach the town-hall in supposition. The daily record
is playing. I stand outside the Bank of India. The win-
ning team haven’t even won yet. My hands are filthy.
I am hit with a radish. It came out of Ghia electricals.
I run with my punnet. I run into the high-street. I cross
to my patch. I find the white boys. They take immediate
action. I moved before I could grow up.

72.

The disabled-loo on LB1 (the post-prayer annex) is
locked now for storage. There is no sign. There is
just the alert of a girl-guide colour everywhere. I
perspire. I know for sure it wasn’t a piece by piece
operation. No stooge builds the saddle on the back
of a horse! The helter-skelter is permanent. Toy-town
is re-located. Behind closed ‘punk’ doors, vroom.

73.

She takes everything at face value. None of us can
defeat her in the end. I say Roger, ‘it’s a globule of
mastic’. Roger stabs the dribble with a twig. ‘Christ
Buddha, doorman, they’re all on her side’. His inter-
est in this entity annoys me. I know mastic dropped
from a window. He hikes up his trousers at the knees
before sitting. I’m not certain which side he’s on. It’s
about the end. I won’t air my concerns over our choice
of knight.

74.

Personal hygiene is owned by the Welsh. McDivott
sewed an acre on the slope of a hill. ‘Benjamin are
you available for a miscarriage of justices?’ The dev-
lopers signed upon a copper-top table. The drunk
used a supping device made from a tie. Large calved
woman dance to the radio around in-trays. Gwen ta-
kes air after a giddy-spell. Darts makes the sound.

75.

What she describes in beta-take is a race-night. The
venue has a brick patio. I guess too, fake pebbles
in plant-pots. ‘The reel runs and you bet?’ I didn’t
watch these nags on not so green grass. I didn’t
bet. Her cat-suit had been washed. The gap in her
front teeth housed a boot. Sorry for the humming.

76.

If I won her a fish I would be in jail now. I
stood back next to the Jerry-can. He punched
the coca-cola machine. It was a very rich,
well-to-do, gloved dinner-lady. The weather
was by WH Smiths. In basic it was ‘oi’, ‘oi’,
back to you. It’s a waltz in a kayak. I cost it at
854 pound sterling. I did enjoy his discipline.

77.

O Shaun Mcgowan I thought I’d write you. My back
is against the wall again. It’s the third time. You’re
a man of little words. Little words understand. I'm
bound in a whirlwind. It started last week. I have a
brain from before. I know how to play it. I just
don’t like it. I'm two people heading for the door.

78.

I woke with the hots, the trays. I'm dormant in a faraway
yellow muddle. Confucius, just his name, strikes sour.
They have started an OAP club in the next room. Some
port of community initiative. I see the trespassers dwindle
away in their chairs. I see the woman in a panic has parked
her car wrong. It is the hub of activity. I get my first wrong
caller, ‘next door’ I tell her. Foreign and deaf. I have a new
hardwood floor.

79.

And in death? He laughs out of embarrassment. I want
this sale & return lark understood. I turn to his lover.
‘Are you hope?’ She sports a neckerchief. It’s a habit.
This fellow is absurd. This fellow is deranged. I am not
joking. I let the silence take the hour. ‘Well, I could sign
something?’ There was a very small pond once. There
was a chaffinch that washed in it. ‘ok’ I'm still not
certain. His Mrs digs for equipment. I pat the dog who’s
on neither side.

80.

‘Everyone saves themselves’. I select examples. I am
imploding with rage. I have saved myself from eating
his head. I and my dagger blame myself. His droopy-pig
eyes suggest unfair play. I burst a balloon. ‘I got this
mess’. I tap my suitcase. He infers a pastoral cleansing.
‘Can’t you just fucking accept what I say?’ I scare him
into submission. It’s my madness. I wont be tricked into
blame. I came here today bubbling.

81.

It was her soft-suede digger claw-bucket that
changed me. Camden changed me. A quote in
a book about a ring made me anxious. I stopped
and made the call. ‘In which room is Mr Wilkin-
son likely to be on the 18th?’ I opened up my
deed-maker. He pointed to the coil. I was posit-
ive. I shared with her 4 bars out of a readable 13.
The glow in the chapel is edited.

82.

O psyche (you cad) do you remember the broom she
bought? It cost a quid. I had a peep inside. ‘There must
be heroin or cocaine in here’. I folded it in half and threw
it out the window. It lasted a day and half on the chain
gang. It was a jaundiced mistral. I sweep under the table.
I sweep into the mouse hole. Her fat arse shot it.

83.

Planet Earth has no friends. It decorates. I don’t like
the fluer-de-leaf. I cancel my subscription. ‘Rewind’
says the counter staff. ‘Was it in the underpass?’ I
took a pair of speakers. It may have been there. A man
& wife team were behind me. In German he told her
of her foolishness. I stepped aside. Allowing them
at the beacon. They went on so long I just left.

84.

She has a plasticised jaw. I see some errant hairs. Her
mother has a collection that involves ‘sending off’. I
see under her mouth is false. I guess at 14 minutes dab-
bing. It is a paste. I am not harsh. Under this strip-light
is harsh. Her mothers hair-do is a relaxed ball of thread.
They consider running for election. The camera could be
just there. I add up the title of her paper, the weight in
them foreheads. The answer of theirs is ‘juvenile’. Us,
delinquents bumping into things.

85.

‘maybe I didn’t treat you’, Tom Flint left prison (it’s
all in the name) today. Back to his old manor he goes.
Nothing has changed. The camera follows him. Through
acts of sexual depravity, fried eggs and creosoting
days-off. Barnabus is screwing a new brass number to
the door. He waves and drops a screw. He sits down in
the chair for size. Children have made him a picnic
from their toys and ability.

86.

He went too outright. His porn collection
was so big. His glass was over a foot tall.
He is the unsophisticated James-Bond. He’ll
get the part. He plays the sausage. He wants
us to pick at his chips. I inquire about this
bikini. I interrupt the barmaid. She says all
I do is wash his shinny car. It’s a crucial time.

87.

The rusty pipe was the link between the church and
the out-house. Rust sprinkled in our eyes. I returned
to Reginald after a break. His house has been split in
two. There were two doors. ‘Gone away’, said the lady.
I went to the chip shop. Scott had had all his teeth re-
moved. I got a slap from his mum when he showed me.
I went to the street where you could get more friends.
I carried on till late.

88.

I had the lady who valued my core. I was holding
regular negotiations. I was a member of the board
I was in stern bib. I defined the outer-limits. There
was a tuxedo waiting. I am and never knew a
conservative brain-child. It was her wealth. It was
my kink. Though she never had one she sat attent-
ive with a notebook. She wore a short skirt. She spoke
a new language I invented. It was 95% proposition
based.

89.

I have not ate an egg for 17 months. I saw her last
week just going. Pedro had re-grouted the tiles. The
bulletin board was overshadowed. She had still the
stoop. I drank coca-cola (now). Each stepping-stone
is a different temperature. We took our coats to the
room above. I couldn’t figure where the decay is
coming from. (but anyway) hats off to the dent.

90.

I was circumspect.
I kept to the left. The poodle crapped. It was an assorted
mesh. The parameter fence leant out over the bins. Did
the council care? Where would I travel with my hard
earned savings? I was emigrating. I needed someplace
where the pound worked seriously for me. I tugged on
the lead. Two gypsy kids rattled along on a broken
scooter.

91.

‘How is it in silicon street?’ I get no reply. I
ask him, ‘did Jesus slide down his mound on
his bloomers?’ He peels an orange. I stuck a
pencil into the base of a can of beer. I drank
it down. it was cold in his front-room. ‘Why
don’t you get that piano tuned?’ He was so
good looking. ‘Fancy a game of darts?’ He
switches on the TV. He turns the TV up loud.
His dad enters with a small dog under his arm
‘Turn that TV down’. He tells me we’re getting
out of here. He does it in his armistice.

92.

Tucked away in the maggot. The bridal faeces exhumed. I
was in Scotland that weekend. I watched them load their
golf-bags into the car. The smaller islands have never seen
a piano. The window sills were frozen but the fire cackled.
This was a family run hotel. Half the family lived in south
London. I pause at the sight of a jar of pickled eggs. It’s an
empty bar. I straighten the bar mat. I pick up something I
drop. I peer over at the elbows behind the bush. I watch
until they do.

93.

I read a book of self-examination. It only hints. I am
freaked. I am pacing. I am urinating. I set myself 50
pages. No other literature has prepared me for this. I
have an anus made of navels. I shit a felt cottage. I
break for BBC family comedy. The Russians went
away with puns. I got the fear in the cortex. The big
battery flutters.

94.

The boots in the window are worn by an editor. I am
an editor. He has his knee upon a plinth. I suck a fizzy
sweet. I look into his sprouting hale-talent. I hence him.
I apostrophe him. He replies with a model. I condone
his apathy. He replies with a zing. His strap-line is style.
He asks if I want to see another model? Why not. I love
him.

95.

I got told of ‘no such thing as a wake’. The partridge
in the photo was reeled in with a sultana. The hook
is left there in the grass. I didn’t quite understand
how the myth had travelled so far. Industrial denim
was what it was wasn’t it? Them coral-bay eyes. So
what is it called then? Presupposing Ireland is the
new NHS

96.

I walk her to the station façade. I watch she doesn’t
fall in a puddle(s). I understand the velocity of traffic.
I leave an inky trail. I know I am dying. ‘Mind’, that
bass drum. I am over-careful. I carry her across the
concourse. It is plenty for her. She looks into my pockets.
She wants to know the gimmick? I am dying. I hug
her in tens. I push her into the ballet. ‘Bye’, I escape
as I wave. I switch on my maker. The volume is fair.

97.

I hovered above the grandstand. I supped the
minestrone. Of course, they sleep on the seats
you sit on during the day. The depot was 200
yards from the main-road. I moved my paper.
Redundancy and a fresh offer ended that. Night-
work kept the marriage alive. ‘Come in here’.
The tunnels book-marked bravery.

98.

She was Batman’s un-used ‘Kapow’. I opened the
door to erogenous. ‘Holy calligraphies’. Both a
cousin of denim and chocolate. A cycling helmet
at quarter-to-three. I was the reverse of consume.
I had just stepped off the bouncy-castle. She was
at ease slurping her toffee. I mastered tenderness.
I tickled open Judy Dench. I left referred to Thomp-
son, urologist, Denmark hill. I stated at the deli I
was number 15. Not impolitely.

99.

I had the erect penis. I had a shampoo bottle. I suspected
duty-free. This was author & Pauline. This was a stretcher
saga. ‘It’s the shape of your thing’. I rubbed the tip. I
brushed off the synthetic saw-dust. I requested another
try. ‘It’s stuck’. I was a mini in the alley behind Kentucky.
I had Diego blue equipment. I was up against the
concourse p.s.i.

100.

The soft bosom could not fluctuate. The straight-tong’ed
hair was secured in the scalp. The bird-box was staked
to the ground using metal 4 inch hoops. I visit that set-
tee when the bolts need tightening. Who-dares-wins has
been crossed over. I avoid the couple quarrelling by the
knob of butter. It’s behind that window, ‘think I’ll be off’
It’s a one slice motto (if you can applaud)

101.

I painted the
headboard jewellers. It’s a warm Stetson. I cleared
the Cuban ‘to-do’ slate. There were tantrums. I got
grass. I got toucan fruit. There is no bribery involved.
I got inner-tennis court. I got a waterfall. I got rock-
ery. There are no Dali’s. There is backwards throwing
at most. Just soft, unrecognisable, radios.

102.

I daily bought Sicilian chicken in a bap. I turned a
corner. I can never forget the Belgrade clock. I have
a little trellis on my shoulder. I shirk and don’t affect
the major leagues. I put nachos in a bowl elsewhere.
Chinese characters.

103.

I front-door her. I pick her. I encourage her to
flob. I mechanise port. I can’t stand no more. I
give her a trough. I won’t keep tally. (hands over
eyes) I tell her ‘potty’. I bark flob-trough. I bark
big flob-trough-potty. I do the ‘dog’ thing. I tor-
ment vulva. I go sandal. I go nightclubs. I buy bell.

104.

The streets
are littered with talc bottles. The Caucasians
are yanking at the plug of the universe. They
will suck-down the trollop. They are fighting
the suction of Milan. The blonds are 18001
bold nipples strong. & in the military swing
of a rifle, they rip open their shirts, detach a
small flare and see noting happen. They were
25 & 36 respectively. I don’t get this ‘cat suit’
business at all.

105.

She’s ruined national painkiller day (for me). Dec 15 (little
capsule got all big). I was snug. I was composing. She
dumped a newsagents in my in-box. I slept on the weather.
I drove a fantastic fast car. I woke up missing stationery
essentials. There was a newsagents in my in-box. I tugged.
I threw the Frisbee. I sat at the dock of the bay. I cursed
that damn evil.

106.

I got a new settee. It inflates. It’s blue. The
instructions are as you’d imagine. It is filled
with me. I looked Pinocchio. I boiled my
own bacon. It’s 12.99. The sticker is in Germ-
an. It’s an option. I wheezed and I coughed.
I gagged on the plastic wibbly. I got spittle
on my cheeks. I'm checking for alertness. I’ve
got it on a loose graph against time. I smell
my home. It’s not apparent.

107.

I drove a fast car. I cemented a relationship. I zoomed
along roads. I glided around bends. I entered the fringe
of an old poem. I (now) had the blood. I had the nerve.
I (now) couldn’t be executed in a post-apocalyptic land-
space. I was the bandy V8. This was Northampton. This
was Malvern. This was sunny town. I cleared the streets
on an L-plate. I urged the taxpayers to sleep-in. I would
claim my confetti (tbc for sure)

108.

She was not holding back. She kicked
the leg of my table. She was tipsy. She
had on a long string of beads. She had
a white vest. She had washed her hair.
I had just got out of hospital. I was go-
ing back in 2 days. I was sick in the pe-
lvis. I was aching in the testicles. I had
no painkillers. I drank Malteezers.

109.

Her lisp was in Manchester. The telephone could
hide it. Snooker balls clattered-spittle. I saw her
friends skirt. I saw it had nestled in her pants. I
did mental origami. I didn’t accept it. It wasn’t
my go. ‘Look’, ‘the flying Argentinean defence’.

110.

She read ‘Hard Times’. The mayor is somewhere
out that window (I supposed). I sucked on the
zap. ‘Do you know how to get to Wandsworth
Town Hall?’. It was not our mayor. The next in
the tube was purple. The driver ran early. I didn’t
even want to like her book. There was an ethnic
minority greeting. Our mayor would be happy
(wherever he was). ‘Are you lost?’ Three people
circled the bakers (bake our own on site). ‘Is this
the Northcote Rd?’, ‘I'm unfamiliar with the area’.
Our mayor should be hear to answer this! ‘That is’
I urged her off. The next one was yellow.

111.

He held the flowers upside down. He held the flower in
It’s wrapper. He let the flower drip on the floor. The flow-
er was Calvados brandy. There was not much brandy. The
burnt red said this is my regret. The crisp orange said I
was lucky, I got off with a fine. I will do my job. I am a
certain face. I want to sit out of the way.

112.

A rich man come into the poor mans shop. The rich
man was a twit. There was no orderly queue. There
were no price-tags. The rich man was electrocuted.
The rich man shrunk by 5 foot. The rich man shriek-
ed and balled. The security guard put him in a shit.
The rich-shit man blob was sent packing. The rich
are not welcome in the poor mans shop.

113.

I had my finger poised on the hole. I ran my thumb
along the lips. I ran my thumb 1. up & down, 2. in
search of the twat. I could not find the twat. I had
two goes left. I still had up and down. I went up &
forested for the twat. I stopped on the up. I can’t be
sure it was a twat. I went back down. I had one more
search for the twat. I slid my finger in. I had my most
obvious look for that twat. I had more time now. I
had my finger in the hole. I was expected to find the
twat. I rubbed it all. I rubbed that area, 1. circularly,
2. prodding. I still never found the twat as I know twat.
I may have found it generally.

114.

She set out that morning with a vague idea of where
the church was. She had no road. She had no postcode.
She knew it was near a school. She knew it was near a
road near a school or behind a school. She had no name.
She was black. she wore a hat. she had a bag. She was
over 50. She stopped people and asked. She stopped
cars. She asked bald men. She got off the bus with a
general idea but no exact direction. She had travelled
all this way without the name of the church. She had got
up that morning and headed for something she knew
very little about. She had been to bed all night and woken
this morning excited about church in a part of London
different to her own. She had done this before. She done
it all the time. She did it more than often.

115.

I saw him from the warm seat. The crest on his
blazer battled it out. He had one too many geog-
raphy sermons. The haircut of a rifle remained.
I had the choice of rice. I played with the fore-
kin on my thumb. I nodded. I poured another
ladle over my head. And after ten foot of plus &
minus I crossed my legs and took off. (elephants
trunk to tail flooded the horizon) Limousine.

116.

You were
perfect steel for an abortion. That kitchen table
is worn out. I received a contrived handwritten
letter. I judge the chin. I don’t care for fancy
words. I go by the mittens of doctors. Put it all
in a glass case so you did. You were your own
perfect neighbours too.

117.

It was Ted’s bowl. He moves as a tractor in the
distance. This town policemen. Throwing down
the isle spinners. His arse in the stripy deckchair.
Derek was the rubber-duck of our community.
‘Did you leave a condom full of water by an up-
turned log?’ The hut is Hilda. ‘There will be no
pizza’, bellies can be smart. It was iced, ‘behind
closed doors’. All had silver lighters.

118.

I’d never seen such a neatly packed case. You are
spaghetti on-the-toast. It was the perfect Christmas
message. The deodorant and the fort. I didn’t have
on new shoes. I walked trying some on though. Hail
the angled mirror. Graduates fuck off

119.

I was sent pictures of a Stockholm nightclub. I see
a quarter of hobbies in them. I see no donors. I fear
no mites. The faces are shatterproof. The boys didn’t
leave the iron on. I read no bogie journal. I place no
wedge under floppy leg. Braless = no queuing. I tell
Adidas. I tell folk-revival. I bring the bowl of receipts
up to my face. I exaggerate.

120.

I'm Dolly Parton’s management. I call
people, ‘yes, three more toes’. I don’t
like the astrologer. I check the lunch
for vitamins, ‘get bigger ones’. It’s a
24 hour day on roller-skates. Excuse
me, ‘why d’ya think?’ A very small
cowboy hiding in a basket of fruit

121.

Didn’t we once stay in this hostel? It was all
just one bathroom. The Ukrainian element
waddled. The Spanish wore the raft of the
punk. A 15 year old joint got passed. I crawl
along E corridor looking for a spot to cock
my leg. The counter of the snack-bar is in the
campus iris. ‘Fucking Semites’, not open and
proud of that.

122.

I am not soaping in the interim. I wade through
cattle. I lift my knees above the buttons on the
fruit machine. A picture of Che Guavara hung in
his hall. ‘& he bought his council house’. I wind
down off-key. I got a penis left in my seat. The
old man changed from MÜller to Miller. The old
lady has the phone number of the Hun on her wrist.

123.

The anti-parking posts were extracted and replaced
with pianos. Dynamite was taken off the plate, lett-
uce was put back (on the plate). The map of just the
Rodeo & brewery & graphitti is bleeping. I don’t
have an inner-vixen.

124.

I lay in the medical-taxi rank. I aided the investigation
with thumbs. I crooked my cauldron at the screen. I held
the paper towel in place. She drags her own bins to the
street gutter. I nodded at the bouncing pontificating. I
hear underpants scream. I remember the lead neck visor.
In & out spun adjusting commentary. Cut to: picket line
at the Anus. Back to: walnuts, peas, golf balls, vessel.

125.

I snorkel around you. I am the Dairylee kid. I go
through your legs. I pick up the green stones. I get
A grades. I hang up my wet towel. I am £4590 a
pint. ‘You are one of them’. I had had enough of
this fag-hag toss. She hit the roof. I was Freud. I
was Freud talking to his tomatoes. I celebrated
with a large gammon pot. Of course she forgive
and pretended that it had never happened because
I only used it when I couldn’t take any more you,
you, you are this and that. ‘You are one of them’.
Lady artists don’t think it applies to them.

126.

Her type was dignity. I undressed a 1000 ways. I had big
pants. I lay on the ironing board. I don’t know why she
knocked. I was not bent with a hole. I’d left ultrasound 4
days previous. I’d taken 4 days to get here. I had no results.
I recounted what ultrasound had said. I was lost in the
computer. I was there very close up in a car park underg-
round. I would meet my data in urology. I eased my pants
out of my crack. I left for Christmas.

127.

I sat in the vacant lounge. I was the tomahawk. I was
not angry the walls were un-lagged. I did ask about the
draft. I tapped on the skulls. I tapped and educated. I
questioned. I didn’t want to be alone. I tapped very
softly, ‘hello, hello’. I picked up GQ & I ate it.

128.

I would kiss her when the probation service wrung. I
would kiss her with my kettle. I will only be 18 years.
I left the room blowing kettles. This was a dark passage
for British Rail. I had fell asleep in a struggle. I woke up
leaving Ipswich. I woke up to a pasta brain. Could I
think up a witty line about the crack in the ceiling? It
was all I had to do. I’d done the draft. I’d done the cold.
I’d done the toilet. I just had one item left.

129.

I warned you about breaking bond. I get nervous
around money and women. I would never dabble.
Ruth told him to fuck off. She put up with it for a
while. She won’t have him sleeping on the floor.
She won’t let him use the washing machine. You
called distressed at 08.45. I told you all I knew.
I was no longer resentful myself. ‘Shall I tell you
why he can’t take a job and can’t keep a flat? Because
he will have to admit then, as he’s handed the keys
that he’s Kellogs. And it’s suicide via Kellogs.

130.

He promised to bring out the good tea-set. I
got there unhindered. He was not wearing his
cape. It happened near the banisters. I wasn’t
offered any explanation. I concentrated hard.
The open door implied open-house. I swam in
the reverse of his manner. I had won a gouge.
I heard the old voices up the new steep stairs.

131.

I used her scales as they were there. I stepped on the
scales and sunk into the blue carpet. I shook my head
at this science. I picked up my beer bottle and flushed.
I looked for the host. I turned and felt a woman’s shoe.
I got it mostly in the thigh. It bounced into my testicles.
I clung to that light-bulb as I fell. I lit my cigarette in
the alcove of her coat. I had trouble with my flint. It
was a windy night. I was left there as she took a cab.
I had spent too much time near her breasts.

132.

I got a little book that spells the facts of economics. I got
to read it soon. I got to arm myself with arguments. I got
to know the words to hate a Rolls Royce. We were arguing
before we arrived. I knew the address from something I’d
rather not go into. It was a large house in an expensive part
of town. Expensive knickers for chairs. Lace and red for
cutlery. A cotton patio. A 70’s leopard print mayonnaise.
It was a drawer.

133.

I was questioned over a stolen toy-car. I was questioned
in the comedic way. I wasn’t questioned but told. I was
put-to. I was encouraged by the elders. I was just leaving
and stopped. The spliff I hid (quickly) under the worktop.
I opened the window to the policeman. He was out of
breath. He sniffed his piggy nose. He asked me a series of
questions. He knew I knew he knew we knew. And I run
and run. I pushed my heart until I sobered. I had to drop
the tree. I kept running and didn’t turn round. That guy
would have killed me for sure.

134.

I got to feed them bereft cockles. I got to buy many
second-hand cars. I gargle plenty. I’ve been in troops.
I want meat for my mongoloid kids. The audience is
VHS now. It’s a mirror = it’s a pond. I strangle Rothko
over a footprint palette.

135.

Alison noted the abscess on her arse. I knew a doctor
who was willing. I could make a call and have her ex-
amined. This doctor had once offered me her services
in a kitchen. I don’t have the symptoms to hand. This
guy had me bend over. ‘No longer policy’, they didn’t
lance this type of pubescent-head no more. I looked at
thee tablets. I drove on one cheek. ‘Hurry up’, bent over
the table. ‘Burst it’. The smell was distinguished. It was
holiday-camp sterilised. When friends were around

136.

Inside the grip was the mummy breakfast-bar. Some
gastric hymn conduction (continuing). Born on the
zero, 8lbs & 12 ounces. The leg muscles were still
kicking off the bum. None of much else had got go-
ing. The new-born was centred by prism strapped to
crown. Aerial ’ed & so named. The 2nd thing to-do
today.

137.

Annie Brechin is now infected. O Annie your thighs
are blue. Your notes are traceable. Our pork loin has
been stamped. A thick belt wont help! Why didn’t you
wait? That damn audience has taken another. Should
I put on my cape? Should I get my friend. We can come
and get you. We can take you to a pub where you can
stay years.

138.

I got woken by Penelope. I had her stood in the corner
her finger through a tea-cup. I blew my nose into a
vest. She insists it’s cold. What a hernia! Our hands cup-
ped over our face. I dragged a bean-bag onto myself.
The snow. We checked each other for the time. Traffic
drove Penelope up & down outside. It was frozen on
the roof tops. I perched myself out of the way. One by
one they entered. Dressed as the mechanics wife. Com-
plaining. Penelope was split in three

139.

I had a new friend that drove me. I was connected to him
through the pied bull. I left my guitar in the rain. We were
in search of drum n’ bass TV. Nick the Greek is a Beatles
fanatic. He owned all their fanaticisms. I climbed in. I blew
the whistle. We arrived finally at his papa’s Alzheimers. Is
there? Yes there is. ‘Toms was accompanying him on a
ride out’. Toms would be picked up in front of his actual
house. He lived in a road the shape of a thermometer.

140.

It’s a portrait piece via phone. It’s nugget fed. I was
delighted he was falling into senility. He never even
left the room these days. ‘Have you seen what’s on 5
at 9pm?’ We were all to him reminders of him. I app-
reciated one day he would totally disappear. Was he
a champion? He will fit securely dead.

141.

Poppy and her new sister are grain receptionists. They
are sat on every desk in the parental hemisphere. The
duo scoot in & out of jury systems. Dragging a plasma
screen in their podgy naval, directing visitors to a game
about the bean. I see a lot of Zone 3 in them. I like it
when one stutters and the other doesn’t believe it.

142.

For the large stadium you needed shorts. I had got
the gig. I went to find the kettle. This was open-
house backstage. I was in a charity shop on sum-
mers day. Traipsing through the fairground. There
was no evident short-cut. This brought on a head-
ache. Sanding the body in a circular motion. Hurl-
in a paving slab together.

143.

I walked in suede loafers. I cut through the church. The
church had given up on plugging this leak. The greasy
fat slob? Why wasn’t he in his own pub. No shirt fit his
might. ‘We unsettled him’, picking at his teeth. The tech-
nician buried in the poor. I bleeped for their attention.
I was 14. Reading the membership card, bored.

144.

She just pays the mortgage. Daddy opens another jar. I
went inside myself for 10 minutes. I returned with a
dead goose. I try to be rich. I got water-colours. I belch
It’s an old love-song. It’s a little Led-Zepplin, ‘the econ-
omic labyrinth’. I gaze at the ticks above their heads.
Stuck on the potty.

145.

You don’t say ‘Dali’ this
or that now. I shouldn’t have to point out his quotes on
such. Was it the book stands? The skaters with wheels in
the eyes? I prefer your physical leanings. I see you’re
really charging that capacitor. Down at the (near) waters
edge. You just don’t say that differently. I prefer the young
woman. If you’re really serious I would suggest a lobot-
omy.

146.

I tossed its disapproving scowl. I’d throw
onto the golf course. The birds love my omelettes. Did I
mention the separation of apple & orange? Dr Daniellion
plods that cryptic bosom. The club-footed geezer. You
always keep assistance handy. The whole eccentricity of
mechanics is inclusion. Turn left at the hum. ‘Squish the
fucker in like you don’t care if you tare’. I treat myself
to a wine. Sandpit all over the floor. I tore standard.

147.

I waited there on that stretch of your compass. I
was there some 30 years previous. I held the door
open at the stag-do. They were local bodies. Parading
on that float dressed as Robin Hood. The advice was
to wear shorts beneath the tights. I got splinters in
both cheeks. a fat lip for no reason? It was a mix-up
I shook it off to keep face. I opened my arms to
accept & weigh & offer the invisible French-stick.

148.

I went to the weekly meet at the school. I was a year
early in age. I stayed for the ball games then left. I
knew Barry MacGuigan was a grocers son. The shop
would be flats now. The MacGuigans would be flats
now. Imperial mints were the babysitters treat. Hung
in the market the same tea-towel. ‘Can I get in your
pants because I shit mine’. Hard seats.

149.

I heard he had taken a small axe to a white boy.
The white boy hid trembling in the toilet. I asked
The old-man why he put so many blue pellets in
the cistern? I took a sneaky look in the leather coat
cupboard. I heard him coming and whistled. I yes
did believe the Khans had the technology to super-
impose my face onto any character in any recent
film. I also thought the TV stayed where you left
it when you switched it off. The caste system was
discussed by late-teens over cauliflower.

150.

I would meet her in the Landor. I will be early &
late. I will answer her call shyly. I will wear a trade-
mark. There will be triggers. There will be laughter.
I don’t want some vapid hack. Sat there, squeezed
in at the end of the sofa. I had my travel-bag tucked
behind out of sight. The boys in the band playing
rock n roll Pete n Dud. Me staring into the light on
the camera. Nervous about the truce. Afraid to cough.

151.

It was a Fitzrovia black hum, her skin marched. I
do the canopy upsurge in the area. I am not the frog.
You, I & her could extract a sandwich. I spot a pain-
ted am-hole cover. I erect a boutique to have a large
window. I luck out with an unsalted high-rise inher-
ted at birth. It’s a swell post-box chat. I'm not flash.
‘See you in Clapham?’ I turned around and there was
the empire. I rested on one elbow just like you can

152.

I suggested there may be some work. It didn’t raise his
flag. I continued. His head was shaved. It was cash-in
hand. I see he was settled too-far gone. Something had
happened during his spell away. He was on the run. I
filled his mouth for him. I knew he couldn’t ask directly.
I put him on the list. I fund a seat. I saw him approach
the stage. I rushed over and checked I wasn’t. It was
reverse. I relaxed, I wasn’t.

153.

I see them white cotton trousers and squinted. I was
there to look. I handed her a flyer at the top of the
stairs. I added you should. It wasn’t her, it was the
incessant never-pleased. It was always everywhere
else and never here. It was a lot of unsettling talk. I
had the free drink of my choice. I had some facial
value. I had to bend to whisper. I sat and watched
her friends use her as a doll.

154.

It was the colour of fake cloth-tan-flesh. I did not
want to go to the strip-club. I picked up the phone
and asked him. all the clerks wanted to get up her.
The toilet at the end of the corridor was in an imp-
ossible position. I spent the lunch-hour reading
Kurt Vonnegut. Wimbledon playing on the box to
empty chairs.

155.

I arrived in a black hat and grey suit. I gave my
presentation in room 3. I had made an effort to
write legible notes. Embassy number one were
my favourite cigarette. Errol garners ‘Concert
by the Sea’, played in the background. Rays jazz
shop is no longer there. I didn’t sleep well. I
had been tricked into staying over. I wore the
wool of a yak and itched violently.

156.

He was a dying man. His daughters were fetching. The
funeral wouldn’t be for 3 years. I didn’t know that. I
made a genuine mistake. I asked his running partner
where? Would it be okay to pay you tomorrow? I will
definitely make it so. The landlady was fine with this.
She was working at a school in Piccadilly circus. She
taught students English. I sat waiting bothered by
bag-pipes.

157.

I had nests of zits. I had intense red blotches. I changed
colour as people went by. Scuttling down to the tube in
khaki. It would be several months before the curls fell out
of my hair. I used the general house brush. I agreed on
a centre parting. Went into the photo booth and closed
my eyes. I waited outside with a cigarette and tom. I
pulled it all back with a band. I didn’t think neat vinegar
in a bath would help at all.

158.

I was his stooge. I was his napkin-holder. I followed
him between caravans. I did for him what the ballast
surrounding a flag-pole did for the queen. Out at sea
was Mr Pedalo with a bottle of gin. Out at sea were
hermit crabs heading for Dungeness. I wrote down all
he said in legend type. I listened to tactics. He was
determined/convinced he could take the son of the adult
groups that swapped. He was a tough Dettol ™

159.

I was pressed against the window of the car. I had
squabbled over that window. I turned into a waiter
buying a newspaper. I didn’t take the torn one on top.
I tugged the tablecloth until the vase reached the
edge. The family stepped over the hole under the mat.
It was rusted through. The voice needed all the liga-
ments replaced. The dark humming dank story in
a can.

160.

I stood in the Christmas schism. I had a red-neck. I
had some optimism over property. I did not wish
to gargle on ‘now’ proposals. I had no soul for the
electric Lapland. I didn’t fly. I would hear your
friends breast bleat. I passed in the hallway. I had
the chance you drank neat. I could hurt you with
inescapable lounges. I could bury your mouth &
leave your limbs flapping. I would turn you into
silent TV.

161.

I was the fist to giggle. In a line we stood, hooks
in our noses. I laughed when it wouldn’t open. I
think the guy was a Jew. The flag a brightly coloured
Somoza. I loved this moron. I wound up dead in a
ditch. I didn’t care. I loved my damp sack. I played
slide guitar. I bought Birmingham in a sketch
naming the sardine rotten. I got to see my teddy-bear
(as never before) As I drifted into oblivion.

Kipling's & Durex - Scratching at denim

2007-05-11T08:01:00.003Z

1.

I run under the loom of the cathedral at which odd
perspective sloped like a table in flight, crashing
through the kitchen of united reformists, BEWARE
this angle said, this warning read, BEWARE, this
is no place for children to play who look up into the
daunting curdling acrobats of change. BEWARE:
jugular changing gear, seas of people affected.

2.

Now my love life was finalised I could play
poker with the landlady and not lose my face
to flying midges or my elbows. She kept plates
with noses on them, tenants gone-by, all smelly
up along the larder wall. It was better I had no
more concerns. I was a welcome change in
things around here. She leant me a magazine.

3.

I ride on a horse with an upbeat attitude. We stroll
through large fields perspiring. There’s no one to
wave to, so I chew gum. Gently out walking along,
no time restrictions, no motorways. It’s the lush
texture of a fig. It’s the shy half-hour at a wake. I’m
such a gentlemen. I won’t tell Nature her sons are
fools.

4.

Between her white thighs lay Alvin Martins shin
Outside each Essex home is the arch and the buzzard
I knocked on the warm fizz of her panty-liner
I was as they say in the trade, ‘laying bricks blind’

There is sixpence down the back of this fridge
There is Susannah spelt with zeds & scabbard the dole

With a thumb on the dashboard and a finger as mule
I worked pieces of wedge & gauze, and hygiene aside
Littered there on the floor: the pistachio shells of Barcelona

Breakthrough came with her leaning over and picking up
my lighter. She jumped swallowing her chewing-gum and
developed the hiccups.

(I said) it kind of feels like being in the machine that re-
starts baby hearts. I said it knowing the satellite dish on
my left shoulder would rotate in a robotic ‘it’s so’

5.

I get titillation from an anxious evening. I sometimes
have to lay flat down. Berlin I wonder, that would be
scary. I know I eat more cheese. That I know is titillation
food. Edam even looks like the squash court. We just
don’t know if we should play another game.

6.

Noddy doo-dar ate too much spaghetti
He was from Africa and got fucked up
Argos superstores and it’s freedom sent
raw-plugs. The bathroom designer placed
a secret camera in the eucalyptus. It scan-
ned a webcam arc. At 2.45 they arrived.
They were scum.

7.

Writing country songs must be haunting
Aggressive, sentimental, and sadistic. I’m
glad pandas don’t play. Pandas are shit.
‘Can I interest you in my world?’ It’s the
question of the cowboy. I’ll sing my letter
aloud. I’ll keep in the bit about, ‘sinister
wins’. They never mention Martin Amis.

8.

I’ve been on a 3 week trip. It was technical.
It was adventure. I needed all my tissues.
I rode my electric meter. I solved a woollen
issue, & now I’m back. Life sure is a kidnapper.
I chose soft shoes. His face was baby pilot.

9.

I arrived at Heathrow to no applause. I put a big false
hand up my backside. I begged at the airports wig,
‘please, don’t. I am still a real virgin’

I screamed, or did I do it like a van screaming to a halt?
My sympathies lay with her family - my future boss-eyed-
bride-to-be from one-of-the-wackier-stan’s

I took privacy in part behind papas shirt tails
I had a fat wedge of pubic-hair that hid the dripping shrimp
All they found was an old A-level and a shoelace

I was told to report to my local police station in 7 days
I was told to take the hand out of my arse. I was offered a
stiff pair of Wranglers as my smock was sodden & spoilt

10.

I broke the wishbone using little fingers. Some
kooky dinosaur stood there watching. He was
educational. He was a delusion. He was mine long
before he became good on TV. I see in the paper
He’s on a national tour. Kids want him as their
spaceship captain. They have medicine. His face
is on he application spoon.

11.

The boiler was re-filled. The man had a dog in his truck.
The pipeline gambled with sanity. Grease goes all the way
through history. I damaged my tendons said a saint.
We got evacuated. Which is not the same as being sent
home

12.

The oesophagus’ wore hoodies
The oesophagus’ were newly built chalets
There were no hoodies
This was cellophane wrap
The idea was a bow

The men were Tony Bennet
The women were fireplaces
Tony Bennet stood to the side of the fireplace & broke
The fireplace gave out the keys to the semi-circle
on-top-of-the-rectangle-thing.

Interior design is great fun
Some days he was a wolf, other days
he is a stand-pipe
His inspiration was the telephone directory
His Navy starved out the warming farm

13.

Forget the baby I say. The grange needs her for the
entrance. We can arrange it so cars pull up form the right
or left side only. Now don’t get anguish. The prick turned
from ice-cream to rock. ‘I see a lot of pregnant woman, and
she doesn’t show’. I left him there. I did the rope tricks
myself. I arched my back. What was so uninformed?

14.

The guy was neat. He was too neat. His v neck was
stifling. This was a lamppost wrapped in bandage. A
nook the weather missed. No small mites for tweezers
and glass tubes. I pushed him aside. It was 4pm. His
pervious manner should get back to stacking cots. I
really wanted boxing. He highlighted my broken machine.

15.

They break you out of sleep with night cakes.
Egyptian files with the heads carved in rams.
A hawk for the urine and a puppet for the buzzer.
Slander that’s what this is. The 5am is fragile
An insult on my bedtime. It happens behind Roy
Orbison’s glasses. Dancing: these nameless toys

16.

I stood with Val. It’s my second Val.
Val is with a singing troop. Val is a wimp.
Val has the makeup of a beaver
A further Val has yet to be scheduled.

I'm leaving the firm. I'm leaving on a whim.
The firm would like me to reconsider
The firm want me to ‘take a good look at Val’
Am I certain Val exists beyond these 4 walls?

Books is what I got. Books I took home in a box.
I collected them books smiling to the Val.
I praised Val for all their support and motor
I did not scold the crowd for their resistance to series

17.

Your mother loves your fat cheeks. I hung out her
window and pointed at your belly. Her gingham is
fried but Lancashire. She chased me with a sharp
pools-coupon. Tepid washing-water grey in the air.
Passport checked out to be a smell on a deckchair.
You bastard. You owe me a soldiers grave.

18.

Sun Kim Wan qualified to practise business management
Over head flew Concorde, the clean plane.

19.

I’m getting a full-time flute player. I enter my place and
he piddles. I offer him a cigarette & he piddles a response.
I take a poo. The two of us squeezed into the box.

On the way back to the room he squirts the death note.
My spine shatters. My piddling piddle player piddles me.
The hall goes into the big dessert. Twirling out to maths.

20.

The Spanish guitars come out.
I’m scared of slipping in the tile world. I spend too long
on each face for hair. I really long for a boiled egg now
[god save the queen]

21.

I’ve got your photos of teeth. I’ve archived your
rituals. I catalogued your simmered brains. Your
medicine wasn’t ever your medicine really. & it’s
all there on the web, so? &? You have been great
minor fascists. You murdered killed obliterated
species. But how many more living museums do
we need? How will you milk from dusty cots today?

22.

They were very closely born
Two similar pieces of shrapnel
Her brother and her hexagons
What is a queue?

I inquired about this barn she was staying at
I obviously misunderstood. I was handed an empty picnic
It was implied I had confused our agricultural relations &
now I got nothing.

Her laurels rested in adaptation.
She never knowing re-adaptation, proves such.
The ingredient most-missing therefore was polish
There was no reflection in an enterprise of the mule

23.

Tom don’t hear from the back. Kittens play on them
shoulders. They think the ear is the mothers dark.
Tom continues on his signature tune. I said Tom but
it came out the second word in a nursery rhyme.
So down with the tools and out with the glockenspiels.
The glove puppet break-time began. & if Tom won’t
listen, what will I do. He’s big.

24.

I hurt my groin on a dream. I slept in Faradays lectures.
She was there. Power-point didn’t exist. Step on an empty
toilet-roll. Go on.

25.

The man climbed back to his door over puddles & their odd tooth building front is second to ours. I lent out the window copying Barcelona. Them in that house are permanent bent magazines. Our place they envy. They have a house-brick in
their turkey. I launch pickled onions onto a bed of simple cress

26.

Her mother distilled her offspring
They dripped daily into this family business
Eccentric mad old woman added more & more putty

Against her wishes they arrived in lumps
She had no time to stop and gaze
They would have to feed through osmosis
It was the late 60’s and skirts couldn’t be tugged

They would learn to separate character & character stress
The left of her was the best place to sit on a tricycle
paddling along in small feet looking up at the expressions
Seeing the zoo, hearing the chatter, buying what a mother
was

27.

I peered into Tupperware. To the fairy cakes in store. A mechanic too laid back to snitch ground his thumbs. This
was when nails for hanging paintings were seen. The steam of the family disco stooped under the alcove. 2 rabbits saw
it first. Then I saw them.

28.

She was a mountain. She got pesticide on
my cheddar. It was a pesky farmer. It was
a relative. Half of me wanted to call it off,
and half of me waited at the hospital. The
light dimmed. The concrete outside gave
me ideas. The necks of infants, a blueprint
of a micro Kremlin epaulette. He can have
the vein for his courgettes.

29.

It’s 230 am . There’s a partition
I’m a stranger at this party. I have made no impressions
When they stop to crawl into their sleeping bags
They switch of my frying egg

I mope. I fist the scratched-at turkey
I tell her my rape joke. I tell it in a Welsh accent
I bring the bird to my face.
I dribble grease into the cat bowl.

The taxi is the last step.
I try impressions. I readdress the coat-stand
A woman runs to the bathroom
I nudge the door in a spooky voice. I admit her

30.

Rebecca’s little belly were modest
It had little baby fighter pilot hairs
It was the hump from Teletubby land

The hairs went round a central stem
The pilots scarf was fixed to look like flight
Round & round they went above a tanned moon

Breath in I said or was it breath out
Make your stomach firm and pout
I opened my pencil case and lay it on her baby

This is me I said and took another quick look
I handed her a photo of my head inside a frame
The frame was an aeroplane window
Round the edge the clouds were filled with travel

31.

I train on roses. I eat nothing that eats roses. My friends
are potters cottage and Hampton court. We are all single.
We all live near railway stations. Taxi driver the movie
is a great film, it’s about the rose. Midnight Cowboy as
well. There is no film about poultry though. It’s the only
time he ever shut up. When asked, Mohammed Ali said
nothing. He just picked his skin.

32.

I had her too talk to, & what they don’t know is her geek
made her cry. He played his computer games on her brain.
She wanted to walk out, and who was going to do the
files? I kept her in the job. There were gothic bruises on
her Wini the Poo costume. Her tears dripped on my
sellotape. She showed me photos. I lied for our filing
system. I led her on for that new filing system. There was
never ever gonna be any of that. She was a potato with
legs. Not my words, his words. I’m a fall guy for a nerd in
leather. Whilst he sold Star Trek miniatures, I practically
did the abortion. I held ‘the hairy legs’. I combed that
alphabet.

33.

She sat on that bench. She’d been driving 9 hours
The same film playing. The coke machine worked.

I looked up my French teachers skirt. She dropped
her closet. I scratched my head. It was the sigh of
condensation, not me. I never asked her out.

I pointed out to Robert, note that in the minutes.
I know, he said. More interested in hard bread
over creamy coleslaw. The balance between
organ & fag-burn on organ, cunt.

34.

He wants the sickening highs
of fame. The good bits now. The altruism
is a farce. I don’t believe so, he does. He is
at an artistic standstill. The seal is a-gash.
The ego will throw a can of paint over
anyone who rattles this stepladder. All is
either reduced to tedium or cast aside in
karate chops. Poor boy in torment. Vision
may regain, may not. Doctor says wait, and
turns. A Paddington station is closed.

35.

James sat on the back of that tandem. The frame was a
lighthouse to lighthouse apart. There was something
cartoon in small cellar about this. I boiled the kettle.
The difference in us is ‘simplicity’.

Avant garde nonsense, you know - the freckle surmounts
to the pox without actually getting the pox. Bullshit. I
couldn’t get angry at neither. I was the cloud overhead.
Milk on the dashboard, a guest. There was no pulling her
away. I couldn’t make him choke on his cream. Endless
gash about his penis & a ribbon.

When would my rabid cat come home & bite him. Killer
pets was the only betting. Pets doing things is sacrosanct.

36.

I was old enough to call a round in. I was
in the company of uncles. I wore trousers.
They sold paraffin next door. I got an egg
roll. The woman with big breasts asked me
who cut my hair. I lied. It was fascinating.
Free pool. Spitting. & coins near the knees.

37.

I become to inflate
Inflated from the inner point out
The inner point is behind the orgasm

It’s useless searching the belly
It’s happened before
It’s been much worse before
It can last up to 7-9 days in fact

Who and what the roar is after is loud
Who and what it cries for is huge & vicious type

It is very good I don’t live in worlds of beasts
It is very good I live now and its thump lives long ago

No, my belly will settle
It will settle with the tides of time
I don’t know where to find its match
& I don’t want to know really where to find its school

38.

The film rolled. It was quasi-educational.
The man from the job-centre stabbed his
cock at playing children. There was a regional
TB scare. A hen house exploded. The music
was records. The presenter clenched his tea.
He was also doing pensions. & an up-turned
tricycle mouthed jism to menopausal ladies.

39.

I counted up his brothers in my head. There
was 4. I like his brothers. Your mum made
8 sandwiches. I conceded 8 was maximum.
& at least 2 then, no, everyone agreed zero
were a minimum. They all sunk me in unison.
ok I conceded, yes, zero, was the minimum.
It was hard getting into another family. The
siblings would only take you as a whipping
post, & the initiation was several hundred years.

40.

We swapped vials. We cuddled a spotty
boy genius. He would be asleep soon, &
the husband was off buying rump-steak.
The blow-up bed was stolen from a German
beach. The film was like Disney, but had
longer decision times over food ordered.

41.

A bat flew into the supermarket. People chased him
across the store. They threw tins at him. They stole
mints. Affairs happened. Cash was burnt. The fire-
brigade brought a giant hoover, that smelt of burnt
caramel. Some people wanted to get in it. One madam
got head-butted. A lorry full of frozen turkeys crashed
through the glass. Everyone stopped. All attention
turned. They ripped off his ears eventually. & held
them.

42.

Hairdressers bring out the haemophiliac
Draped in punch-bags in the land of right-hooks
Their seats go up-and-down

A bald spot is a nectarine
Those with scissors hate tomatoes
Love my tomato you wish
(even though it’s a nectarine)

Ridiculous is the outcome - plain rubbish
You’ve got a dj on your head
Along the high st you walk
With a lousy dj on your head

In the pub that afternoon
I saw other heads
Other heads with small fingers on them
Small fingers & thumbs wiggling

43.

One day it will be un-cool to have my books
on their shelves. O I remember this one. I’m
now a silver service waiter-boy. I wondered
what happened to her? A dignified lady sneaks
into the study. She lifts up her skirt (not seeing
me) and takes out a cigarette. Jam- volauvent?
Should you be in here? I don’t think you should
be looking at them books either. I froze. O
you’re a fan, it shows. I met him (she’d never)
(they all say that) really. I read the starting line,
stop she said. Stop. It was a contraband reaction.

44.

Diane said do the art. You snub well,
do the art. I just didn’t like all that
apricot in their toilets. So do the art!
You & your lot, you’re all smarty pants.
I get too excited. I drop my olives.
well, do the art then! Isn’t that what
you want? (it was her fabulous
diamond wedding ring) I let out
the word ‘smurf’ through my nostrils
But it’s lonely (she twiddled the ring)
I am all alone. She laughed. She got
I was riding her. (sort of) Do the art
better then!

45.

I got sick of the filth. In the end I couldn’t
look. 6 months of her swallowing my cum.
Me ramming my cock into her mouth. Me
ramming my cock in her arse, then in her
mouth. Screaming polish porn. Ejaculating
in disabled toilets. Hitting & punching
her. Whacking her with my good belt. De-
manding a shaved pussy. Listening to her
talk about Japanese girls doing poos. The
games with wine bottles. The thrush. These
bollocks of mine. Her with no pants ever

46.

Her voice scores diagonals across the bald cottage
The rind is what has grown over this once paradise
Her announcing herself like that has me filed

I kept the dream alive in the top-drawer, then
I put it on a train. I am not at all cautious until I vomit
I haven’t snorted like that in 9 exercise-free months

I am not your friend I want to say plainly. If I had a bath
I would run it. I can still hear volumes of trumpet
I still steer all oncoming fixtures into the queue drowning

47.

He’d lost his
livelihood. I’d lost my youth. I heard voices.
He broke furniture. He hit a woman. I told
him that’s good, hit more. We laughed. We
didn’t share a beer. We started the wicked
humour club. We got told off for giggling.
We got challenged by Christians. We were
untouchable. We had our summer. I was
once in a band.

48.

I span out. I turned to slow motion. The
parked car was new. I screeched to halt.
I was driving from the back seat. I was
too big for plasters. There had been
storms. There was grease. There was a
dead clock under the tax disc. It died.
I got out. I slammed the door. I called the
boss. I stood on a corner. Slowly blowing.

49.

She cooked the dinner. She told me about
all the ingredients. I hope you appreciate
this. I did. I hope you appreciate all the
effort I’m going to. I did. I told her I did.
Ten minutes later, ‘I hope you appreciate it’
I asked her if she was a dying teacher with
cancer. She burst into tears. Her father had
one leg.

50.

He had a great sense of humour. He had 8 million US dollars. He assured us he had a sense of humour
He had humour before he had money

We burnt down his house with fire. We fed his dog to his other dog. Then fed him his dog inside is other dog
He just laughed & said it wasn’t the first time

It was actually the eighth time. He was still digesting his seventh. And there in his morning stool was a touch of snout. Not to be outdone I ate that stool and waited

Mary Poppins looked like his mother.
The film Mary Poppins that is. She too wore her hair in a bun. Whether there was a submarine in her life – who cares

If we double crossed our friend we would get large game machines. We are sorry we said, you now covered in hideous boils, it was us (sorry). & after all we’d done and all we’d said, he still invited us to his cabin for Christmas

51.

Romans cleared the forests of masturbators
They hunted them down with spears. They
sneaked up on delinquents. They said stop
the noise. There is an alternative. Study this
or get this. It was out-reach. There was no
exam. It was the days of capture. Capture
was big.

52.

I bought Kiplings & Durex. I was rich. It was a windy day.
She looked fine. The doors were thick. The fridge was on
number 4. My socks were the only imperfect thing. Bury
me if I’m not in heaven. This was ‘the Who’. I was going
out live. I had envy scratching at denim.

53.

It’s my hatred of everything. It’s my
love affair. It’s a question of worth.
It’s a question of rotten luck. It’s a
climb with implications. It’s a gener-
ator of feuds. It’s the button baby. It’s
unnamed. It’s the veil. Generally I lose

54.

His top lip was the title of his demeanour
Most carpenters would have filed it down if it were on a
door. It curled up away from the ponds
A small marble loved its gully

Hello there, I said from behind a great mint chewing
populous. Is it me or are there a great mint chewing intake
with us this semester?

Later that week I found a small wooden display case with
4 shields inside. I was drawn strongest to the blue with a
white star and white band. The one I liked most was the
blue one in the top left corner

55.

I killed someone way-back. I keep as low as I can. God is
looking for me. I don’t risk. I don’t play-around. I’ve got
diagrams. I think heavily. I approve of experience. I avoid
tantrums. I don’t live. My name is the same. God is waiting
for me to slip. I have no other past. There’s little else I can
do. I should win. It’s possible to win. The days aren’t yet
folding napkins.

56.

I knew about the plaster on his knee
I knew a guy with the same knee. He
spoke Parisian. I knew the design, green,
‘dived to win the match’. Reading the
packet. Prodding the Hilton. Annoyed
it come to this.

57.

A log fire burnt. A dog napped. A lot
of sons were missing. I watched the
boats. I listened to the wealth. I heard
their wool. A debate over an open win-
dow went on. It pained us. It went on.
A waiter tried. A mistress lost her cool,
her cover. Grandma seized her clasp.
The cook said there will be no more pork

58.

Touching yourself in the tongue
RAF caterers demand more weddings
A lot of men have drunk a spirit from a jug

It is too hot to have the sheet under chin
Across the feet gives dreams of parental servitude
I should never have thrown that Jeep at Simmons

When I get out of here I will belong to a guild
Circling the naval in the headlamps of National Service
All exploding kettles will be replaced with petty cash

59.

I tell her straight. Don’t arrive here
without wine & milk. I don’t run out.
It’s over her head. I tell her again, twice.
I piss out the window. She screams.
I’ll piss out the window until you learn.
I wasn’t giving in. I pissed in the sink.
I pissed in the bed. I pissed on her legs.
But I don’t drink wine she screamed.
I don’t care, as I pissed in cups. It’s called
manners, & you have none.

60.

He scowled artist biogs. They had flu. His relative had sneezed on them. They sold their fridge. His uncles war buddy still has it. He had several twenty pages of hyper-
bole. Words on side-orders. Gravity in tailors. Comedy
in the wobbly shifting gravestone.

61.

The MySpace jockey’s are coming.
They suck boiled sweets. Some have
their own bags. All fire water-pistols.
I lose my coupon. Hoards come. Sales
treble. Punks not quite. Just the furniture
of the pound.

62.

The dog has wind because of chicken
The dog has red saws crossing several borders
The aged mother wails in despair upstairs
I pause with a half peeled tangerine ticking-over

A husband had died mid-week for some reason
Fords motor company never named a car after him
She left the sink to de-grease by the window
Behind the copy Constable is dead light

Mrs Surety had been in hospital herself
She would only walk down the stairs backwards
Princess Margaret never sent her an invitation
The phone rang and I rubbed ash into the carpet

63.

I used the word requisite twice. I extracted
meanness from the Midlands. She dug from
the dictionary. It took 18 minutes. I held.
As the toilet-seat fell into the carvery. I knew
she hated Oxfam. 9 attempts getting a cart
into a freezer. Come on love, my names not
Khan.

64.

The smiley faces you sign-off with
are disfigured. They are either two
feathers- or fingers up to banks. I
pop a knotted rubber band into an
internal envelope. It is a tourniquet.
detail your blue legs. I have a soft door.

65.

Her hairspray is pending. Her shampoo
is pending. Her 3 cans of chilli sauce
she arranged on the shelf is idiotic. I
can chose my day to drop a notch. I
type her a stiff one. I keep it above the
waist. There is no fine. I’ll move with
the curve. I’ll move them when another
lady moves in. It’s a stool instead of a
high chair.

66.

I removed his items. I fished out his briefs.
I used my finger as a hook. I used it as a spare
ladle. I used it as the stick for making forged
notes. I stirred the undercarriages. I did it at the
arm length of no goggles.

67.

Groin broken, testes irksome, ejaculation pained.
I punch the donkey, trying to pin on its tail.
The beret just wont stay still. Stay still
you cunt.

Hot legs, fist in anus, 3 days sobbing
New adopted method of masturbation failing.
Equipment at hands limited to options.

Bladder neck inflamed, urine dribbles along legs
I visit the bathroom every 15 minutes
I sup Dicoflax ™ . I have a new nipple

I don’t feel my feet. I crave Bombay mix.
I am too stoned to travel
There is continuous cold showers and blood oven.

68.

I licked your anus & I did sodomy
I don’t see any mention of this. I re
-wrote it, your love letter goodbye
‘I play-farted to the tennis’, ‘I got
that off you!’ That’s how it began. I
brought in more pubs. I took out the
gush. I used more percentages. It
was lacking numbers. I think it’s better.

69.

I walked off stage. I went to the fire-scape. I was dull
I crouched under brick frame. I lit a cigarette. I exhaled
hard. Up she came, little Liz. Big eyed in denim skirt,
carrying bottles. She is tipsy. I explained life in film.
Out of sight, us two wiggling our toes. Knocking our
knees. Kissing gently in the big space. Hands on cold
beer, senses parking. The adrenalin banked.

70.

There were plastic grapes in a moulded arch.
A computer game on legs throwing disco up
your pint. Did Shakespeare know anything?
Does the shop next door have nothing better
than light-bulbs as a display. That’s when I
asked her straight, blues music? Catatonic
she was. Sorry, I meant Olympic. NO, she said.
NO fast-food outa-season.

71.

Big Joe Turner was a rock. A pyramid shaped rock with a
white hat on. He was a rock in a field that once meant something

Big Joe Turner had wheels (under his rock) (little wheels)
Most rocks don’t have transport (no) (& just live on maps)
but Big Joe Turner had a band of 6

The band backed Big Joe Turner & his wheels & his strife
He was the movin rock & blues
& the band were the fairy lights
& they all merged to play songs
Songs about women doing bad & good & looking good
Songs about parties & streets & being damn right blue

Between each song Big Joe mumbled rock rubbish. It was the
part of his rock that was forgivable
Big Joe Turner had survived the blues remember
With his small wheels & his wife’s & hats
& now he was an old rock sat on his seat
Speaking low with a sense of humour & life

Audiences love the livin stories and the rubbish. The cynics
loved the rubbish most and laughed. Ironic lovers loved the
long career that was a rock & humour & still wheels

72.

I got a cardigan menu. I got a hat rack. I don’t
own masks. He rams and rams knitting home
I’d love John more if I could find the diaphragm
without touching.

73.

She changed the subject to shopping tomorrow
Her gear-stick was small like a joystick on a panthers nape
She operated it from under the table where no-one
could see

She moved her stick smooth gradual sly into position
She held it just before 12 on the cusp of fruit-salad
Seeing out for any slight distraction that may marry
her pebble

There was no exploding necklaces in the vicinity
so she went ahead. It was strange at first because I
thought them two got the arrows (in the back)
She thought we got the arrows. It was that kind of
-put a big bowl of green pasta in front of you- silence

74.

Someone emptied a bag and had a
drinks party. This was a bag of ports
There was no land here. Just gales.
Views out to sea. Bobbing timber.
A large door. Specialist exams. The
regulations pasted in a lonely cabin.
Emptied by a decent summer. He hung
his coat on his bike. The bike is behind
the shed.

75.

He lent me tapes which entered my life through
only one speaker. This denim potion kept a balanced
arcade. Riding in his truck the torn stereo never
bothered him.

When he made a banjo it was Easter.
You sleep with a banjo once it’s catalogued.
I sleep with my guitar regularly. Why is it
more strange than sleeping with the woods?

A woman in his life forced him to play for relatives
This was the American compromise: he wafted steam
across her romantic film. It was an embittered
stolen relationship.

76.

I did some flirting. It was obvious
flirting. It was very obvious flirting.
It was painting. It was painting in
front of a crowd. It was explaining
each stroke. It was saying this is Dorset.
This is where I buy my milk. The milk
I’m buying for breakfast. A slow taken
breakfast. I know the RAF.

77.

Your father you know where to find gambling
In them doorways we peak into clubs about shouting
They leave the door open. they play cards
Arriving late into the evening after mince

Bang the hands come down and the arms come up
The hands run through the infants thick black hair
Shirt sleeves rolled up the elbows and moustaches
Calling out to the owner for more coffee and questions

They talk fast about shouting at the home woman
Your toy train runs under the table near the slippers
The hairs on the legs you see over the cheap socks
Crawling about in these wedges late into the night

78.

It’s either too many sharp teeth in a little mouth,
or too few in a mouth lacking. I haven’t made
my mind up on this crew of yours.

One of you has a father, a prominent father
It doesn’t have to be vice.
Mothers aren’t counted in your crew
Are the remaining fathers weak, frail & quiet?

Who will jump first? There’s the issue
Who puts holes in the nest?
Who rings around and makes sure you’re
all present on that ‘day’.

79.

God had wrote him a letter regarding this erratic behaviour
The bank had intercepted the letter and put their name on it
We know, but he never, and that is such a turning-point

This is from the batch of love-stories that include comas,
amnesia and swampland. I am thinking of a nurse. I am
flicking through my hospital visits to find one. I will be
back

After all this the answer was on the plaque. On the wall
above the platform where office personnel leave aborted
office plants. Most people ignore the plaques as you have
to step oddly to get to them.

80.

They have no religion. They have the handle for one
hand. They don’t work for two glasses. They empty
too soon. They are private. They are quietly suicidal
never homicidal. They got cryogenic dole support

81.

There’s a pergola. A lopsided umbrella. It’s half green.
Half where the magician runs his hoop. In the back
yard you now got. The bottom half of a house. Upstairs
a police dude. Out front a blue car. Holiday next month.
Diets are the discussion. The suburbs a’thunder. We
retreat to suede. Local business stuck to walls with pins.
A little bit more on marriage. Then central-heating.

82.

I walk to the shed. I walk through the
cut-down trees. I see where the tomato
plants are supposed to be. It’s hers he says
He undoes the latch. I see familiar. I ask
after electricity. I root. It smells of the
school glockenspiel. It’s got hooks.

83.

I ask for my money back. You look like Ronnie Corbett.
Travesty I declare, this hop picking. What are you on
about? Wrong place I inquire. Too right. You wouldn’t
know the troubles I’ve had, changing these brittle bones.
(hop picking=damp) & he’s not interested, he’s half way
through a pie. Crap cowboy story. (up I pick my saddle to
no music and leave)

84.

I took the ceiling to the pub. I threw it into the fire. The
ceiling in the pub is very low. The ships in the bay are
scared. I’m the tourist they were told about. I’m no threat
to them though. I’m here for the family business. This
pokey bogie of our England. Every one’s welcome reads
the sign. No ones employed. My sleeves are full of mallets.
My goggles reflecting trembling shins.

85.

Hot air balloons travel in the skies and look down on the situation. They have heads dressed up as hedgehogs and promote that. Some are bright horoscope blue and some are tinged with pink

The big telescopes designed for other galaxies can’t not have a sneaky look. The big telescope gets told off by its user as he isn’t bothered about luck. Little does the astrologist know but he once sat in the same seat as the commotion

He once wept a tear for writing written in the margin in a text book called frank. Our love isn’t in vein he cried we need to find life ‘out there’ in the blackness. Wiping his tears he added ‘if only to promote safe sex’ preventing people dieing

Inter-species integration being the new educator on issues of kindness & science. When someone from another world says it is not wise it would be listened to. Our planet he strongly believed need neighbours and challenges outside of us

So we all know he didn’t mean to slap his telescope and re-direct its coordinates. Him too was suffering in a cynical bureaucracy without tenderness and sharing skills. Paths of self discovery are out-of-date and he knew that along time ago after puberty

It was in other life forms and inter-species sports competitions and large councils. The new conscious of outside and not inside, the fear everywhere of alien help is there. & that fear created lots of sticky plaster solutions but inevitably is intelligently floored.

86.

I laid it down for them. I broke the admin into
chunks. I put in a chorus. I paused for questions.
I reiterated the basics. I apologised. I collected
In the forms. I said they’d hear from us (soon).
I traipsed back to the desk. The phone rang. It
was a question I’d answered before. I didn’t let
him finish. I just answered. I was good. I was
the knowledge in this office. I siphoned off cash.
It’s untraceable. It’s there keeping for when I
leave. They believe me when I say I forgot. It’s
very nearly there soon.

87.

I need the tin. I can’t stand the Mayor. I
don’t want anyone here. I got a problem.
I got numbers. I don’t like myself in the
morning. I don’t want the questions. I
need the flesh. I got cramps in my stomach.
I can’t hide my camera. I got as ugly as it
gets. I'm dying a hermit. I got no imagin-
ation. I stare at them blood ovens. I chain-
smoke

88.

She wore big green cement tomorrows
I ripped her off the sticker on the barrel
I read it alone with my legs crossed
There was no case of plagiarism here
I got up & followed her into the lobby

89.

Under her Muslim hood was a piano
It was the only curved piano in history
It fitted her bubble-head like thick gravy

A special sized Chas n Dave hit her with jip
She lifted her vale like a November bride
Her eyes rolled with the boogie baggy bums
of our duo

The cameras approached for a close up at the
Chorus. Mums that hadn’t thrown themselves
out of windows cheered. All three of them went
cheek-to-cheek and said ‘wallop’

90.

She never fills the kettle. She has
haemorrhoids. The gold ring on her
blue mug has faded. The summer
has passed. She wears a lot of lemon.
She tells off her son. I see his willy
in her cheeks. A small red tractor
breaking out the fields.

91.

The knee on a suit of armour. Colliding
with a statue. The famous tomcat prowls
the gardens. Morning dew on the bushes.
Testing out the plating. Giving some ponse
who opened a library a dead leg. From
the window watching frail grandpa. His
bow legs humming with cream.

92.

I guess she has pyjamas. It is the bark
of the walrus. The light switch four foot
off the ground.

Girls have a way of sitting
on their legs. The postman peers in. Esp-
ecially in soft pyjama. Be a turban I say.

Chocolate bars can get wedged. The
pyjama plays its part. Most settees
tend to glide off a magazine.

If I was to explain pyjamas to my
dead ancestors, I’d say soft pine. See this
melted cheese. That, in lips.

93.

Half her face were freckles. Half were
collusion. Bison in two streams. Mavericks
throwing eggs across a boardwalk. Take
down my britches. There is the start of the
half. Know your fountains Geldolf.

94.
I got very low to the
calcium floor. I framed a blade
of grass. There is girdles smashed
onto straining maids. Cow squiggles
too

95.

I got today a smile out of the paper-cut
Her lisp moved but the tread will never wear
Draw a face on a cork and it’s her

I knock with a big daft rod on the oak door
I run and do the motions
I am an extremely late train

What is two back from chemical castration?
She knows a woodsman
She does him picking over kilns

96.

Whenever I catch the Irish accent I think that’s someone
pissing in a letterbox. It’s the garbled chewing of an insane
fool, pissing in things. It’s the accompaniment to a fool
who’s bored with girls with big legs, and who’s taken to
pissing in mail slots. He wants the coppers to hit him with
truncheons. He wants to talk about boiled-bacon and necks
with other fools, who pissed in other letterboxes. The state
will not apply electrodes. & he can’t help but trot the 3
miles to the nearest box and piss in it.

97.

My alibi was, ‘I'm planning a wedding’. I am therefore
in bliss. I now live in noo-nar land. The prime-minister
rings me up & asks ‘is it ok if I help the poor?’. I don’t
know I say, next week I'm moving house. & there is no
humour, & there is no-other, & there is no forests, & there
is no one-night stands.

98.

Locked up
in that room all day plotting coups. He no longer
plots vendettas. Patching together bitter-sweet
theorem. Visualising heavy curtains. Re-running
recent dialogues. He plays show-host crypto-vicar.
Excusing the cutlery is his catchphrase. Waiting
on his breed to come get him. That’s what he do.

99.

The nagging vocals in my turnip turned
out to be a the back-end of Paddy Ashdown’s
aborted sex-drive on some cycling holiday?

Bollocks, its there for the wench. He’s just spinned it
Some old catholic tart he met during the troubles
‘See me in the parted hills of Sligo’, I fuckin will not

‘oi’, I shouted across the dribble, ‘d’you mind., oi’
YES YOU. The one with the EU scum on his bib
Keep it down or I’ll unleash the town dung & bury ya

100.

I am old & young. I have a fist-full of
bright crayons. Spouses pick up casino’d
partners. Volunteers supply tissues for
drawl. The scatter cushions have bits of
mirror in them. I don’t join the discussions
on the new Nissan Micra.

101.

We used to go past him
when I was young. I was told their were pandas in him.
He wore an open red shirt slouched down on the wooden
seat. This coach we got had hard bristly seats. The bristles
would go through the underpants I had then. He seemed
very alone bordering on a danger to himself. The motorway
cut through the hills. It seemed we were on a bend, always
on that bend. He stared intently, brooding. I was on my
way to happy holidays. My head on the glass, waiting. He
had no drink left & glasses.

102.

Him & her were interviewed in their home. Where
the stags head was is now a mirror. There is a tall
plant that is growing well. There is red in the plaster
which makes it appear bacon. It is a converted canoe
store. They own the whole estate. They sit together like
vines on a wall. The dog loves his smelly pillow. They
still make love.

103.

I was a great city guide. I was a great
drunk city guide. I have a pack of playing
cards. I took all my clients very nearly
to all the attractions. I was the best city
guide for miserable rainy days. I don’t
advertise. I hate life-coaches. I just hate
the way they open their envelopes.

104.

Couples don segmented ticket hall with pot-plant
Passer-by allows his hound a gawp at the
knuckles & quiver tips

The LU ticket office will sell you farmed salmon &
a glass. You stand there and I stand here and
embrace that platted semaphore

It is the fluff of humanity that causes fire
The dirty hawk is reduced to a grimy balm
The escalator pulls itself out of lagoon, dripping
Shot hosts over the concourse

105.

Dried blood in his ears. He’d fell down some stairs.
He’d been thrown down. The face on his gargoyle is
stunned. Like this O O. What happened he says?
Pulling out hair. Patting for his bacon. He was not
discouraged. And still made a little more Wembley

106.

I am 5 years old. I am a monk. I am
looking through the window at wall-
paper. I see lots of floral-mouths. I
get scared. I become a tiger. I bite at
them. I raise the hood on my parker.
I do what kids do then when they don’t
smoke.

107.

In my forehead was a finger hole
Above the hole some tattooed numbers
She put her obvious finger in my hole (come here)
& that was it wasn’t it! It come to me
I continued my monologue. I said thanks

I crossed at the pedestrian crossing
Coming towards me in a dirty raincoat
Was an old old woman advertising
In her forehead was a bludgeoned hole
(a stepped on yoghurt pot)
I saw glow-safe yellow custard hiding there (infection?)
At that age you are walloped for staring at war

Rustic sue lived on the forest floor
I used her comedy in stoned undergrad rambles
spare-arse-Annie was stolen from Burroughs novels
Heidi then like many now grew angry at my disregard
Who was this clown? Ruining my pitch
She stormed out to a badly whistled theme tune

108.

I stole these odd-new-shaped coins. I
did not fancy them. I put them into
machines. I saw my first black man. I
went back and got more. I liked his shirt.
His mouth was pink in the inside. I was
short. I walked with Stephen. I walked
with him and his bread.

109.

I went to a school I never went to. It was
closed. No one told me why I never went
to this school. It was the holidays. Marbles
were big. We tried to get in. I was cajoled
by a catholic. He went to a school far away.
He had diarrhea. I wanted to see their books.
He had hairs on his lips. We were bored. We
did some running.

110.

I'm nursing a couple of young temps. Which
ones go, which ones stop? A Corvette pulls up.
The ice is melting. Who’s gonna run and get my
chocolate? There is no takers. ok. Slap down
each with a pile of forms. Enter them once,
delete. Then enter them again. These kids are
hungry for work. There is no work. Big boss is
saying, ‘well I don’t know’.

111.

Approaching the swamp-land I heard
his step-father coughed up black tar.
The poor kid had bad acne. He sliced
his fingers on the bull-rushes, down
where you get a boot-full. Leanne and
her imagined horse were there. They
were glad the surgery went well.

112.

The letter of an offer to study was an obvious forgery
I asked her what she would now do & she said marriage
Return to the emporium, request marriage
Her feet were sore
(return to the supplier, try over, try another scam,
this wasn’t the first)

I stroked the magnificent caste anchor, run my hand
along the war canon. I climbed down when others
attempted to climb up as I wouldn’t share. In the end of the
nozzle was trash: coke cans, crisp packets, polystyrene
cups. The grass around the edges of the paved concourse
were due a cut

Travelling with these men opened up his eyes to why we must age. Crammed overloaded in a yellow seated-out transit towards the off-site canteen. The empty just nearly finished roads were pulling the 1950’s present. The off-coloured cargo bounced off the beige river and the rot kept breathing

113.

Why would I celebrate with these? They
never loved Bob Dylan. Shouldn’t we be
getting drunk not kicking about a ball.
That was my last summer there. I was never
really there. I just got born there. I know
I asked for this, but who did I ask? It racks
me that one.

114.

Was far the tallest in the crowd gathered
at reception. His black tooth might have
well been his nose. Who I owe is who I
owe. So, now I owe this clown. I walked
up clear to him.
I stayed and watched him
leave. He tested the scent, which way?
Completely flexible about him. I would
make sure he got a bank account. His
stipend can go there. This charm ruins
me.

115.

The curls are over-loaded with bread-song and pipes
That mans wig is hemp and the kings cross they wish
to destroy. He fumbles for change and pulls out lanterns
torches & bulbs. He is the barrel rolled across the stage
during the intermission. I don’t come with anyone or go
with anyone but just watch one day he will jump from his
carrier and put his foot through the world

116.
Labradors
dropping into ponds. Wives in suspenders.
Untried back-gates. Sitcoms for the small
local greengrocer. I panic at the sight of a
blunt shovel. I'm replaced with a shoe shop.
Inside us an uneaten curry.

117.

I'm never more happy than in them isles
of corn. The sack were so heavy. I dropped
it at the adults feet, it split. They looked once
and then got drunk.

I got my fortune told.
I caught the sparks from the coals. It was
average. The delight was in her holding
a child’s hand. Two wives two kids (predicted).
The back-gate lead to the field.

Fat Pat moved out. Her
dogs had stiff dicks. Her settee had lice. She
fought men in the street. She kept strawberry
gateauxs in the deep freeze. She wore polyester
& played dark music on the stereo.

118.

This morning condensation on the pane. I don’t
use the big light. I draw a face. I check to see
what everyone below is wearing. The bottom line-
I dress for going underground. I carry tissues. I
sweat below in the tunnels. I prefer autumn fashions.
I seldom get it wrong. I average eight passers-by.
I’ve got a blue tea-pot I hardly use. I walk fast. I
overtake most. I disappear outa sight of the bomb.

119.

Arguments in deckchairs and drooping washing line sagas.
Children that are not yours or hormonally sane or bullied.
Passing out 5 pound notes pushing-off claims of cheek.
Sipping from a whisky glass with a thick inch base and leaf design

The dog snapping at shadows, the cat costing more than a coffin. Trudging to that dusty office on one of London’s very small streets. 34 years with your belt up around your naval and no sun. Retired now and shacked up with a long time widow who stoops

Your son visits irregularly and demonstrates his cache of legal fire arms. Eat another roast chicken and sup another sugary tea in front of soaps. Take a small selection of cash in hand jobs doing small bits for OAPs. Sit quiet at neighbours gatherings laughing on cue and pissing when needed

Slowly over time your back story filters through the gossips to all. A first wife who ran off with the money and hit you because of a stutter. A life devoted to an alcoholic boss who deserted leaving nothing to no one. Dying yearly with heat stroke under Czechoslovakian sun waiting on a doctor

120.

I counted 26 singled sockets. I phoned
his mother. I fixed the phone too. Of
course I wasn’t going to do this type
of thing for a living. You just opened it
up and replaced the stray wire. That was
the end of us.

121.

There is three grades of luncheon. The lower
is inedible. Professor Frost is cornered. I hear
he holidays in south Africa. The second is
bread. Cut bread. Bread frightened of air-con.
& I put my finger on it, she is the sister of the
the actress. The one I unimpressed. The third
menu is finger-buffet. Heated up breaded bites
they balance small tomatoes on them. I point
out the falafel. I point out the cash rich Korean
She even twitches her nose the same.

122.

I prefer to think I fell in a fight between
good and evil. The truth: I lost out to
misread instructions. The plants I was
cultivating back then needed plenty of
K. Ample amounts of N. And touches of
other scratch metals. I still have that dual-
thermometer somewhere. 46 degrees C in
that attic it got. All instantly perished.

123.

Finally after many calls & conversations we
got through to the yard where old lampposts
lay. My son has a project said my father. We
drove and drove but couldn’t find the slip rd.
The directions were ambiguous. The highway
doesn’t detail failure. Signposts aren’t notice-
boards. Rivers are slags

124.

She’s naked and got catapults
She’s in front of a 20 x 35 olive green canvas
She’s a great small thing to put next to a great large thing
She’s my kind of dressing up

I pick her up in my arms and
spread her cheeks to the foyer
I laugh as we fake gallop off on my hobby horse legs
out into the Saturday street and off to a dark blue hotel
Buried in one those very small London side streets

There is no time for sexual intercourse
(there is no one on the desk)
I’m off out to hunt down the next clue
I just can’t imagine what I’ll come up with next
I strut fast inter-weaving the traffic and checking ahead

125.

I couldn’t be exact who built the white wooden
sowing box. The legs splayed. The telephone sat
on top. Why I was nestling a whole egg I don’t
recall. Up it went out of my hands. Flying through
the air. Before we had the arch put in there was
just a serving hatch to the kitchen. It was a deep
blood red velvet wallpaper. That was before the
stone clad fireplace was gutted. There was much
dust. Inside that tiny door I wrote in pencil the
films I had seen. The machine had buttons like
mouse-traps.

126.

As she leant across to press tab, and it’s
always tab, never enter. I felt something
in my metatarsal. Her tools were as simple
as straw. A small brass bus fell into a metal
dustbin. I was exhausted like its owner. It’s
been sometime since I tasted any of Walls’
products. She is 7 and a half stone. Was 8.

127.

The pope is dreaming
He is riding the pope-mobile
He is dreaming he is wee-ing
The pope wakes up in the pope-mobile
He is wee-ing

Bob Dylan is riding his motorcycle
He is doing the hand movement
That means this is a ‘motorcycle’
He sees the pope and does the sign faster
Look at me pope,
I am bob Dylan on my motorcycle

Nelson Mandela is having his bandages changed
He looks out of the window
He sees the pope in the pope-mobile
He sees bob Dylan
doing his motorcycle thing
He points at his watch (tapping his wrist)
Nelson is doing the
come see nelson thing
come see me, what time thing

128.

You put your hand on my knee, grasping
the tortoise. I never said anything. It
wasn’t difficult not to. I'm refraining. I’ve
put bubble-gum in the holes. I didn’t feel
smug. I felt the hairy sellotape.

129.

A young Sophie Loren is beside me. She tells
me about a tramp Ukrainian doctor. I'm a
lunatic. I drink from the shadow champagne.
I go to a holiday camp. She won’t hand me my
blazer over the barb-wire.

130.

He’d come back from the coast. The coast was
a gaping waste. He wore successful sunglasses.
He was looking for someone to train his football
team. He had found a small whistle. Not in the
gaping waste. In the rocking horse shop. He want-
ed to win gorgeous trophies. He opened his legs.
He rested his big plums. He had a flyer for, ‘kids
painting walls’, in his inside pocket. He spoke of
his plans. ‘I know nothing of tactics, but I can make
men run.’ Interviews came and went. He knew
loosely what he didn’t want. The tiny whistle was
porcelain. He’d left it in an ashtray in the hotel
room. He didn’t take off his ring.

131.

Form bin-man to IT billionaire, not quite
I love spaghetti, I’m big band, nearer
I’ve gone old country says his cuffs

The vest is on the washing-line in April
The vest is drying quicker than the paper-back
What a scabby plum tree

132.

On the third drink of vodka she spoke. I think
it was the lemonade bubbles. The place was
minded by a female Maori. Wait until you
know what exactly she wants, I did. The rain
was cruel. Work ended at 2. A reoccurring spill-
age. Two of them didn’t have coats. We could
be stuck in the foyer for an hour, so we made
a run for it. I first saw the window. That would
have to go. Do you mind if I close the window?
The Maori was unconcerned. I had a fever. It
was an empty place. ‘I’ve been seeing this boy.’

133.

O Ferret you loveless cunt. You are the line
in the fraction. You are the landlord of your
woman’s parts. She scrubs the floor, you scrub
her. You beat her with a dirty cot. You agree
over gypsies. Your carpets are cold.

134.

I kissed them all goodbye. I kissed them
with my face. I’d just had a new shower
put in. I preferred that. I was a bamboo
eunuch, with a yoghurt-pot head. I don’t
know if they got any warmth.

We spoke on
each of their tiny steps longer than the films
let you. We spoke like maggots in an apple

We were cordial in passing futures. We had
well wishes, but there just wasn’t enough
sandwiches to share. I might as well have
said goodbye Kentucky. But then that’s rude.

135.

I recall Saturday in the lobby. Bright ideas turned
nocturnal. Difference in opinions were brutal. Con-
cocted some libertarian grudge. Made a joke out of
the scandal. Pacified your inner-wound ‘Mayfair.’

Got a message on the phone. That dirty-cream coloured
set. ‘Thanks for the lovely holiday’ Conscience speaking.
I apologised still. Nothing was good enough. This inner-
wound ‘Mayfair’ was screwing me harder into the beak.

136.

I put my knife into your table. I managed the bar.
I put a second in the table. The second knife changed
opinion of me. I changed from brute to solicitor. I
could be seen climbing tight stairs to a dank crèche
above a bakers. I returned to the street carrying
fluorescent tubes

137.

Said Sagittarian Philip, I'm happy with at least as
possible on. Changing his flowers weekly in the
vase. (copying someone famous no doubt) well,
I loved coats, and hats, and layers. I pointed to
a picture of his (a painting of a park path in autumn)
His pasty legs in them synthetic sorts. Sharing the
summer evenings with a hedgehog and a cat in the
garden. The big dilated orange numbers on his cooker.

138.

I was conscientious. I worked my end of the scheme. I
walked about checking machines that didn’t fart. All was
operational. There was no slippage, no loss. This I was
most pleased about. I see the contributions got contributed.
I stacked like so poker chips. They were small round
discs of soap. Big pills or bullets. They were counter-parts.
Labelled now ‘attics of vermin disarray’.

139.

I tied my bike to the drain pipe. The pipe
was for ‘rain’ only. It had no substance.
S school of mackerel could remove it. (she
watched I think, the second time)

The house was pulled in tight. The stairs were
light-house proportions. You felt them impeding
on your back. You were a gallon bottle on
a ridge.

The introduction of a large rug was a pain in
the arse (a popular phrase) for all concerned.
It seemed very inappropriate to wear socks just.
What if a lorry did it mildly.

140.

The glasses were left on top of the telescope
The bride in harpers & queen opened her palms
The foyer was quiet and the lines on the wallpaper grape

On this day off her ‘cool’ footwear was rotting
A face of summer muddy festival dug into the cloth set
The newspaper in front of her face hiding her disguise

The labour gang that erect the marquee get ill most on pork
The eccentric philanthropist gave a million to lonely
Bengal tigers. At dark-fall a few couples linger under the
lanterns by the round pond

141.

He’s no more than a jolly toll-booth operator. A
Klinsman= amateur ambassador. He beds in a room
of thick rope. Strokes his thick ropes while on the
phone. This is his magic. He fuels on static. The
bouquet rises out of the woodland. Just a character
in the story with spells. A good-cop. Who is the
evil. Avoid the fable kids! Anyone can play anyone.
Organisers crave your talent, they tell tales to their
Masters. They get promoted

142.

What was this one promoting? Hairs on her
stomach. Breasts huge. Stripped to a bikini
and paraded post-checkouts. I was somehow
in the way, sat on a seat. I got the snarl. In the
bustle she began to strut. Was it the human-
making of a diamond? Was this store going
to be a diamond-like. (Mr Teeley see me know)

143.

The bearded woman shook her fist at the
howling infant. She had a small council
under her chin. They had the fisted face of
Lenin. They shook the sickles. I shouted
‘roulette’, they pointed out their tongues.

144.

In one corner of the kennel was the male equivalent
: bicycle pump
in the other a carcass of chicken with a penny heart and bag
I do know each has a snippet of showbiz in ‘em
(they will say no)

I’m both their managers see & there’s no ulcer over this
I’ve had skyscrapers on my books & this is salad compared
I’ve got mad-cap laughs and joy over school boy tricks
re-found

‘There’s nothing wrong with me honey’
‘It’s no other woman’, ‘Come her and dance with me’

‘People are amazing aren’t they?’
People just can’t help ruining people in this barnyard
of mine. People can’t keep their many hands of all the many
hands out there

145.

That pissy little queer at the
counter is sounding up again. He’s throw-
ing a west-end. Two small Irish lasses, all
full of milk and ribbons did it wrong. The
little tosser could find stage in an empty
room. I’ve bunked in hospitals with his
shade. Castrate the fucking mutant is about
right.

146.

It was her. (did she see me?) Punching herself
into the vicars seat. By the window. By the drab.

Come with me. We walked a mile (no, not her back
there) My pounding heart. I carry the mule, the
mule carries the drunken burlesque all-girl group.

His eyes are large. Don’t look at me I want to say.
But have the Earths scanning my lips. That bastard
mule still taking fares, what to do.

147.

Steve Jones’s divorce had not yet gone public
He looked up at the scoreboard and chalked his cue
She was alright he thought, the one with the blue hat

He missed the red and was put back in to take again
He looked up at the scoreboard and chalked his cue
Who was she? She passed grandma a toffee

He nudged the black with his knee and closed his eyes
He conceded the frame, sat down and lit a cigarette
Somewhere in the distance an Irishman was mixing mortar

A dismal break off shot, & he was back in his seat
Glued in his dug-out peering up at the commentary box
He put the nose of his dentist onto a snowman in his mind

148.

There was no cure. There was no out. There
was no re-make. This natural love for a natural
father, in front of me, right there. Physical love.
I saw no way in. I saw no pencil marks beneath
the wallpaper. I see no wall. They shared oranges.
They seemed relaxed. The till was pending.

149.

The cube of laser
bounced off the walls. It’s a block-pixel computer
game - the box-bedroom of yours - in a glass case.
The e-worms wouldn’t come out of the warm elect-
ronica. Magazines pasted over magazines. I get the
slow beeping-pulse occasionally. I kick out at the
bad solder. I got it today.

150.

There was an oscillating Rubics cube. It was pure
heat. It was similar to when someone says, ‘here’s
your fuckin pen’, and throws it across the space –
shuttle. It went up my dinkle. It was snowing out-
side. It put an otters face in a broken omelette. I sat
on bad spring. I wept like I once did at the library.
I looked into my civilisation. I had my first fret.

151.

I saw his cack-handed cast out into the pond. His
mother was okay with him saying ‘quim’. The next
door neighbour got a call from his father. It was because
he was fostered. He needed the good aggression.

152.

I thought it were best he stopped mowing
this white bread bank. The man has a leather
settee. On a side note: replace the single pane
by the changing table, it’s staid. How and where
do you go back with this Simon? Does this
treacle tin get so sticky>? The guy’s letting you
in to his screw-drawer,. Use him for the spring-
jobs. Commitment, what issue is that? Just shift
the stock about. The extra isle carries nothing
more! Basic three chord Saxon isn’t it?

153.

50 years on, a course
papered book of dried flowers has what I'm looking for
in a book of dried flowers. Anonymity arrives the
following day

154.

He’s got the dystrophy when he’s got the cash. The
bloody moron does make me laugh, when he’s got
the cash. It can be my cash, or your cash. This simple-
ton loves the dirty cash. Cash sends him giddy balloon.
Take away the cash and it’s tears and replay. Woe and
politics. There’s buckles in the moonlight. There’s buckles
in the table legs. There’s buckles in the tides. I feel so
sorry. I feel so mournful. But give ‘em cash (etc)

155.

Yr face is re-reading the pink script of steam
You have your sleeve rolled up to the necks
The hat of a mitre flashes as it thinks [on&off]
I click my fingers and order a lit wagon

156.

Young Inez as mother Mary. Blue tunic. You’ve
seen the figurine. Truly helpful soul, sat down
next to me. I was under a two-day hex. She switched
me back. The workaholic understood. Forget the
language. This sprightly little canoe she paddled.
Very eager to please, beneficially so – the hook. If
I state a case of ‘lonely human touched’ it’s infertile.

157.

He had this nose that fuck me was a sausage
& he had sunglasses on it
It was a deckchair thrown at a snowman

She was an anxious bear
Was this their stop? (was it)
Bobbing up & down like my career

At the fork in the road
A huge zipper unzipped
The peel of a Satsuma fell out
(it then zipped back up)

158.

At 3 am all belts are off, down, or extremely
tight. The false ceiling is open. The tile is slid
back. Waking now, having the night train switch
tracks. Overhearing the leek of crossfire between
company. It’ll be 30 minutes or so. Janitors dally
in the foyer. The kettle is heating. It’s nothing to
do with dreams. Just a herd.

159.

Love a lost cause. A shambolic directorate from
the gods. Compassion would be to blind us.
Provide many laminated tables. Build us stronger
in the upper arms. I don’t know why but we all
have to wear suits.

160.

Is a strange contorted auto-biog. As if he
bent over to have himself use his own back
as table. The voices were very slight. Twins?

Voices behind brown-paper. The critics were
appalled. It said a lot about ourselves. I'm
generally depressed and was wound in the

smell of stewed noodles. You accidentally
kicked the ball in their garden and went to
look for it, simply.

161.

So Chaz isn’t her name, it’s Susan. All woollen & dandruff.
I put her next to peas. Bellows down the phone. She should
stop practising exercises before she calls me. Don’t I want
this earth! Don’t I want to help! Is all I hear. If I do I
wouldn’t tell you. My video shop doesn’t want her taking
out my films. The sanctity of immediate revulsion is
hopeful. Very.

162.

She is the flashing cursor at my satchel splitting
switching her mower off, she stepped onto my fur
I opened a magazine, she let go off the sequins
The story was about a gentle pond and ripples
She knelt quiet admiring his chocolate-egg-head

163.

He lifted his head above the brick wall & his brother got
him above the eye which bled. It bled the same as the
drums of oil we’d practised on. The pellet remained there
embedded in his fruit. As they worked inharmoniously
together trying to dig the bullet out. I flexed a can of lighter
fuel testing the limits of its metal. When all was done and
it began raining we masturbated.

164.

The sound grows out the flannel. Its 8.08
There were 29 thoughts. Morning starts
with the catch on the door. Then I kick out
the igloo. Steal out onto the little chin they
provide to smoke. Tickets for the bingo go
on sale at 9. Scattered queues the world over

165.

I’m sure I could make her
A little flamenco and light pinball
I needed them two arenas

A lot of hand saddles couldn’t do it
The attraction wasn’t dodgy viewing kiosk
There needed to be sophistication & sense

Her perfect throat was the signal
She become immediately so tall
Cornered in the freight - I let go of kites

166.

I like to fight of baldness. I write as the hiccups bubble
inside. I may write 1600 editorial intros. I guest on
magazines about the hammer. I walk over Putney
Bridge 46 times a year. I note the budding acrobats.
I deliver Primark. I take a call. It’s good news: they want
Primark.

167.

I heard off the grubby cuff. I’d supposedly got
the hump over re-payment. Which formula
give that green light? It defeats me. N=Noah
don’t it. I can’t comprehend. I don’t post-date
tango. It’s been souped years. I can’t even look
at your garden path.

168.

You know there’s a bogie somewhere in the bogie
region. You pinch, and wipe, and snort to catch.
Pushing what feels like a drumstick over the mush
in search. Some knuckles too. Looking around to
see where it may have gone. Turning over the wrists
Gently padding the cheeks and under-chin. Now
that’s clear, snort and twitch, easing out its sister.

169.

Grand opening of the new hairdressers
He shaves my head
He tells me I must be in need

There are blue & green maggots in my skull
He shows me my own head
Lifting out a wriggly worm

I can help he says mixing up a solution
It costs £11.50
The machine Hoovers my skull

170.

I was naïve. I was a genius. She wore 60’s clothes. I
drank Guinness. Ian drunk Guinness. The ceiling was
low. The place had changed names. It was the colour
a smoker sees a lot. It was mock-rubbish. It had brick
pillars. It was full of dark people. I peeked over. She
did not peek away. I peeked over. She did not peek
away. I stood on the stairs waiting for her. She walked
straight past. The melted-cheese-hemp thread-accordion
leapt to her digital. At times he’s sheer sport

171.

I have the greasy hands of a beggar. I have not
slept well in 9 days. I am back to anger. I am
plotting coups again. I am not well. I have been
upset by peoples calls. I am only pleased it hasn’t
affected my morning shit. It did 3 weeks ago. I
felt looked at all day.

172.

I would take her funnel. I mix the Gospel into her
fat mouthed chronicles. I will curve the beginning
of the world. I will put the universe’s eclipse at the
mouth of a dancehall. I will use that & then place it
on a massive container. One from an OS map. It is
a cess pit. I will hide the mechanics of operation. I
will grow grass. I will park a lawnmower at the side.
I will wait for it to rust.

173.

We’re not lovers but it was a lovers hurt
We were once lovers but it never hurt like that
We were lovers once and that’s no explanation

Don’t come searching because I wont be there
Don’t send message of apologies because it’s not your fault
Don’t ever ask me why it’s difficult because I don’t know

I got out of my body & walked the streets alone
I walked and I walked because I couldn’t sit still
I lay there as I walked around the streets today alone

174.

No one boasts the membership of any club
through straight logic. The kernel of merit
awarded oneself for under the sheets-at-night.
Selected for charisma me!. Nothing else on but
the guilt of living.

175.

Visit the bison. See peter chew. His inners the
old courthouse. His eyes never forgot being
whacked (accidentally that once). A helicopter
overhead parts his back rug. Children point at
the sky. His eyes grow to screaming imminent.
At the large doors outside a fire-station. At the
break of the bell, out would run several fast-
bowlers. Throwing ice-cream at the colostomy.
The bag of humans with their tickets.

176.

Car A pulled up fast allowing car B to nudge car A
onto old woman H. Car B hitting car A forcing Mrs H
under the vehicle. Simple balls. Mrs H surfaced from
under the engine as mechanic D pissed off, he had to
get up to answer the phone that has an incredible bell.
Leaving driver B to tug the cucumber with driver A.
Mrs H x-mechanic paid the paper bill and phoned Elsie
Birmingham. It happens every Saturday.

177.

The only real ‘in’ at the laundrette (stationary bus) is
the ‘spin dryer’ (do not cross harps with the ‘tumble
dryer’ – that’s the hot one) the ‘spin dryer’ never
outright promoted is if in your body you need it in there.
A large drum usually found in corners not made by walls
but odd space. Takes the heavy water from the garments
with speed. Directions of use supplied, something Latin.
Prone to mechanic dystrophy, a birthday card with the
One page when it’s absent.

Chubby Industry - Trumpet of the Poor

2007-05-11T08:01:00.002Z

1.

The model cried silent tears on the catwalk. She was
growing a lettuce in her womb. The father was a menacing eagle. And the egg was not hers but her friends

Her friend was an actress with a turned up nose. And the model had agreed to this surrogacy under a willow tree, in the garden of the actress’ mother. A mother who collected old postcards and handwritten envelopes

She had (the mother) no feet, but wore long billowing skirts. And hovered, waving sheet music, fanning a lucky mole

It was a perfect moment, will you? I wouldn’t ask anyone else. And the model said yes, because deep down she was nice more than she wasn’t.

2.

I am very disappointed Rocky never continued in integers
I really want Rocky 87, & Rocky 1004. I want Rocky – post Rocky. Rocky dead, over to Rocky’s son. Outwards too – Rocky ‘the people I inspired’ - Rocky the ‘anti-matter’ musical. Rocky continuum. Rocky on & on. Rocky the never ending corridor. With a door per film, & behind those doors no walls. Just rocky-dressed workers, joke-punching each other. As they scurry between life forms and mutations.
And the planet to come in a million billion years time.
Go Rocky. Go.

3.

Bill’s wife returned from work to find Bill digging
(nearly complete) a large sized hole in the back garden
The hole would be treated, & water added, & fish inserted.

The hole was a hobby.
Bill was up to his waste in his hole when Rosemary
called to him. ‘Bill what are you doing? O no bill. No’.

Rosemary’s voice was one of concern
She also appreciated his determination.

Bill was left ‘ill’ after a car crash
Bill took multiples of tablets each day to survive

Bill ached that night
Rosemary looked up from her ‘TV Quick’
When Bill rubbed his knee.

4.

To breath laundrette you need to understand part-time
Part-time is quintessential reading minus throttle
If you read part-time, you will taste mauve heat

Cobwebs are the Andrew in Andrew Andrewson
Cobwebs from the deserted necks of rotting sponge are fine. Rotting sponge is sometimes called circumcision

The whale washes out the flu. The proof of life nods off
Deep privacy keeps the letters and numbers falling off machines. & a black man appears out of the poke hatch blue

5.

The crooner had a wayward son. The crooner saw him as
a consequence. A helicopter flew overhead. He had nothing intelligent to say

The son was made of indifference. The son pawned family artefacts of no real importance. A helicopter flew over his head. He just shrugged a shoulder.

The crooner put down the telephone with a bang. The crooner had been mismanaged and ill-represented. A helicopter flew overhead. He shook his fist and poured a Scotch

The son invited his friends to a house on the beach
The son was such a great party host - he was photographed for magazines. A helicopter flew overhead. He saw it but
was more interested in the sports car approaching

The crooner died of cancer in his early 70’s
The son took his portion of the estate and did very little.

6.

Rebecca is what constitutes the ‘smallest’ most petite mountain range. Rebecca is solid polka dot, sturdy wild flower. Her halo is a child’s wheel

Travelling-in each day I imagine with no mental
picture, she honks. Surbiton labels London that way by signpost, 12 miles. Rebecca honks

In bed she covers her geography in a slender thin shawl of
polythene. Mild decorative chillies lay down on her chest
Night ends episode(s)

7.

1. She was fake-tanned by appointment of the bride-to-be
On quick inspection I couldn’t find the join-lines
The money dropped out of the sky

2. She spoke continually about herself and tomorrow
She went to the bathroom to wash her feet free of soot
There is a kitty. There are spurs on the kitty.

3. Beneath the street in an empty lagoon there were 2
A music channel fucked in the corner of the building
It was all a stale-pie in the window could manage

8.

Her coat matched her bath eyes.
Her eyes matched her Mars
The two were independent but material
The joins you could not see but the feeling was there

Mars could be a thought-bubble
Her eyes could be coral interiors
The blue fish were the feeling of a nice new kitchen
The glass in the window the tank

Over this train journey several small hatches opened
Small postcard-sized portraits were fed in
Sharks scooped up the artwork and darted off
In the thought-bubble was a gentle game of badminton
The back & forwards of a metronome

9.

1. Jack Sprat was named so because he was mean-thin
The sun said take all your clothes off, so he did
A large spanner hung from his waist

2. Cranes helped other cranes find their feet
A thousand metres of concrete doesn’t say anything
Pillars didn’t have to be straight, just UP

3. Inside the rabid hog was the smaller rabid hog
Inside that smaller hog was a smaller rabid hog
& it was up to you. You chose when you
stopped asking what’s inside the rabid hog

10.

I’m on grey alert. The docks are cellular.
The docks are a moored web of tinkers.
The bulb on my head flashes grey.

It’s grey like a new dimpled shovel.
It’s grey like the underbelly of an off pork loin.
And it flashes - I get the twitch in my district.

I’m an untrained fiscal eye
And I look round for mild injustice
I folk the hazy laboured smelting-farm pockets

11.

The gym & the un-stretched spring holed up below ground.
A new dim lighting & a new stairwell were new in
technology. A sheer big mother fucker of leisure and
compass so was

The large warehouse gate folded. The small car took it at
the knees. The ‘super’ hurtled out of the nose into the
tailors light. The chase was on.

Now remember when your mum said,
Don’t play rally cars in fields of mud? Ruts lead to
jungles? The chase was still on but no one was chasing

Stop! A human tripod put his jelly on our windscreen
They demanded something very loud. Incredibly loud.
Bark like

(the roadblock is a question not in the exam. don’t worry)
The ‘super’ is last seen negotiating a bend belonging to
no Road

12.

Drinking port will never be holy
& the only good thing about Christmas,
It will never tell you its fucked a lot of men

13.

Mr. One Eyed O’Neil nests in the hole
Of an uprooted tree.
With a slim-line hypodermic needle injects
Graveyard into his forehead
Going in it feels close to blatant sodomy

He wipes his running nose
He adds a little rouge. A little teacher rouge

Building his canapé
Keeping bats off of the face
Circling that hole that leaks twisted flags of identity

14.

The perfume sachet is awake. It knocks
The magazine opens up, yawning.
How long has it been asleep?

A rock splits. A picture of a rock.
An old rock. The scene is set.

The sachet is scratched. Smell the smell oozing out.
Freon. Chlorofluorocarbons. a gas
A cloud clicking its fingers
Cool on the corner.
Uptown / downtown.
On a match, sucking.

Trapped, locked in the mirror for so much time
Soon. Watch closely. He chooses a direction to head off.
Gone. Wiping something. Strutting its paled stuff

15.

You’re allergic to wasps, & today
It’s the wasps inauguration, as president of the skies.
To explain why you can’t be there will mean swallowing
More of her holistic crap.

A man raises three inches in yogic flying demonstration
You panic and drop the baby. You are afraid of lifts.
It looks to you like a defective lift is said to plummet
If I don’t give a scientific reason she will put more
Nettles in my eyes.

‘Why have you got a spot of urine on your jeans?’
I can’t touch cotton wool, and Poppy’s clouds are
Made from cotton wool. Poppy leaves me the picture
Then runs off to the garden. My wife draws up a
Acomplete herbal overhaul of my being

16.

I move the mic stand to part of the stage that counts
calories. I move it to where the bell-cap mushroom grows.
I pick the audience up & help them out the window. I
drizzle them as spent placards over a mash of chairs.

The event organiser is scrambling to bag his coins. I
chase the event organiser with a pretty axe. I chase him
and his girlfriend out into the street. I pump them both
full of scurrilous Industry - the Chubby variety.

It’s just me in the half-a-coin room. The walls were not
decorated but hate the church. There’s an inch of beetle
skins upon the factory floor. I sit on front of the album
cover. Chewing-gum marks east of east and west of west.

17.

She is an arrow
Her diamonds say where she is heading
Her figure is new road. Her waist is spare

Her skin is obedient murder.
Her shade of gloss is nuclear vanilla
The tone is that of fingered money.

She crosses the bar treading-in slices of pastrami
The owner has designed the dance-floor to maximise his
sausage. The floor was imported all the way from Granada
by donkey. It was laid by a father & son team. Their family
illness is angina

A woman behind me says she is going back to have her left
nipple re-aligned. She says to look at them you would not
know they’re off. To look at them you would not know the
Royal Mint is recalling 2 defective copper coins.

18.

The phone rings & it’s the M4
It goes on. I translate from the Farsi

The Delinquent magazine has lifted an Artic freight
But why call me? I was the salt & pepper.

‘Fill her mouth with clinks and clanks of a Negro steamer’
There’s no justice. ‘Which issues are the wings?’

& before the phone turned to aged charcoal
My casserole had sent its CV into the thunderous night

19.

The kid never done no more harm than cake.
The kid was his own frilly deck, honk and shoulders.
The family were DIY witches with homes facing south

Braces of understanding parked up in the galley (below)
Freshly cut snorkels followed the scent of elastic curtain cord.
Hello to you all, how’s the 8 bit sphincter?
[Reply] well, well, computational.

Bibbing piping and tangerine ices were passed out
Rabbit hutches were broken down and reassembled
Lead Orgatrons and mouse helmets were noted for clarity & bathing

[that evening]
The film was about a childhood sweetheart and his vomiting ma. The vomiting ma was sick because she had mercury in her whistle. And every time she fell over nut-clack, she injected her mind with close death. They lived near a forest / hill.

20.

Work told him to take three days leave as a result of mass-mistakes
Initially he was kept in post on reduced duties, then a re-think
by personnel suggested he go. This was enforced by management (it appeared the safer option)

He is no longer here & no-one knows where he went. His parting words were ‘I guess it’s deserved’. But why now I thought? He’s always been useless prone. His desk is left tidy - his computer off

Management have decided they no longer want him there. The decision has been made and he knows it’s futile to challenge. They will offer him a way out, then find someone new. The post will be advertised with additional duties and a change in grade. The post will be advertised internally first.

21.

1. Move the face
To the clean surface
The glean and peril awaits.

2. A basic epileptic fit
is basic maverick conductor,
a basic ombudsmen.
& I took care of the paperwork

3. I am a basic groin
and I’ve got hairs growing

out my keyboard
out the top of my arms
out the knees

Where white spots emerge
And the skin there is so tough
to pop. And you can get
hurtful to yourself pressing and pressing

22.

It is a choice between the hardback L-plate or the peel-the-back-off sticky L-plate. The hard-back L-plate is ready-prepared with two holes. Place the string through these holes
and tie on to the bumper. Tie to genitals. Hang on door-knob.
The sticky L-plate is obvious. The manufacturer’s logo-in-print runs diagonally across the slither you discard in the bin.
Do not try to write an important phone number on this ‘backing’. Taking a biro to it just creates a waxy furrow.
If you want a waxy furrow to act as a digestional tract use a tea-spoon. Draw in the body with pencil, then run the marble through the mouth and see it lodged in the heart. [before pushing it to the bum]

23.

The gas mask isn’t to be worn as a cathedral
It is the state of a chip shop now!
Throwing it down, my brother the pleb
Storms off to the building site

Later in my life I entertain a messy dose of gout
It’s the only French farmer I’ve ever been
I’m the one who acts as a signpost
I envy the slick shoes on the nuclear power plant

Now as editor of a small ox I’m always fat
I don’t sleep because I’m also cupid
The insides of me are cannibal shopping centre
& the insignia on my tie is gull over trampoline (sigh)

24.

I was never walked as a child
My sister dressed me in pink slate
& I was told a lot of lies about hills

My little legs were kept in the box
My (auction) lot was confused with a spat-at-notebook
‘I really hate Hampstead, and its violins’.

Next month I am 126 and I’m afraid to die
I cling to my little doorbell & my doorbell clings to me
Private Eye magazine have sent me a can of tomato soup

25.

The telescope and the end-of-terrace joined arms.
They made a spit-pact quoting ivory & wool
They met in a little wood where no one could see them kiss

The night sky sprinkled upon them the softness of the mushroom. The ants, insects, rubber-bands and ‘livid owl’ Union put up witness. The brick wall around the cemetery said, ‘I’ve been waiting for this’.

A young boy entering puberty with a 70 - 30 chance was selected. A book of young boys was available in the shape of a steel drum. A book of young boys was whistled-in from where it snoozed - a wavering jetty on a still green pond home to rips & pistons.

We give you an eye into the life of Mr & Mrs precious souvenir. We give you an evening adjusting focus from slate-roof to crypt. We give you flavoured pyjamas: arguments, squabbles, embraces of neighbours
[Awoke a boy with an extra parting excited]

26.

You practised your lines. And I played coconuts
I was soft. I was soft. I was perched on
the under side of the table. And I knee’d. And I
stamped my feet. But I was soft. I was soft
You and the suction kid. With a hat and a bell that
tinkled. You practised your lines. & I was understated.
I was not amplified. I was a sausage. A soft sausage.
A sausage rolled in seeds

27.

She leaves her hairdryer on the floor.
The hairdryer cable is tucked into the drawer
The hairdryer & cable together form a trap.
It is all above ground, unlike the leaves over a hole one.

There is a towel too. Laying like a lady in a study of form
It is twisted in a loose S-shape. If you show your
Friend how you changed lanes - making the gap -
At high speed on the Motorway. That’s the shape.

The paperback is many a man dying for a piss
Flung against the bedside cabinet. Hiding the
Unfixable world from his activity. Bow-legged
And the worse for seeing affection in propellers

28.

The new born was due to be called ‘Sunny’
He was growing in the womb of his choice.
He was growing on minerals & troubled music
Cabbage gave the foetus wind
The mother & father agreed on ‘Sunny’, with a
Shake which began as a ‘helping hand’ across a brook
of wet sludge.

The first thing on his mind was a metallic tasting cider
Everything continued fine as the belly increased in girth
The cat caught a magpie and the rhubarb flourished.
The twins rocked on their settee next door [our wall].
Father visited their father after the 8 minute buffer zone.
As mother addressed her temperature
Father decorated his fantasy
Tilling his loving arms from the edge inwards
Painting a colourful poking tongue and lively ‘coo’
Working towards the cot at the centre
Where there was expectation and worry and change

29.

He cooked her fish with a rake
Planets circled the pan
Small planets the size of a young Wembley
There was an odd one the size of a moonlit beach
He told the ‘beach’ to try Saturday in Kent

She read a magazine
The fire beneath the pan was burning ghats
Bodies melted in the fierce heat of flames
There were expressions not found on stamps
There were smiles from lunatics who loved in the act

The table was cleared with spray
The kings & queens were told to go home
The wolfhounds in bibs were given an injection
The juggling court jester needed a tender touch
The drapes pulled from the wall during his tantrum

30.

Her brain baked cookies. Submarines beckoned her home.
She flew in an arsenal. Her passport was wrapped in reeds.
She tore towards mothers pots. She understood the basics.

The size of her bag was reasonable.
Her fathers concerns were cupped. There was a Bigfoot.
There was an explanation. There was a local paper. There
wasn’t just one dance card

At the suds a car was waiting. The car was filled with
blackboards. The parental engines were aerosols. The
scenery moved like one little fan

They ate a meal of putty. They reviewed the chest
They took it in turns to sewer. They slept with foals.

31.

Sometimes the moustache was a fish-tank
Sometimes it felt neat and tidy in Heidi’s plats
It felt so good it rested on the railing overlooking
Margate beach.

On the front of cosmopolitan magazine is a young lady
in wool. The cover story is dedicated to thick wool &
its benefits. I draw a moustache on her face. I put her in
the Caribbean. She’s very uncomfortable.

Margate beach versus the Caribbean is billed as a must
see. Both have fish, but one fish is made of jumble-sales
and the other fish is made from reggae. The bookmakers
just can’t decide. The reptiles are wishing on each other’s.

32.

I’ve been watching Sex in the City
I’ve been watching it for hours now
When Sex in the City goes home
I prod the armchair
Demanding it farts in front of me

33.

Kud’oine
where the gulls wont stop
stealin flags and poppin balloons.

34.

The spy plane dropped out of the sky.
The spy plane lost its elastic on its pants
It took its hand off the waistband to help industry
It went straight down and didn’t drift.

In the ground was a spy-plane hole
There was no way it could be explained as a safe
If there are only 2 spy planes in the hemisphere today
The teeth marks in the cheese are yours

The servicemen got out the folded-away roulette wheel
They lit big cigars and put on their green visors
One dressed as a woman and did a dance with a cigarette
holder. She was sexy up to a point then she wasn’t. This
type of thing is strictly forbidden but what could they do.

35.

I’m a red-faced guru on her social calendar
I’m not an octopus starter or a Devon eclipse
I’m a very old Lord that requires airing

Monday holds no more than the puddle
Tuesday is ok, but so you know - I’m dead
Wednesday is fine. Wednesday is good
Wednesday is often testes

Two three cycles previous I was Count Vehement
Gunning down Saturday nights, putting pork onto
Barbeques. I wore Chinos. I tipped my hat. I just arrived

36.

Ducks were sent for by fascism
They interviewed anyone. They were losing, see.
The duck stood on table is hilarious.
It don’t know fuck all.
She quite hopes fascism will return.
They’ll eventually get round to desperate housewives. And
she’ll then be hauled in. ‘tell us what you know sweetheart’
It is a smooth talking fascism.
‘This is so exciting’, she clenches her mug.
‘I’ve never been on a game-show before’
‘Are you saying we’re Keith Chegwin lady?’
It was better with ducks.
‘Just tell us, are you a member of the Secret Susan
Society?’ She is, but she doesn’t know it.
So she vehemently denies any knowledge.

37.

A darkened cinema
is where to escape
from the fairy and the wishbone.
It’s a day of fairy and wishbone.
It’s a race
Between
pinkety-plink
and snappity-snap

Escape to the cinema.
Screw hard on a wet rag.

Cinema’s where I go
(they) give you wet rags for tickets.
Screwing wet rags makes
all things very last dot on the closing TV of worry

38.

In the front room AL explained – excited – stoned
her back pain and discomfort had eased massively
‘I went from a DD cup to a H’.
She had been wearing the wrong bra

‘They measure you on a machine’
‘The shop next door then provides your new bra’
‘I’d got it all wrong!’

In the kitchen the husband was drying just washed
coffee mugs. A friend wandered in to get his account of
this change

‘So they’re now a H?’
‘I know!’ & he circled inside the coffee cup
‘Here’, they shook hands filled with celebration.

Irony was there but I’m afraid just couldn’t compete

39.

Reading Freud gives me orgy dreams
Reading too much Freud has me smearing in dung

Vixens from Deep-aunties stable dance to hyenas
My cheap bottle of Muscadet is taken from my hand

It’s a suicidal leap from the mezzanine floor
The African fertility doll holds my cigarette

Everyone whips out their two sets of genitals
I can find no-one who knows how West Ham did today

I wake with a stiff neck
I find a dead wasp in the toilet

40.

1. The sea was exactly the same shade as the sky
I punched you in the face
The ‘o’s have little roofs on them here

2. Fish is caught very fresh and served with the head
Dementia is rife in the mountain villages
Reasonably priced batteries

41.

Ticks splattered against the giant landowner’s monocle.
The monocle was perch to a crow. Salty piglets dropped
from his grinding palms. He ground his palms and sheds
collapsed. Sodomy and ugly Blue Bells flourished. The
Blue Bells were epileptic in movement. They fizzed. My
chemistry teacher says they effervesced. They had
permanent attacks and smelt of silt. If they were a
mechanical toilet-freshener people would rather go in the
road. The giant landowner drew finish-lines everywhere.
He drew finish lines across arranged marriages. He drew
them across wagon-trails. He drew them across other
farmer’s profit margins. His horizons were like looking at
a dropped box of cocktail sticks. His network of castrating
influence was very complex. He thought about getting a
logging device, similar to a cricket scorecard. But he put a
finish line through that too.

42.

I have more in touch with keeping-fort-here
I have no qualms with keeping-fort-here
Keeping-fort-here is duck
Duck is out though

On viewing entrance to the public house I
Spot Duck’s contractor
Duck’s contractor is stout and of the opinion I’m whistle
Whistle is Mary, some Joe (a tinge)

The lost mascots ear was found in little Didsbury
Learning slang is little Didsbury, but it’s more
More, as in no one says more yoga please

43.

He bought her
a whale
a carrot. A ladder
and a fire.
But he got it wrong. He missed
the point.
She did not live in drawings because she was poor.
But because there was no accidents. Or lost bits.
And she looked at him
with an arrow pointing to the smiley sun
The ever bankable sun

44.

1. Her female face is a fed ram
I’m looking at the weight
The stump-end of a telegraph pole

2. Where did she steal this chapel of rest?
The black curtain burns feebly
In accordance with middle-opera

3. My parachute saved us
It was very strong initiative
My Superman arm around her waist

4. (Just for a second
chimpanzee thumbs miscued
Her purse fell open)

45.

A very rare (type of) parakeet was discovered by police
Today, abandoned in an abandoned garage
Close to Halifax (abandoned) ice rink (closed).

The police say cheese and pickle, ham and mustard

Marlon Brando this bird of paradise wasn’t
Though his green trilby wouldn’t budge
Since it was his head.

(police say) No one gets alive

Do call us if you know absolutely anything about granite
Or have seen recently an upright tissue box
Being used for private calls

Goodnight. Sorry, come back.

46.

Some work for us some do not – physically.
Swift & experienced play concludes a win. Unattainable
positional extremes negate simple intercourse: ruin samba

Banished from the eatery, he’d got caught with another
woman! The washer boy. [now] Cleaned tunnels dripping
in green wet moustache. Insect forestry, mostly slugs

This gallery in Munich was obvious. Ham fell out the end
of the baguette. Eavesdroppers toured large feral canvases
I commented on a pile of mock quasi-spastic Industry

47.

The seat goes back. The plane takes off. The load is fired along mapped trajectory. You arrive to new heat. You
arrive to new trees. You arrive to new insects.

The bus pulls out. The children wave. The bus is king of the freeway. You begin to worry. You begin to panic. You’re not sure why. The bomb explodes. The passengers

die. The story is reported across the world. You travel in fluid. You arrive with little hair. You cry and poo. The first 12 years are delightful. The next 20 are mixed. The

following 40 are slow. You arrive with someone else. You do better than them. You die again. The next two times are a little better than average. The next 6 are mediocre. 40 are

spent in space. 560 without human form. 921 without water. 4 million as a equal. 459 billion androgynous. 1245 million times a means to an end.

48.

Randolg Uppers was a fine carpenter
Him & Hilda had blue-prints for a bungalow
The council agreed and work began

Randolg and his friend Hermit dug the foundations
Hilda visited her mother for the weekend
The earth was taken away by O’Brien

Concrete was barrowed in from the front
The ground was filled and levelled
There were splatters of concrete on each mans shins

Hilda returned to see the concrete dry
Randolg said she could stand on it – go on
Hilda treated it like ice on a pond

49.

[] Here’s some Finsbury park moss
It is in the news. It is a hot-bed for political radicalism
Men with beards sit surrounding its square softness
They have turned the volume down on the traffic
They need complete quiet to hear the moss’ sermons
Some have travelled all the way from Birmingham
Birmingham did have a lot of moss before the famine
Then the people cut it up and made it into bread
Each week one of the elect council has to take the moss
home for regeneration and safe-keeping. There is a rota
which was devised by Farouq Mailk. Farouq Mailk has
done a lovely job. He has taken every ones photo and
stuck all the faces onto a magnetic wall-chart. The wall-
chart was used as a game of monopoly by some heathen
scum. They bought & sold Allah’s mouthpieces. They
drew spectacles for sweat-shops on properties with beards.

50.

She lies like medicine
She is as polished as the Vatican
She is not only asleep but ironing computers

She breathes in labels
She twitches because it’s measles

She is juice. She is left open drawer
She moves in tunnels on exciting pink scooters

There is a pavilion. There is a paddle boat
There is an eclipse. There is fur

51.

It perplexed me. I threw small-vent shaped petals
She never trimmed the wallpaper covering her hymn book
This is not gay slang.

There were two or three inches of over-hang at each end.
It was a wallet with very large notes poking out. These
notes were the colour of her bathroom. Or her hall or her
kitchen where there wasn’t tiles

It was the colour of a tall woman with neck bolts
With back problems, who could only pick from the top
row of patterns. It was candid pink slurry. The look of
hepatitis in the neck-brace of the owl.

52.

It never got fixed, the blip of Macedonia
I’m outnumbered by ranks ascending
Trilby hats are captured ball-balls. Sailors have aftershave

Our drive: to conquer the meridian.
We [instead] savoured the heat and write letters back
Illusion is party-quantity. Civilians are passively shot

I don’t worry over admin engines.
Some are flustered by the powers of long guns
They go mad: get battered to smithereens.
They are thirsty hungry for extra smithereens

53.

A white possum bends over attending to some migraine
The ass of the white possum is an unsold doughnut
When the doughnut is cut in two
One half is sport, the other half is terror.

The terror side has no blueberries.
It is just plain fast motorcycle rides blindfolded and naked.

The big hunter takes aim with a chilli-dipped anticipation
Not that he will examine this possum before he eats it.
He will just rub it into the carpet of the world.
He will squish it into the cigar pit of the jungle

His finger twitches. His nose sniffs. His toes clench the
carpet of his feet. His passport is checked, double checked.

BANG. the bullet travels via the florists
BANG. the bullet is excused traffic signs & highway code
BANG. the possum is stabbed

54.

When his wife got severe arthritis
He bought himself part locomotive
She watched from the bedroom window in pain.
David Bowie was involved.

David Bowie was 60 when she went, ‘my knuckles tingle’
She felt a junior karate championship going on in there
There must have been an awful fallout between dads &
judges, as the doors to the gym were kicked off and that’s
when she went to hospital.

Middlesex is a painful place. It is the soul of David
Bowie’s best friend. The car-park you may have seen
in drawings of the dice. Step on a lemon and see what
I say. See it flop on the olds. Go on

55.

Jet black long-too fine serene with-it
Always up-to the motorcycle but never on it
Practical pectorals you

Risk taker traveller of tropics bugs & lotion
Them blondes that sandwiched your box
Gentlemen you, you never did

Guitar lightening bolt-shape purple wizard on-it
Drunken protagonist storming dorms
Courteous railway announcer him

56.

The emergency call-out crew arrived on a plate of suet
pudding. They arrived on Sunday just after fried breakfasts
They pulled up to the kerb and hit it

The spiral bound A-Z skipped away to play on the patch
The polystyrene coffee cup refused to budge
The yappy dog sniffed the grill to tell the time

The bollards were orange and cordoned off AP19
AP19 was the name & date of birth of the ruin
Supposed gas was the dress-code

The generator started up to the theme tune from the
‘Wonder Years’ before going steady. The jackhammer was
dragged by its donkey ears to drink. The butler pressed
PLAY and the cacophony shat its library in thumps

57.

Clacker’ing rattle bird chirps completely fast
Motorway vocal speeds up-and-down two of three notes
The bird caller’s booklet says umbilical cord chastised
/ cut/ e.g. broken

That poor winged herpes ridden (it says) meat whistle
All the way a parcel from North Africa flapping
O the hotels there keep out the Arabs
(I am cross referencing booklets)

Gin & tonic is the order of the day. Football is popular
A dam was built in 1906 from counterfeit labour (deceased)
The national dialling code is calling me MR my fist
Name Ha, pause for bacon

58.

I ejaculated a French policeman.
His knees were a gravel fight.
His English was in dollops, drips, and horns

Did I know my pipe was cutely dimpled?
Did I know all of my darkened bends were lit with throbbing tiny thumbs?
No I didn’t, I said.

Turning an invisible liquorish cathedral about its mince
Caressing my thighs like hot baked turf.
Several postman minutes passed
In which I did nothing, other than pose for softened heaps

‘I understand the young people of today.’
‘I was once young too.’

There were frying pans and rolling-pins on the streets of Paris. There was unrest in the economic teapot
There were epaulettes on the shoulders. There was a lot of running from one side of the stage to the other

59.

The lady in waiting is a county next to a famous county
The lady in waiting coordinates both mono & stereo
Dressed like a neat toilet, she smiles mantelpieces

Her fetching-sticks are wands handed down by Jacks
Her patience is envied by whaling slimmers
The words ‘dove’ & ‘dump’ are far apart

Dignitaries came & went
Civil war gambled on the weather in April that year
Skin fell and God played the glockenspiel

60.

1. They held me up-side down.
They shook me.
Out came a toaster, a radio.
Out came most of the booming economy.
I could see eyes. Many eyes.
In the undergrowth. Scavenger eyes.
Peering out at us.

2. They strapped me to a spinning wheel.
Around and around I went
Out spun/flung, a panther. A gazelle.
A jackal. And a rabbit. A rare rabbit.
Them eyes. Were there. Then were gone.
The endangered species scared them off.
For now

3. They threw me down.
Threw me down on my back.
Took it in turns to jump up
and down on my guts,
squeezing out, the phantom, a Red genie.
A unicorn, inclusive of sparkles.
I could see them. those greedy eyes.
Those nosey eyes. Those eyes of lust.

61.

Bouncers in heavens
Paparazzi wheels fume
Orderlies carry bitchy whispers
Salad Sandpit eruption imminent

62.

Twenty metres of unadulterated Tapas Zone
Gold banner means sun cheese Riley
The Promotional Offer is sweet. Enjoyments are un-free

In this conical sun soaked dairy grill
In this barn of hip-cuts dry-cuts just nuts just corks
popping. Out of the family salad shared platter
It’s hot its greasy its bubbling and splattering

Life is sold and bought and who recalls the palm tree
Wood is waxed and straight and there are twenty in an 8
man raft. Queues at the bar are astronauts on the moon,
chives decorate.

A fan revolves ‘organ unattached’, minding the necks of
freelance boppers. Guitars spurt in the moonlight wok
A small toilet and a brass bell on the barman turn in

63.

Beneath a Union Jack you proportioned. You entwined
There was Glasgow united, filling tower-blocks
The tabs on the coffee table were behind glass

I crept into the dumb-waiter, only in size
Panting, pointing replacing divots. It’s a sneak.
I didn’t knock. I was Lenny Bruce

I wanted a cigarette more than I needed gums.
You two clit-clattering away under our
Queen’s screen-saver. The baking fags in shadow

64.

I apologise for mass bad poetics, full stop, comma, and line break. I apologise nationwide, worldwide. I take down our flag. I apologise to the family - mother verse, father verse & baby verse, like you, we leave our forgotten elders in libraries to rot. I apologise for the society, the association, the laureate & the professor, our rebel voice too was last heard when? Tell me. LOUDLY, go. I apologise to the prime minister & presidents, who search threw newspapers for poesy about them, but find nothing. Ho hum, lets bomb. I apologise to the individual, you go anon, we go anon, you go holy-handed, we go holy-handed, and we point our finger at you, and you point your finger at us, & no one says a thing. I apologise for the promoters, I could not flood your event, drench your egoism, weigh you down with money, and bring about a revelation. I will return next week and apologise more. I apologise for not being there to assist the young, new & naïve, but you are lazy. I apologise for not bringing together, an army of the bad, mad, the great the clever & the damn right talent-less. I forgot. I apologise to the general paying public; we just don’t have it yet. Try later.

65.

I don’t think they should leave fish uncovered
I throw the fish into a taxi
I send him to the address across his face

66.

He bought half-price champagne
There is an ink drawing of a vineyard on the label
It is slopping down to meet the stream
By that stream he added a cube of cheese
He looked at the label, he looked at the cheeses at the
counter. He said that one; got a pen & inked it in.

He drew in a lock, a stock-room, and a barrel for the movie
That was only 3.99. And those items fitted well with
the cube of cheese, the stream that run away from the
grapes & the vineyard with a stalk carrying a baby in a
sling.

The stalk had to be larger than the cheese but smaller than
the barrel. It also had to be high enough off the ground
Otherwise the stick with a circle head wouldn’t convince
the reader it was a healthy human.

67.

The woman opposite cooks up nappies
They belong to Dalmatians
The smell is far away from magnets

There is a florescent piping around her swimsuit
The hair on her head is bad copper
Her lover is a Greek

My jazz doesn’t go above four
Her church is paralysed
Weather is headaches

68.

Fat plumber had more elastic than most
His sidekick was his own lap
Tomorrow they piss

A knock on door - you would have bet goat
Been upstairs these two Chaplins - inspecting panties
Giggling, on cheap crisps and pop

The workman’s elbow went down
I resigned from my life
Was that a dimple? No it was grit

He could do nothing more for his mother
He had fixed her system. The simple glass of H2O
That be a ditto then, and he ditto’d us

Warnings be goodbyes and safeguards nods
The lurch didn’t get it right
The invoice bought us all snots

69.

1. There is aftershave knocking on the census door.
There is bottled a set of dry lips.
They roll like bolts down the neck.
It’s that, or, torn boxing gloves and eaten ‘at’ photographs

2. The town tonight is pristine thumb marks
The divorcee takes on the traffic, riding in pram wheels
The music pauses at the creases and lets out clotted porridge

3. The people sayers have batteries in them
Instead of outside them, & the wires on show
They have federal permission on show also
It defaces spies like mention of Clarridges in anecdotes

70.

The pub was a matador Tardis
It was a lazy empty Sunday Labrador inside
It was an auditorium hosting auditoriums auditorium 2006
The jury were out of town but left the door on the latch

A young lady approached us with a neckline that looked
like my penis after a hot bath. The neck on her sweater was
the twisted mat on entrance to the beer university. She
tended to the bar with plump cordless motivations. She was
unaware; she was writing a novel for the treacle dribblers

There at one time past been a civil war right here on
this spot. It is a war between wood and glass
All those that died in that struggle were remembered
by a glass window or a wooden wood. It was roughly equal
in defeat accept for the stairs. The stairs are the pin to the
badge that’s this brewery flagship

71.

The buffoon is tripping on the promenade
This article is intoxicated. His five pound note
Usually delivers

A car misses him by a custard
A clump from a bouncer took off his makeup

The B&B never does nought but sulk
So he raps on the dither, asking if pinball is coming out

The police arrive. They are all Ringo Starr
There is a scuffle. There is a pull down menu

Your average tiddlywinks ensue

72.

The suitcase had been brutally insulted for decades
The outer skin had hardened and resembled a bomb
It was an oblong bomb with a shopping list inside
The shopping list listed his desires and weaknesses

The bomb had been found in the attic of a terraced house
The newly-wed couple said to the brother you can take
this old junk and put it in your bar.
The bomb, the guillotine (the chair) & the tank (the settee)
were driven to London in a retired greying postal van

The furniture was spread around like 3 sausages for 9
scouts. This bar was a community centre for left-behinds
and un-wanted’s. They were coaxed to smile and sit up
straight and think of the numerous evacuees that went to
Wales. All the customers thought this anti-junk were
remarkable. The bomb got-off with the opening night
(the plug hole)

73.

1. You reverse, you come forward
The change of mind with opening pawns
Excited at the chocolate box. I could be lying on my bed

2. I call you Capriati now. You’re a figurine
I don’t specify any emotion
These are wooden vertical panels
You knock at the bottom to see how high they reach

3. How long has it been? What turned the mobile?
Rainy man went into hut, sunny man came out
I collected you from a station

74.

Her office was what happens to a phone box if it
studies hard and passes all its exams
The parents of this badge were coasters
I stood in my pants holding my Salinger
Tweetering out my flesh advert

Doctor Hills works to stick up your bank
Her instruments are cold because they are silent
She puts her guns in a respected brown bag and
blows synagogues into tendons & blood violins

Her getaway vehicle is the symmetry of limbs
& as you drive to Rio in Surrey a lad called
Carmichael steps out pulling it all into a size 10
If you ever want to know what fiction does
for sore tendons, take a gander up the ramp
into the orthotic insole: see the briny flag waving

75.

The flip-book wasn’t totally art 100%
& it was too delicate for all ‘toy’
To enjoy Victorian fun you had to be 37 with a moustache

In 1856 only seven women publicly twittered.
Twittering is laughing whilst holding a handicraft of
some sort

In this flip-pad, to illustrate this, you can see needle-craft
The dark shadow running to the hearth is counting,
‘twittering is ok on Sundays after a good slap of industry’
‘there is a time a place, and you may do so, begin’.

And the two ladies twitter. And the shadow grows larger
and larger. And the needle-point fills in for pauses in tweets
And pulses are out of epoch sink

76.

Daddy was a cruel cunt.
Did he bleed bleed? He did, when hit with a shovel.
It was after ten. City dark. In some immigrant fuck-hole near
to Kilburn. Daddy had been drinking. He walked home alone. Daddy’s wife Rosalind sat at the kitchen table. Her snatch stunk. Daddy went down. Hit the pavement.
Daddy doesn’t die.

Busy. It was shoulder to shoulder
The carpet stank of piss. The women were ugly.
He got served. He got served again. Right after.
He found the girl with the biggest breasts.
He whispered in her ear. She thought him forward.
He whispered in her ear again.
They left.

In the little shit hovel he was renting he gave her some cocaine. He then bummed her.
He pulled up his trousers. He peeked out the window.
She lit a cigarette. He sat in his chair. She complained about a torn bra. He told her to shut it.
He didn’t have pets.

77.

Palestine just wants to be single
It wants to screw around, no hassles
It has its eye on Libya, the shopkeeper’s daughter

78.

‘why can’t the weight go onto my breasts?’
Her whine is a bendy twig that doesn’t snap.

79.

The crowd were paraphernalia
They kept themselves to themselves
Themselves all hinting at the cigar case
In the photo next to the passports

They laughed an old mans rainbow.
It was the shape of Bobby Moore’s chip
The fried chip he showed to Gordon Banks
Look at this, ‘its over-cooked’

Up went the old mans rainbow then down
Plummeted into a portly bucket. n
Which I tucked away so no one got hurt

80.

They met where the water was just shrimp
He glanced at his bald spot
He noted his

There was a clef palette in the air
A battle of the colognes
There was a rat

Aldershot meanwhile lost to Bolton
Lincoln got a late winner
& Preston drew away at Leeds

Was the rat a rat? That was the beef
The bald spot got fingered
No paper was involved

81.

She lunched on palm tree & purpose
She wore the uniform of a high-street retailer
There were ‘help me at sea’ movements to her jib

I am looking deeper than her may-day makeup
I am looking beyond the curtain mozzarella
I am peeping further into the postcard’d rescue memo

The clavicle has been used to out-base horse guards
The research for the stamp of approval is throbbing.
The sister company moors in the cultural significance of hips

82.

We will have to wipe the universe’s tears
We will have to hold its sobbing mass
We will have to bring its skies into our chest.
We will have to walk it the long way home.
We will have to console the planet,
Winking over its shoulders to our mates.

83.

Have-locks open
Permanent sleep buildings available
There were gutter-balls beneath her nails

Hair is a Marshall
Marijuana haves him sit up

I fixate on its fine capitals
He can’t reach the lemon grove

William Burroughs does his tie
She adjusts in the incubator
I won’t speak to me

84.

The bar used orange as we may leave notebooks on buses
The café vibe was a hunchback forcing its way into the till
The pillars were a nuiscence as the excitement here was a
cable-car ride.

Probably tonight I would go to bed thinking of a soft boiled
egg in the morning. Probably I might get to see the
mountain bikes parked in her hallway. Probably I should
refrain from memorising capitals & concentrate on the bill.

Waitress service only appeals to me if I'm sat at the only
table in the place. The waitress got to us using the grid on
the back of a tortoise shell. The waitress looked up at the
stringy chandelier as I run my finger down the larrup of
beers

85.

The nightingale squawks because it is clammy
The note is diluted by an over-formed cheek muscle
The woe of the bird is bound in a leather envelope

The mountain like the Christmas tree
Doesn’t need to sit for a portrait.

For the most beautiful black-tooth a biro does best
Did it matter what colour his prosthetic arm was or whether
the thumb was straight?

The toilet wall artist had used an X for the anus
The caption didn’t need to spell out the time in addition
The stockbroker still laughed even though he had made
6 million of them that afternoon

86.

His singing keeps him on smaller stages
Stepping down of off one small stage (one night) he guffawed. He guffawed and thumbed his pickle
Against the bar lent Chubby Industry.
Chubby Industry wore a blazer. His blazer was Blackpool.
& at his side was an x-unicorn

The x-unicorn stepped up and said excuse me pal
The singer that sung on small stages said but I only
I only, I thought
The x-unicorn looked to Chubby Industry. The singer that sung on small stages looked to Chubby Industry
Chubby industry said ok, it’s ok. The x-unicorn backed off

The singer that sung on small stages asked Chubby Industry If he could get him on slightly bigger stages
They didn’t have to be taller just slightly bigger stages
Chubby Industry sucked on his steam boat – not rushing
Chubby Industry sucked some more
Chubby said raincoats
The x-unicorn stepped in and ushered the singer away

87.

I first tried on a condom in a WW2 bunker
Written on the wall was ‘HOLLYWOOD’
The ‘Y’ was a crucifix

16 years later I walked into LIDL’s under a black cloud
I had gone full circle. I had achieved nothing
It was lonely with one A level

88.

The security guard saw his wife’s ovaries pasted to the job
The alarm went off in room 129 and he made everyone
write down their names in big letters. He carried the comp-
liment slip to the head of security who threw it in the bin

Back at base he collected a new jumper sent down by Head
Office. The crest over the tit was a menacing eagle
carrying his wife’s ovaries. He had ordered a Large, they
had sent migraine

He opened his flask and poured coffee into a mug
On the mug was a picture of a matador waxing a Mercedes
If anyone tried to assassinate either of these he would shine
A torch in their larder & break their NI number in two

89.

tarzan brown mackeral gold
matchbox shadow besides nose
face colour of wet sandal

eyes two villas
bedded lioness his belly
counting money in the navada air

pool table complexion
durex bubbles for spots
runaway pneumatic drill

mother quacks
he eats the bowler
he chomps on her barking moth cartel

90.

Straight off the lolly stick
Mowed down by the encyclopaedia
A haircut with a straw in it
She and her coloured harpsichord diarrhoea

Ascertains I only enforced the margins
Assumptions I greened on the green
Fountains were not inside out leaking tents
Confident I had not twizzle or twozzle for anyone

In between her paring her short stories
I snuck into her canteen of chords
On the desk of ashtray and lighter was a textbook thing
I looked at the OXO tower. I bet a fiver it wasn’t

91.

Under the map the spare keys were kept
The map was a picture of a drain-gate
On top of the drain-gate were a bowl of flowers
The bowl was terracotta plastic and still had the sticker
of purchase on the side.

On the washing line hung his grey school trousers
One half of the right leg was damp
That part of the leg had been given a good
going over. They hung there for their crime.
They were all that were there bar pegs.

Inside the house was a discussion about the
remote-control. It was the centenary of the remote-control
‘We always keep it here’, and showed him the ledge.
‘The zapper, you mean?’ His family called it the zapper
There was a clunk of static as the TV fired into shot

92.

He runs his laundrette with scrotum
Floors walls doors circles - basic clarity
‘Tis him who minds blocks

His English is a tooth then not a tooth a tooth etc. comb
Signs are accurate words but no small joining words
Possibilities are added in. Shortcuts suggested only after

The fellow is trapezium
A light blue shirt leaves his waist - the sawn-off shotgun
I last saw such angles on a baby bouncer
The elastic rope in each corner of the door frame

A pregnant mother is guarded against loss
A gold tooth respects his instruction
He is not unhinged by poor equations or bandages
Those without small square space can sit in his small-
square-space & maw

93.

There is a bus in my pornography
Parked in front of my action.
An old lady on the top-deck relaying human cargo

There are no red stop signs. Or traffic in front.
There are no vehicles behind. She bangs
On the glass to alert me in significance

Just as I get up to tip the TV on its side
The bus tootles off. She points at my chest ‘quick!’
I look at my chest and see Fleetwood Mac.

94.

The picture of the basset hound was done in pencil
The picture hung above the gas fired imitation fire
The dog itself wandered through its snout
It furrowed in the spaghetti humans don’t see
It dug because of the program in its being

‘he was a grown man, we were grown men’
‘he cried. he swore it was that way, and we knew it wasn’t’
‘we were on top of this mountain. the snow was horrific’
‘& it turned out we were right. 15 feet in that direction
was a massive drop’, ‘ we would have died’

The perk of working there was a Ford Orion Sapphire 1.8X
It had a sunroof, a radio cassette and electric windows
The electric windows went up & down. The boot sprung
open by the touch of a button. The colour was metallic blue

95.

Side B was covered in thicket & thistle
There was a punctured deflated football grown
into its cackle

Dirty cows grazed on rugby field leftovers
Cars sped by escaping breakdown or arrest.
The scene was course and in need of watery saliva

Side A was the lush savannah bedded on yoghurt
Insects made mucus hoping between the strings in
this harpsichord

The chorus of life sung to the shuffle of playing cards
The sun spun like a newly fixed punctured racing wheel

96.

The father became a martyr for a minor cause
Who wants to make such Olympic decisions?
Now he chuckles eating a prune

Would he do it again? He doesn’t know
Does he still believe? Of course (kind of)
Would he like to try some fine whisky? Yes he would

He shows me photographs of nude women
He shows me an atomic bomb
There is a painting of a Mexican woman drinking juice

When mother & daughter return he is drunk
He is told to put away his box of photos and posters
He winks at me and drives off still sat there

That night in bed I am woke up by a mosquito
The mosquito has kidnapped another mosquito
Today there has been a lot of ear hitting

97.

Her youth was open plan
Her room had not been lived in
She was no particular. She was all eyes

He sat up straight. He coughed into the side
His eyebrows rose with her voice

Pick a colour Pick a rumour Be a hundred words

98.

Gnome and fishing rod
Hearing somewhere in the distance
A hairdressers closing

99.

His asthma punched the torchlight
The asthma was young and annoyed at its tormentor
The asthma could not reach to switch out the bulb
The ire turned into a somersault & landed on its back

The edge to the cliff loomed to our left
All of us debated whether to take its silver slide
Our head wanted pineapple-crush but our belly didn’t
want to go to the carnival. The gap between them can be
measured in hymens

‘Don’t volunteer for anything’, that was the call.
Volunteers were bungalows and stepped forward in
pea-shingle. Volunteers were promised a wealth that
looked like a varnished post. Some volunteers paraded the
tunic that flapped in the dark un-mouthed breeze. Some
were just hedge.

100.

Alice caught a form of lice in the head
On her hairs were minute death metal acts
On her scalp were empty beer bottles & mercury
As she walked to school the titanic went down

Under the microscope I could make out a tattoo
At 15X magnification I could see the door policy
At 30X magnification I could find a birthday card in
a ladies hand-bag. At 100X magnification I could see a
crumb of cracker lodged in the microphone bulb

The lead singer had eaten the savoury circle to dislodge.
The idea of an antiseptic bath. He had been scratched on.
The back by a crazy fan. The gland to the left of the pelvis was up

101.

The hospice would inwardly implode
without the bicycle, the doorway
& the George. The equilibrium minus
any of this ‘article’ would pop its cork.
I cannot not describe an inward popping cork
All I cay say is: turn a swimming-pool inside out
with one eye closed.

The George of this era is Simon. Simon is just too
nice for most people. He therefore went mad.
He mops out the doorway. He mops it with a trunk.
Whose is the bicycle chained to the odour-eater?

Simon has a calculation going on at present. Since
he has never lived by the sea his jet-skiers are circling
his barrel of vim. Throwing him small helps at the strike
of 12. The groove at the top of the dial.

102.

The owner of the shop called back a woman to his front
He used the signal of goodbye
Her she turned and waved and kept walking

He tended to his pots then called her again
Again using the universal wave of goodbye
It was her who used her initiative and returned

This I want you to have and he handed it to her
He reached down to tender to his plants
He waved her away as she said goodbye

103.

Horace is a paisley mayor
He was given the genetics of a hunk. A beefcake with a
pectoral masterpiece. He has flashed and stopped catholic
mass. He had only bought 1 drink since 1989.

A doctor called Kilburn Eddie. So called because of his
breathing on the poor, rushed with his bag to number 3
He had heard a 8 headed carbuncle resurface
It was Kilburn Eddie versus the Kilburn Carbuncle [yes]

Number 3 was built from smoky leftovers
There was a biscuit patio but this belonged to number 5

Horace the hunk was very depressed at the Kilburn’s probe
‘I'm telling you Horace, you have a pussy tractor on its
way between your breasts’, ‘all we can do is wait’.
Kilburn Eddie took some Calor gas from his bag and
brewed tea.

104.

We opened the box in Hampstead
If there were anyone on our tail we lost them
We secured a harmonica
We did a roll.

The heath was flooded
The sleeve was full of hexagonal badges
The ice cream van skirted the edge
Unable to get aboard

You sat on my face
I heard the bells of St Clements
The sun ate into your tartan skirt
The sun liked it

105.

A part of her hair was un-cut
It was cut to be realised as undone
There was a lost mammal hanging from her head

Sunglasses kept her hair behind her ears
The mammal lays on her neck the rock
It lay not so lost

I tried to see the magazine she was reading
There was a supplement inside the magazine
The mammal woke from its operation

Packing my bag I now saw the hollow in a tree
The mammal scratched its head against the tree
The mammal examined her breath

106.

The vicar was possessed with a George Best romantic
His sermons dribbled tea into the laps of menopausal
widows. He was a window-cleaner for their dusty
greenhouse. He wound up his portcullis, & beckoned the
salutes in

On this sunny day his arms were a vocational washing-line
From his washing-line hung his Monday-Saturday chic
His ironed jeans measured the exactness of the grass verge
The children painted a banner that read ‘our lord tonic’

Thunder broke the clock-tower in three new books.
The vicar circled the cake of tower on his 21 speed
mountain bike. He had just returned from an errand of
carnivorous ferocity. Each time he passed the poppy
garden he spun his front wheel a full 360 degrees.

107.

It is always around the back at his end of terrace.
Always use the back door at his house. In through the front gate, lifting the gate to replace it back on catch. Past the front bay window. Blinds always down except when cleaning. Ducking the overhanging ivy and force that back gate open. Noting the sign ‘beware of the dog’, a picture of dog but no actual dog

Baby of two is in the bath, stirring and splashing. She hasn’t seen him. Father giving directions. Training toddler to become clean and not scared. In through the back door announces his entrance with clinking of bottles. Look who it is? He knows she 2 doesn’t know and stops with bubbles in her fists. Peering through the adjoining bathroom door The visitor explodes

Baby runs and clings to fathers legs hiding her face behind his thigh. Father runs his hand through her hair as uncle bends and pokes baby belly. Are you well and what happened there and I’ve just got to do this. Uncle is left in kitchen searching for corkscrew, eating cherry from bowl
Uncle hears small feat and larger feet and a scream from a hall coming

108.

stretch out his signature
and see
one long grey hair.

stretch out his wallet
and see
one night of grease

I broke the swing

109.

I open the door to two tape-worms
They sweat in an un-lit alcove
The bags are unpacked and the hinges are rusty
Neither have hats or eyes

I knock on the new door of personnel
I enter a mess of human admin
I stand and wait for them to finish yabbering

They frequent nail shops
A black & white thing happens
Maybe an age thing happens too

I win because I'm bulls-eye industry bred
I win because your hovel needs flabbergasting

110.

She once could have won a million pounds. She did not win a million pounds. It would have meant breaking into the money
that went on the weekly shop. She could not do that by rule
This is how they sell Daz ‘whiter than white’ washing powder

She met her husband in a dance hall close to the munitions factory. There was chandelier on the ceiling. There was a band at one end. As the violins played a big war covered Europe. It raged like a bastard. It killed millions. Some of whom were complete fools. Durex, safer than a trench.

Sidney was a sickly man. One of 12 inclusive of toddler deaths. Never one to speak, never one to say anything, he withered away. Chain-smoking cheap cigarettes. Unable to work. Unable in winter to rise from his bed
Playing the piano in the Stella Artois advert.

111.

The desk at Ellison was an admiral thick
The crest of spots to the left of my coccyx bleed
I tip the curtains to see suburbs milking the TV

We would play a game in that soft red spongy seat
We would give each other head until it was time for bed
It was strictly non-smoking except for characters

The iron bed changed female opinion of me
There were two questions on the turntable:
How did I steel it? Firstly, immediate. Secondly, ribbed

112.

[the] several ways of killing with a paperback
That was his Cinzano: useless facts.
Armed force remedies
Arbitrary collections of signatures
The kid was a nuisance in footnotes

Placing you in some tectonic grip
He’d spurt commentary
Cage your dough with his iron wench
Reporting through his squished nose
Time is running out for them such tendons
Or them such ones

Witchcraft took him at the end. It had no option
A syphilitic type hoo-ha depleted a good portion of his
onion. A nudge and a wink? We’ll never know.
Found slithering in his own dung. Knocking on doctors
doors at half past seven

113.

What the neighbours get up to is a business
What happens behind closed doors is a roaring success
What happens in China is taking over the financial world

What they do at number 52 is make love
Why she stares out the window at number 10 is boredom
How they use their flags at number 104 is up to them

The brightest new industry is next to me.
She is the wayward daughter of the Art bubble
Minute trucks reverse into the gap between big & next toes

114.

Roger is jolly in maintenance, catapulting
clicks electronic miles, cleaning
invisible spills with paper.

Deaf to the comedy bar-bell plummeting towards his neck
His corner of margin / error abides

She’s again is on his jukebox
Punching ill-service and smearing the glass

Roger returns to his Christmas stocking
Examining the stitching

Measuring the bed post with a complete Satsuma skin
His heel on a plastic bag

115.

I tint the windscreen by just not logging-on
The downside is pissing Colgate off the sink

116.

A posthumous burp is found
It is sandwiched between lettuce and bullwhip
Her rucksack is tangled in the doors of the train

I don’t have to tell her to sit down, she knows this
My hook is a mean bully gargoyle in hysterics
I offer her a mint one-liner to ease passage

tear # one wears the butterfly helmet
tear # two is the microscope passed like a bong
tear # three, 8 out of 10 real reasons reason me

If I could have a big bottle of lemonade and shake it I
would. If you would only show me your algebra
homework I could help. I would help you drag your fridge
to the garden to defrost if you asked

117.

The daughter of successful mother & father GP’s was red
She was always red. She was red in her mini tank
She took prisoners by the hair

The question of privilege is plain economic
Economics were under-stressed by the puller
Economics were overstressed by the pull-ee

Alice pronounced the buckle an elbow & flung
Punch said it was a mound with an arrow & sung
A compromise was never met over this metre of clam

118.

Bukowski wrote a poem
It snowed in LA
I saw a raw bum in Drury Lane

The flannel pink skirt had risen in a siren
The Mediterranean saw to its design
It wobbled because the pavement was made by the council

Pink Floyd made an LP with lots of chiming clocks
Pink Floyd told her friend to tell her why it felt good
You can’t blame Pink Floyd

I followed the backpacker for thirty yards
I was not like the greengrocer who was looking for the hole
I was heading to bum land where the gondola makes sense

119.

The orchestra is riveted by their tribute to harvest
The fairy elephant doesn’t know what’s beneath the stage
The audience is full of mechanics

Two fine dudes try on the head of a zebra
A boy in braces takes a solo to the board of governors
The audience are between Folkstone and Calais

Up goes the hatch, enough to break off a chunk
There is a shrivelled pea lodged in the jet.
The neckline of the performance never sat well

120.

I own a mine.
The state pays me to smack-it about
I got a hundred socials crying in that soil

121.

She stood in front of the kitchen section
said tea coffee tea coffee
she said tea coffee
offering tea or coffee
as she unscrewed the lid of either the tea or coffee caddy

She didn’t use her phone voice
She used a dumb ‘airline stewardesses’ voice
It was a voice she put on
It was a comedy voice that she did well

She next picked the individual out and asked them

e.g. John tea coffee
or Janice tea coffee

John and Janice may or may not respond in a voice of their own. She encouraged them to use voices of their choice

After she had exhausted those willing
She tallied up the number of teas and coffees
and arranged the polystyrene cups on the work space
Filled with tea or coffee ready for the boiling water

When the tea or coffee was made
She called you up to collect your cup

She would apologise [in that voice] for mix-ups
She would ask any late comers if they wanted tea or coffee
All done using the put on voice
I loved her

122.

War Pigs call the speaking clock
He slicks her hair back so she looks 6

123.

The oversize frying pan is half inch solid with bird-feeder
Lard. Across the rink are mice foot-prints and maybe a bird
How do you like your eggs?

Her tag is Bottle. Her nose was hooked down and her
Chin up. She believed me: when she had sex she counted
The twirls in the Artex ceiling.

Reg dared not to separate her from her breakfast.
Rex had something in his finger. The breakfast grabbed
Reg’s beard & shook the gruff until its frustrations were
Exhausted & floppy

A scaffold-tube called Death fell off the bridge and went
Straight through the canteens umbrella. It stood erect out
Of the floor until it fell over into an ashtray. It was the
Bursting fart of madness which came for a draw

124.

Flamboyant Charlie and his feathered flock wallpaper
He had the one with the gold leaf up for only 6 month
This new pattern is one long fuse, one wick & one button

Big Heavy Simple Simmons wrestles the Texas on the
daintiest porcelain cup. He places the saucer in his pocket
as he can’t get out of the chair. Charlie lectures his oaf on

the cardio-vascular empire. A1000 Dutch leather coats
were public knowledge. Why hadn’t he heard about
a thousand Dutch leather coats? That’s what the TV said

125.

Nancy hosted a party for her elderly mother Grace
All the family were invited
Some neighbours were invited too

Sherilee the adopted daughter worked at the bank
She had only recently started seeing David
David bought along a whole salmon
It was the buffet centre piece

The birthday girl entered the front room
She paused and stared initially, then realised what
Guests cheered and raised their glasses
The music went on

Grace flatly refused the salmon
She preferred it from a tin of salmon
Eyes rolled, someone cracked a joke
Then turned his head in embarrassment

126.

She called us sweetheart
She called us couriers
She said lily like a lily
She said pictures in cook book words

I took us on a beast
I took us where crooners tie the ties
I lived a second in plugged-up park
I lived without dripping minds

She said, ‘impressive gardener of these astonishing
builds, you amaze me’.
She shook us by the up-arms
She pulled us into temple on temple mode

127.

The late night dj aired his regret
There was a few seconds pause
He then played the record
We all listened to his regret

The song was, will she - will she be there?

It’s about, he said pausing
When you arrive at party, that moment, he said
You look for her, hoping to find her
Then you turn and there she is

He then played the record
And the song was exactly about that

It was about the heart holding its breath

When the record finished
The late night dj just said, ‘yes’. It was the yes in yesterday
He then paused for a moments reflection & continued

128.

Under the speakers were cloth-slippers protruding
I lower the accident down to the gravel forecourt below
I lowered the mass down in chunks of broken chocolate

I first noticed my eyesight was spilling its crow veneer -
I couldn’t read the score-line in the top LH corner. Was
the joke on me? I only watched the game to hear Welsh.

Time & Tide are the two middle names of Jefferson
Aeroplane. The jukebox was lowered into the front bar by
a Shire horse and pulley, orchestrated by an arm in a sling

129.

There was a hay loft. There was zinc
There was a brief interruption. There was a humid porch

Ivor held Mary. Ivor heaped Mary along his body-bench
Tomorrow it was pear peelings
Tomorrow it was wrinkled perfume

Ivor held a glider. Ivor held him a paper skull
There were hours for stirring. Hours for sieving poles

Ivor and Mary had never circulated like this
Ivor and Mary were close to calling it another name

There were contraptions. There were ivy ladders
There were examinations
There were lanterns on gondolas flickering & freezing

Ivor and Mary did not wash the crockery
Ivor and Mary did not answer the telephone. Ivor and Mary spent what time they had left chewing over boxes

130.

There is a knock on the caravan door
It’s a man
The man wants to punch my uncle
The man hasn’t seen my uncle for half an hour

In the morning the man returns
He apologises
My granddad says next time he’ll stick a knife in him
It’s agreed on
I see it

131.

There is a belt around her middle. She has never worn a
belt. She has never worn a dress like this
I look for the saint on the roof

This is not her. She cannot be trying for younger
It doesn’t fit her stripe. She is not flirty or ambidextrous.

I throw her some lines. I throw her some outs
They come back twice as hard. They come back extra similar

This is now investigative, so purposefully make errors in
my working. I copy her into my thrust
I drum my fingers and wait.

I wait
It returns full of red marks, violent X’s, thunder storms
& the footmarks of a bench that has been shoved

132.

The fear of knives. The use of the second chin.
The twisting & turning spasms. The flabby port
The grinding murder. The willy wally belly.

The somewhere spooky. The pinch and the pinched
The mad wagging tongue. Stretched out and hairy
The iron in the mouth in the mirror to see

I had come along way. I had steam. I had bird tooth
I had moped spectacles. I had karate. I had doing.
I had inbred conundrum. I had Donna in the pipe-work
[I had] lengths of tea & razor macaroni

133.

Loneliness erects its wind-breaker on the shore
It is a square shaped nook. It has the hands with 2 backs
Each hand has two backs and a certificate
The certificate is palmed for a trick of deception

Each morning at 5.30 am perseverance embraces the cold waters. The nuclear eagle pumps out its lust. She wears
a bathing costume and a bell. A bell that acts as a tail.
The bell you will find on a reception desk in Torquay

Recreation is tired to the tiles. Sipping his
protein drink – re-reading the label. Studying the label
The synthetic names are in bold. The plant extracts
are celebrated in stars. Twirling the crown
of Jack the Lad

134.

There is a cow shed in his portrait
Ire is a gurgle of fitting cross naughty words
The cow shed is full of restrained moped

There is guttering. There is a down-pipe
Putting guttering around the cow shed supports inclusion
of barrel. Though barrel doesn’t collect rain water but
dark black black humour

In the background is a dab of head and a dab of denim
Is the dab of denim approaching, waving a legal writ?
Or is the dab of denim leaving the scene with a broken
nose bleeding?

His maracas are hidden, but do you see the star on the shed
door? The star on the shed door is the emblem minus the
inscription. The inscription is covered by his thumb, it
reads: giving butterflies hell

135.

Either all your pieces are denim
or the lost piece is denim.

One side cannot not be denim
& the other nylon.

This is not about love.

This is about ladders
This is about jars

On & against the,
against the same thick shelf.

& for every orange peel.
She was apple peel.

& for every gas leak I sniffed
Her slippers were wet from water dripping

I won £1 million
She won £2.3 million

I bought a fine wife and a disco
She bought a ranch and started a gallery

136.

It happens very quickly in the hand of sand
A child enters the pit on a bicycle
Others dig in the corners to find the bottom

The ambulance arrives from behind the curtain
A crowd gathers on our holidays; on their holidays
Off they slither out of the campsite

They close the sandpit with a potty salute
137 stitches later the junior boxer returns
His sister wore her underwear over the top of her skirt

137.

The energy centre is measured in pounds, is ovoid,
and has a baby tongue. The energy centre is an organ, a
peach, a wig. It is stroked, caressed, brought into play, with
visualisation. A dough mind is instructed. Exercise & holding that pose is just one option.

It starts up the blood. Starts the heart. Starts the muscles remembering. The energy centre when satisfied will join in the exercise. It will like a servile clerk place the pen on the enquiry counter for you now to sign: for a feeling of physical & mental well-being.

The fitness instructor is there to remind us all of the energy
centre. She is there to keep us conscious of such. She is
there as a prompt. A bleep. A buzzer. She is there majorly
to promote the advantages of working with energy centre
Little detracts her from rallying harmonisation.

138.

Anna Bankcroft can’t come out today
The right Labia Minora is swollen
Everyone over the park is saying
‘do you want me to reduce you?’
‘shall I reduce you Mrs Robinson?’

Eating daffodils to show off
Breaking into the gardeners shed
Sleeping by tit lake

139.

There was an end of career. There was another
There was the matter of pay-of. There was some delay
Then that was taken care of

I didn’t sleep well for a week. I saw nightmares
I saw dead Anne. She was in an ovoid mist
She seemed happy with her lot

The summer was slow. The days were hot
There were a lot of flies. The temperature was in the 30’s
It didn’t cool off until September

140.

I was force-handled made to.
It was part of the deal. I had made no open deal
It was a deal to herself. I was pulled about.
‘There are just some things that separate me form you’
She implied. She insinuated.

‘Who the fuck are you washing?’ She took me as
some objection. I didn’t appreciate this. She was
heavy with it. & now I had to soap her half.

Small lights twinkled on the rim
I could have been a horse. I had work in the morning
She placed my hands on her breasts. Two breasts
My skin itched terribly

I’m now made to wait in the bathroom
I’m made to wait on the scales.
She drops something in the bedroom
‘Are you okay and all’, I ask nicely angelic
Wait till I’m done was the return
Wait.

141.

The hand that patted, consoled
And turned the owner with tongs
The hand that rubbed the shoulder, rubbed the wait
The hand said simmer, said nudge, said are we?

She felt some humour, some tonic
She felt some steam on a mirror

She felt something, something ringing
Something she kept to brain

She reported a solid a bounce a next a rind a warmth
She reported back a swigger a hoot a mark a tingle a blast

142.

The financial market(s) reporter - 5 foot 11, 180 pounds,
reasonably okay - clung to a flippant salmon.
He drowned in a river of no religious importance
or symbolic shape, position or location.
His bum bobbed for 1.8 miles, not unlike a cyanide capsule
Before picnickers, eating wild eagle, Nick & Sue
Him mild; Her sceptic, called their doctors on seeing
a graveyard of ghost ships & a man bobbing
The police were dinning with thought police and the
doctors that evening at Dukes eatery and carvery
It was a celebration with exotic dancers.
Begin the exhumation says the doctors, drunk. Call a state alert said the highwayman, inebriated. O my god a beast of
the Atlantic, said sceptic Sue. & that river was called
Bobby bob. Not eagle, or Sceptic Hill, or ghost graveyard
of ships. As bobbing reporter sailed on by into a large
black sack of used betting slips dumped illegally & wrong. & un-included in this tale as many dumped sacks are un-included in the naming of rivers & lakes & mountain passes

143.

His main outfit was cut’n’paste
The deliberate organising of numbers into neatly towers
of simple shape. Transferring data form one virtual tree to
another. Knitting a remedial boss to output.
What was seen on the page was not all to be seen

The boss was a gannet, a harp with no strings
The finer side of her may have a lot of small furnishings.
The darker side moaned at roulette wheels
Today she wore ‘Africa core’ influence (above belt)
There was green & brown. And green & brown weed.

Doubt rose one day. Rose as the face of a massive hot plate. It shattered the huge departmental mirror of ponder.
No one communicated trough the disposal of disposable
tea spoons. No one chanced their lace on a sandpaper
helter-skelter. We were at the hanging. In the hanging space.

144.

Her defence is her heels
Her son is not a policeman

Boutiques don’t want you on the grass
The answer is that many did

Perfect as a spy
Perfect as a concierge

You forgive for a clue
You forgive for a creep

You turn to your neighbour, as she leaves

145.

He can’t complete a sentence
Dalliance smothers Seigfreid Boston
A young entrepreneur with a flare for tomorrow

I’ve seen the Armada in his wallet
I’ve heard his citrus grove receipt pad
France is that shape, but France has special motorways

I’ve seen your certificate in the maple frame in the hall
It’s just there’s a carthorse where lice are usually excepted
And it’s evident - its bells! And he bell some

146.

The invite to the birthday party was a piece of paper
The piece of paper was rectangular with a bear in the corner. The baby bear was holding four flowers and a leaf
The bear’s partner was holding two balloons and a cake

I was told I must go to the shop and buy new trousers
I was told not to purchase bohemian style striped trousers
I was told to get trousers that fitted the crotch and thighs
I was told to bring home these trousers right away for approval

The trousers had hammers in the pockets for temptations
The temptation in the left pocket was from a magicians bag
The temptation in the right pocket was from the grapevine.
The temptations were aghast and pert and mildly calypso

147.

At 4/5/6 months pregnant there is hive derision
As the pimp moved sideways between rooms
It was filth: & he was the pioneer

Now this is the same patron who’d rub his shitty arse over
your doorknob. Stick his hands up his sweaty hole and
smear them on the empty plate while you were in the gents.

He gargled about the tit milk. Giving the kid a white hat
What she’d do for maternity leave, etc, the general
He ate the karaoke. He was a very rude clown indeed.

148.

1. The neck has been in the Deep-aunts hands
When I snored I was made to do hoola-hoops
There is an apparent cheese smell behind my lobes

I was spotted from the gallery floor above
Both sets of genitals swung into the sheets
You came at me like the end of a letter goodbye

From Denmark a party of touring doers did
Inter-switched goblets with sitting and bending
Inter-changed horns with funnier horns

2. The Deep-aunt continues under the stage
I take my seat at the back of the assembly
(with everyone else)
Looking meticulously through others heads

149.

His first poetry book was well received. There was no
danger or worms. There was no wringing of hands. There
was no rainbow. There was no smoke. There was no sparks
There was a quiet country bend. There this book crossed.

All critics, friend or stoat, are aware of the oak tree.
The oak tree is base or beginning. Afraid, unafraid. Mighty
A fuel for the pump in personal violin

The oak tree may drink a little wine. May eat a hot roast
potato. The oak tree may arrive in jaguar. May arrive by
force. The oak tree may know jealousy. May deliver meals
to old people. The oak tree may take an eon to peel the last
grape.

Summer in a tent can bring out nods, many nods. Summer
in a caravan wants nothing more than twists and turns.
Summer staring across a moor is longing for surfing. & so,

The oak tree and the critic share a campsite. Simply, share
a holiday. The oak tree and the critic survive a loss of
electricity. They have someone to tell. The oak tree and the

critic improve facilities. They also make wooden limbs.
The oak tree and the critic love grown men swinging in and
out of something.

150.

I set out for the bruise
I put on carp slippers
I float on top of their wish-list one-eyed

151.

When he opens his arms he is welcoming you to court
When he crosses them he is asleep in his castle
When his arms are in the air you’d better run
When they are by his side you will cry

He tells you his court is this peacock park
He tells you his castle is where he keeps his tools
He tells you his arms are full of muscles and hair
He tells you when he dies you will be homeless

Someone went to court and got a feather
Someone went to his castle and fell in the bucket
Someone went to school dragged by the hands
Someone went and played soldiers to practise dying

152.

The water sought the sewer
From the top down, the very top
It took the stairs skating

A claxon broke all our virginity
Sandaled feet scissor-cut around puddles
Bags were gripped by one handle only

Opinions had an odd tinge of decoy
Wardens with arm kept out, with foot kept in
A smallish sci-fi crept into cast

The lights gibbon was snapped off the branch
Red & white & armoured tape got sucked on
We all saw stood as pegs and hummed jets

153.

Lets call them Bert & Ernie.
Or, Ted & Ralf
Or, Charlie & Sid & John
John is the deceased. He is the missing member
He is a sullen lonely ghost in a leather jacket.
His grave has a photo plaque nailed to it.
Its convex nature gives John a mongoloid sneer.
It seems as John is stuck in a spoon.
Lets call them Charlie & Sid & John the spoon
Charlie & Sid are a double-act. John the spoon
could be used, but their comedy doesn’t include
conceptual harangue. Their comedy is a straightforward
rose. You turn up with a dozen roses and she’s run off
with the milkman. So you throw the roses off the bridge.
No wonder John the spoon is crying – no wonder his
Lens gleans of wooing plight.

154.

Morris is a cancer for worms
Of course worms can get cancer
The 3 bears have Muscular Dystrophy
Their spoons have fat handles

I didn’t want to chuck out Densil
but I had to chuck him out: its club policy
I threw him like a top hat onto a hook
I threw his suitcase into Kilburn High Rd

Densil has been trying to flog imitation Morris
Are you interested in any Morris? He asks
It’s funny because the coat is selling imitation worms

155.

The worn slippers are amateur carpenters.
Each individual community creates a skewed line.
Did you ever see a truncheon as a fountain?

The pillars are rolled herrings
The children had experimented with shapes
A broken nose emptied its pizza into the sink
.
The damn thing just wouldn’t work
A lady’s jacket on a gusty night along the Kings Rd?
The only monogamous entity is flint

156.

As I push the trolley into the lift
I see a guardian potato approach.

He is high with moral life.
With a trolley made of Pats. Doll sized Pats

I didn’t think they would try to get in
(the lift) (this moral life as such)
with me. But they do.

Lets recount.
Trolley made of potato, me.
Potato with trolley made of Pats.
Hi Pat.
Many Pats say hi back.
& in the mirror are hamburgers,
Large hamburgers, cut into halves?
All in a circle of chairs
Balancing in the echo of a sports hall.

157.

On the first day at the gym Paul lost his temper with a
Triangle. He was taken to a small room and understood
He was understood by someone who had taken two tablets

Someone who’d taken three tablets poked his head around
the door. Out of his three tablets, one was said to be the
link between animal and human.
Another of his tablets was not unlike virtuosity

Some people on earth had up to 10-12 tablets to choose
from. The nearest of these people was 35 km north west of
the gym - opening a tigers claw and seeing to it with
antiseptic

158.

With a ram on each lapel I crushed the fret of insomnia
I declared the herd were here.
I declared everyone look at their own fleas
I approached the bar. Pulling myself up next to a
lamppost and a commodity

The lamppost spoke sure of his motivations but had the
option of bright. The commodity had a plan which
stretched several sheets of iron & dirt.
My friends, I am a piece of Mind.

An unannounced trumpet of Mind
I am the pork of Mind. I am very close to being a
Dispenser of Mind. I am Chubby Industry & I pluck
The alien hair from the palette of crazy toys

159.

I am driving with my lady-friend to Brighton. I am behind
the wheel. She is looking away into ‘that’. ‘that’ is where
she looks when she is thinking. When she is thinking what
to say next. It would be better if she were looking into
‘this’. When it’s ‘this’, she is only a few seconds from
laughter. ‘that’, is where she looks when she is about to
explode. Look I say, ‘flying horny chickens’. Look, ‘the
farmer Zaps them, the machine wraps them’. ‘They fall
ready wrapped & fried into your lap’. I repeat it again but
in another voice. It is the voice of the boy from the film
‘Jerry Maguire’. I am pretending to be a very observant
boy reading a sign. ‘Free chicken. Free chicken’, I say as
Ray the boy. & sure enough – I can see her smirking. It’s
here I reach a dilemma. Do I continue with the chicken,
reach over and tug her arm, or use Rays classic line, its a
no fail banker, ‘did you know the human head weighs 7lbs’.

160.

TOP TV celebrity chief caught adding windmill to garlic
mash. Life now ruined in damp bedsit 8 clutching his one
plastic fork. The blow-up sausage roll is not his
Don’t mention flat-pressed pork.

The camera is a copy of LOOT
The enthusiasm is Diazapan
The menu is a bed-board knocking
With mice crying in the walls bleeding

Tonight an of out-of-date fire extinguisher has come for
supper. The dressing gown doesn’t cover all the table but a
black marker fills in. Using the fire extinguisher he breaks
free the bag of frozen coley from its bed. He apologies and
says maybe we should go again

161.

I was born with an extremely large mouth of despair
I had in my gap a large spank
I flapped on the patio bringing up the family tuna
I was the Frank in Frankfurt
The bearer in pall-bearer
See me and you saw the bloody chimpanzee thing
Aunts, uncles, grandmas, grandpas, and cousin Tim
Neighbours, past neighbours, visiting friends of neighbours
Huddled in the yard before bracing the door bell
Father carried a thick stick and paced the hall
In a small shed perched on the coffee table is where I babied. The smell of fabric conditioner and bleach filled the home. See me they said & you saw the back teeth in your ancestors. See me and you saw the pockets for clenched fists. I was doom. I was documentary.
I was messenger. I was salvation or bust. I was the product of a bored stable. I was Tom Waits’ song child

162.

George is 21 today
George waddles off to the crapper
George gets lost & ends up in Venice Beach

Venice Beach is a pile of roller-skates.
There is a pile of roller-skates the size of a pyramid.
Richard Brautigan and his buddy are trying a pair on

Who are you asks George?
Who am I? What are you on? Asks Richard
And the sea missed a wave & they all duck

‘We’ve got to get out of here’, & the three men
run to Big Sur. The sea follows them, running with its
hem at its waist. The genitals of the water are being
hunted by Japanese fishermen.

163.

He went into the police as his father was in the thieves
His mother put his picture on the wall
His father took it down

Just married recently that didn’t last
The family who he’d married into were all illiterate
They could only view enjoyment in 2-D

The marriage lasted 6 months
The cost was the best part of 60 thousand pounds
They had been together since teenagers

He is now dating a fellow police person
She climbed the best part of a ladder in 2 years
They get into a 2-seater red sports car and drive away

164.

She tended to wasteland horses at the white gate
Brushing the knots out of their manes
Seeing to the sores around their eyes

A letter had been written to the owner
Permission had been granted
Caution though had been aired

The owner pulled up in his Landrover
He saw the girl at the gate, this humoured him
He believed the girl was wasting her time
He smiled He got out and went over

The owner got angry when he saw dreadlocks on the
pavement. He had never agreed on this, ‘what was she
doing’. The girl spilled all she was holding back
‘It was cruel to let animals live in this state’

165.

It was the time to put the liver damage up flag pole
It was not a bad settee. It was vodka
His broken veins on his cheeks were Protestants
It was the cheque you made a mistake on before tearing up

166.

The shift ran from Corned Beef to stale tips
The Law library fed the puppy in jargon
The light in the foyer sat in the chair & broke wind

The job consisted of sitting close to earthquakes
There were two turnstiles and a burial fiasco
It wasn’t Greta Garbo. Issuing lost cards is a misnomer

Love ended that fall as did the flute
The Telephone Exchange exploded.
He trimmed his beard in sight of bossy headlining clouds

167.

The cushion of liberal parents
Fighting fascism with a dildo
A feather in a jar of luck

Larry Gammons - Human by the Sea

2007-05-11T08:01:00.001Z

1.

As wide as it will possibly go, I lost any claim to warranty.
This was a couple of tumours fighting for the marrow,
kissing on the street. Exhibitionism in its commonest gown

Mr Kumar was flummoxed. The geometry of circles no one
got. There was all that arse in his hands. And me though
struggling, evidently lacking, swapped.

Dropped forthwith the gentle strokes of deadpan. I threw
everything I had at the canvas. Pots, pans, Cherokee
doll. I went.

Keeping firm that eye vigilant. Seeing in her tongue up my
top nostril twice - we’d only just met see. Peering out the
farmed salmon . A window in the honk & cheer of a cab

2.

They had bought back guns from opium wars
and small porcelain potties - just plain kinky.
They could build fences and nestle, & war was
his mother, war was our mother. Hot butter run
over a dead wife. Slamming his boot against
the brake, ‘if the colonel don’t pay us etc.’
There was a tight pinch in the groin & it caused
follicles to throw him. They blew his dandelion.
Clunk, done. Human by the sea

3. An enemy of the loud mouth poetic bore.

You’re a whale [good on you Iceland]
playing a whale bassoon. The stool you sit on
is called Dorothy & Julian owns a watercolour.

Honking at the eulogies. Too much coriander,
too much nana, too many lapels, no distortion

This postman hates your telegrams,
& ‘bad-taste’ isn’t something a little fatty should
spread. The inscription reads ‘good hall’

4.

There is 67 foot of idiot in this room.
One could be you. 67 could be you
Swim backwards if you wish

I get up from the table
I fart gravestones under the stairs
I return with the long way round

5.

I have Lansdown Rd on my neck. Through my stomach the
Orange Order went. A pretty woman talks to me, I tell her I
got troubles - the weight of thrice by thrice. She pumps my
foot. She jabbed me with her summer pencil. I was not a
professional dingy. I played records about the Downs.

6.

I think Britain is faking. I think Britain has
woken up July 7 & drank too much coffee. I
think banning-smoking is the best relationship
Britain has ever had. I won’t mention what you
did when you went to France. I’ll keep quiet
about Dublin and its B.O. For now you just do
what the little woman says. We’ll be in touch,
& stop looking so anxious around that white
settee.

7.

(I) can’t go to Clapham picture house
tonight because it’s an average knife
but a fucking hot furnace ‘& have to
draw too quickly ‘bid’ on his chest’
‘bId’ ‘BiD’ ‘bID’ then home.

8.

Dear Bob, about the gig in Hyde park, sorry mate, but
I’m not gonna be able to make it. Crowds only make me
paranoid, and foreigners give me the willies. Did I mention
that I was once followed by a homosexual for over 3 hours
in Venice, anyway, if you’re interested the bloke next
door’s got a van going cheap. It’s taxed till April, and he
said he’d knock a little off for cash. Let me know. I’m sure
one of your little fellas could make use of it. Regards.

9.

Her nature is erudite & France, one of two sisters.
A cloud in a porn movie, posh but quirky, the family
own Beethoven’s egg-cup. Looking straight at auburn
you don’t arrive at audacious, you open (try to) the
broom-cupboard at the Tate. I joke her, did she know
the rich-crucified had the nails driven into the armpits
as to hide the join? A good old slap I get - not for
insolence. It’s my posture - ballet in the blood see, &
‘means it’ slouch! These two - her sister is preoccupied -
are Egyptian freaks. There are jokes in Egypt that just
aren’t funny, remember that. The sister is afraid a curse
may own her heat. ‘Nibby’ the pet turtle bit her this
morning. Though you reason with these gods apparently,
and harmony is restored. Only very slightly or maybe,
or not at all, because of.

10. Two sides of the same coin

One brother, the missionary
travelled Africa converting the black to Jesus
The other, the mercenary, shot them
They were a right pair, they were

11.

Why not connect that sparkling toe ring
by Mercedes
to your naval, and call it
the Princess Di.

12.

1. The grinning sailor looks around intoxicated
for a place to dump the cardboard. Anywhere
but the battleship

2. I type all-nude and peel my bits from my thighs
I peer into aunties sandwiches, before next-door
slams the phone down.

3. The magpie stole a tiara the thief did steal. The
hook hurt the fish very much. A small village
school award brings the weather

13.

I share a cigarette with the graveyard.
The graveyard is a pre-op transsexual.
Out of his tights fall a few deads he forgot about.

The graveyard hands me his genitals. They
are truly three shaved lambs. There are tight
blue biro dashes for collars.

It begins to drizzle and I can smell levers.
I suggest we cross the road to the Kings Head.
The graveyard checks his fusilier for change

14.

I crash into Belgium.
The sinks are full of babies.

15. Amsterdam 93.’

The bar (clue in: the wooden thing) stops the bicycles
falling over the cliffs, without wood Amsterdam would
find its knees. the mayoral gardens (delights of being
high my lord) is a multi-gym of the upper-register, and
I am not yet horse (voice & beast) but isn’t that guy
(tearful ‘joy’ there) combing his beer?

There is an expansive crooked lounge adjoining hells-
kitchen. It swings a bell in each hand tirelessly looking
for Elsie, Elsie I explain to a Japanese student, is the
Jackaroo, & the Jackaroo is the woman that always only
just left.

Dear London (I begin) I have a great idea for a game
show. It’s like blind-date, but the 2 guys that don’t get
the girl get chemically castrated p.s. get your arse over
here (it’s Anne Frank on the front) the spring rolls are
great (card never sent).

The longest kiss was for over 17 hours and forty-three
minutes fact. I feel my penis for luck (it’s that ivory neon
that does it) As I read the horseshoe back to front. I did
later ask what the inscription said, and just got handed a
brandy, over and over.

Hashish, removes material, levels ground and spreads
acerbic hindsight (chuckle you do too) It slaps the nape
of the neck, it is a rhino into a haystack. I can feel the
soot at the back of my throat climb into the spinal shoot,
and the love grandma gave in her cake-spoon bursts up
‘em.

16.

1. You don’t have to have your arms
all the way around the shuttle to walk
home humming aloud how you hugged
the space ship

2. It’s man that puts the labels in the wrong
place

17.

No-one, not even old man Reilly, leaves them doors open
anymore, cos it’s a big sexual innuendo. Doors, hatches,
windows and flaps, we close them. The telephone even
closes them.

18.

I peel the leaning tower, heart to haemorrhoids to
16windows at once. I’m invisible but loud poor
in Pizza. Mad, taking inches of the one leg, out here.
Draining the milk I recognise them curtains from the
test-centre. Them strides to the car were surely fake

19.

As the children rammed popsicles
into yellowed china emphysema
drew their smiles. Nelly being a
catholic, was not mummified

20. Beautiful mind ruined with beautiful drug.

A landscape in the mouth of a shepherd is either dull or
telling dependent on oats. It runs, he garbles, ‘from
right over there to right over here,’ and if you want detail
‘a bit of green and a church somewhere off down that way’

I must pick up that blouse. I swap the microphone for the
lamb. ‘the phone box has melted’

The shepherd walks off feeling barbed-wire in his water
‘can I have some barbed wire?’ [come back, I chase, I
need him to sign my sheet]

Stock-cube.

21.

I lay out in the dark.
one Ivan in fishnets, one
Ivan in the jazz. Midnight,
at the counters of seeping perforation.
I bring my knees to my chest and cycle

22.

I didn’t see the problem
The cuffs really went with the torch
that said goodnight
to trains

23. Communal house share

‘your girlfriend has left half her minge on my towel’
‘see’, ‘minge’, he sniffs it, ‘that’s not minge’, ‘that’s
monkey’, ‘and anyway, who ate my onion?’, ‘what
onion?’, ‘this onion’ ,‘that’s not onion, that’s minge’
‘minge?!’ ,‘yes minge’, ‘how did that get there?!’
‘well we must have minge in the flat’, ‘it’s all those
girlfriends you leave on the floor’, ‘what do we do?’
‘put down some monkey and catch the minge’, ‘but
i don’t want to kill minge’, ‘monkeys don’t kill minge,
onions do’

24. From the other room.

Our accident prone neighbour, death just can’t
finish her crossword, has me jumped, followed
by the tool box emptying out its contents crash.

She is never to explode, bang, & have me running
She skirts live rails often. She never goes all the
way and so I can be of use. Always on call, never
called for.

Her executioner is frustrated, I'm tense, & here
she is again, dripping in loose gun shot at my door,
asking if I could help her wax her bomb, so to
resemble ‘truth’, (tomorrow ?) ok.

25.

1. Every Friday night I travel the inch along the ‘great-wall’
(necessary) to keep my hand-in, never an inch closer, but
never an inch further away (& I don’t remember who put
it so eloquently). Friday is the evening of recalibration (for
me (it’s) a painting of a hyena. Add another whisker, a little
shadow surrounding the claw) Tickets for this parade, I’m
afraid are not available (as everyone is at in their own way)

2. How can anyone dress so incredibly wrong (was what
she first said as I walked up to her) She was lunging over
at some partisan official, a creditor (the triangle has some-
how an extra edge) (& consistency in colour and cloth &
size of garments to her, was personal) I saw nothing
outrageously mismatched. What’s with the cloth? She dry
heaved

3. (now chatting to the woman I wish I were out with,
sort of) (staying within radar at least) ‘fish’ people I live
without, she bangs on (by fish I think she means ‘feed
them and they rise to the bait’) It must be exhausting
heeding these calls (I add: to nature) (she isn’t quite sure
how I mean ‘nature’) (nature thrown in to any sentence
is unnerving) She sees these ‘fish as distracted souls (I’ll
quote) ‘when you can’t see ‘one interviewer one couch’
one goal, you’ll be at odds’ (id prefer, puppies nipping
at ankles (and it’s only ankles because they’re 6 inches tall)
but not that I believe in what she’s on about anyhow)

26.

I’m very feared by woman. Mostly those unavailable
to eye-liner. There’s an odd entity. There’s also the worst
of rhymes.

Borstal preens the convicts of the future, he counts with
‘em - it says, turn the page. It says, ‘touch but don’t turn
round’.

If only I could build on this, stay cool - manage the crook.
Instead of ruining my infamy by begging them for sex.
Instead of crying.

27.

This is supposedly good, god & evil, devil, take a seat
or move over. Him, deranged, enjoys sub-sets, not
misanthropic. Wears big purple velvet boots. Long
industrious rubber spikes out the soles. How do I know?
They bend, he stands on them. They are pot-marked.
‘I’m dancing darling, dancing dandy, and aint you pretty
fine looker sugar sweet heart’. She’s real, sipping soda.
She’s gingham epoch. ‘Got to keep them devils down’.
She sways her hips, encouraged, tooling with the showboat
tunes. He preaches casual superstitious garb. He sweats
into his kettle. The devil rats are drilling up for oxides,
‘so the good man god above put us spikes on our soles’
She has most of the straw in her mouth. These ‘nosey
devils, trying pull some air from our lungs and switch
our woman for snakes’ This clown is catching. There is
a circular crowd only because the barn is square.

28.

1. the birds get in the winds eyes
2. simple sallow farm folk embrace the telephone

29. Diary of a ball sucker

Ball sucker
Ball sucker
Ball sucker
Two weeks off getting balls sucked
Ball sucker

30.

I took my time savouring the suet homes. I carved
into them puddings with detection. I removed all
the lips first. I worked the rim as Airfix ™.

Refugees from Beckton reported symptoms of head
Ibiza. Radium was twisting their disco. Chlorine is
no match for the proton-heavy slag.

It was a magazine aimed at the hot-rod enthusiast.
wheels, chrome & spaghetti. Heinz spaghetti splashed
where heart-burn met glamour. It was a birthday issue

31.

I just made one
as the ceiling split
and out poured
liquid Hammond organ.

32.

Do you remember O’Flannigans bar. The postcard of the
mariachi above the paper promotional trophy ‘just first
prize’. I stood a pint in there, or some.

A day in the fields & that idiot screaming, ‘you should be
able to erect a fence, didn’t you work on a farm?’ Barley
yes, tonnage, not cattle.

And in we’d trudge, red where it wasn’t white. Beneath
our nails, what we’d done. 14% dead insects on our boots,
the land of Ireland, the flag, the song, the prayer.

I’ll always remember Micky Flynn. b. somewhere, d. the
next room. His one milky-blue eye (grit). His fiddle.
When cabbage wasn’t boiling hankies were.

33.

Cheers the bar where everyone knows your name.
The bar where everyone knows the name you give them.
The bar where you are named twice on arrival
& have three months to decide.
The bar where names are so very important it hurts.
The bar where names are given Mondays off
And everyone just sits quiet, still and winded

34.

Dunkirk was a great landing, but lets
be honest – they’ve done nothing since

35.

the corners of new soap hurt in mention.
‘so what would you like for dinner?’

36.

I can smell the petrol on her little cranial engine.
She leaves a seafood muscle on her plate. I conduct.

It is a gauntlet from the North sea. I ask her how
they transfer kidneys? I ask her the shape of her
village?

Later that day and nearly died. Emma gets
shy around me see. Her glasses fell-off. I munch the
pine-party cold.

37.

I have two troubles (see) bottom and breath.
& when our lighthouse crumbles I’ll take
both Simons to the rocks and grate my woes

38.

I have one hand on the bed-board. I gripped the stock-
car. I broke into a showgirl. I went on a 70 year tour
speckled in silver. I'm allergic to Naples. I got the hotel-
illness in my back. Breakfast is liver. Tea is liver-sausage
There are lots of showers. I'm mainly bugle and punch.

39.

You can only both stand upon a spike when ones holding
the other in the others arms. There’s a town clutching itself
by itself, with itself. Hesitation I say mats the tendrils, and
the longer we delay, the greasier we become’d.

40.

‘Juggler boy, last night, set fire to the kitchen.
The kettle melted.’ I thought of your daughters horse.

There I was, all in denim. She’d spotted the machetes
in a clay oven pot. He juggles, fire eats. Kids parties,
between courses, when pissed in Marrakech.

& I hid how much it hurt falling off the unicycle.
I landed on my throat. I hid it with, ‘will you marry me?’

41.

Sipping his very very very small beer, his Cadillac
waving to everyone

42.

Enjoy life late morning. This fine Rioja is exquisite.
Recommended by the silent movie motion flick of
such name, ‘it copes fantastic in heels over cobbles’

& I’m thinking export gratitude. Alcoholic acts of
kindness, give. ‘bathe swans in melted ripe
extraneous planet.’ I rose off my chair hamlet style.

Pig, it was whispered, in my ear, when I was young,
when I cut my sausage into 8 pieces, tastes all that
better for an orchard jaunting. O I have not brushed

My teeth, I do not shave! And this tongue did once
kiss a cousin. A 300 pound suit and he went straight
for the brawn, the bride wasn’t happy. I would journey

to meet – shake hands – with the barrel, send a crate
of something fine to the sun in that part of Spain, &
on the small card write, ‘I have no underpants on
(it’s choice) hallelujah. I hang out my washing,
cheers’. O in this mood I play with the noisome idea

of inviting over those I haven’t stopped loving, and
back to when I was at school now: walking into the
revenant sounds of an empty gymnasium - dust
rising in a room filled with perfumed light

43.

Half man half horse walks into a doctors surgery
‘I think the man next door is trying to steal my wife’
‘Really (do you get) any fevers, pains down your left side?’
‘No, but it takes a bag a sand on my back before I can
even think about climbing the fence.’

44.

Only touch me if I’m dead (when) if you find my finger in
something it shouldn’t, but don’t break my wrist to remove
it, hacksaw whatever it’s in; my finger I need in heavens
phone-box

And if my cough hasn’t stopped, I give you permission to
reach in and drain my lungs, but care not to make me too
schoolboy; I want to be at the back of the choir understand

I hope to be clothed, but if I’m not clothed, you’ll find
clothes, till then think of me ‘think clothes’ Industrial
denim & welders caps; looking to play cards in the boiler
room

45.

I drew lengths. I plotted a nautical mile with a biro,
with several biros. I drew over everything. I raised the
Pharaoh. I fought that horrid rabbit disease with a balcony.
I valet’ed his bedsit room.

46.

She passed-out loathing men and landmarks, clothed
for a funeral, ascending high in mouth of giant bird.
Drunk on mushrooms, daisies & liquor. Sprawled there,
life-and-labourer, across my new iron bed. Her adult
nipple, her left my right perched between my teeth.
My finger in her vagina parked.

I quoted mishap and great thunderous irony very
similar to our man Samson. I gargled on the impish
delights, cracking the obvious one liners to me and snails.
I appealed to the great gall of comedy, now let me now in,
where is my medal?

Ready to receive at the podium, the zenith stroked
I did so fall out and off of her, imbued with the hysteria
of charity, in the ensuing natural roll of sleep, which
followed her left my right

47.

He got punched with a triangle, the
colour of margarine (and went down
down down) in the flower beds bums
(tramps) plant, by just walking down
streets

48.

was it the moon?
chap at the dairy?

a soft seat i agree.

my landlady
a 7 inch saucer.
No. I sat on gloves for a year

49.

Saw some of the boat race today (the middle bit)
It’s a two horse race watched by people with
more than two horses

I then met an Australian. He told me, where he’s
from it’s 19 miles to the nearest shop

‘Why don’t you just open your own shop then?’,
‘buy the food off of yourself.’ Service your little
crevice

He looked at me like I was crazy, ‘you’re kidding
me mate aint ya’. And called his mate over who
lived in a shared house

50.

Gravities arsehole, Alan Sugars fingers (yum)

51.

First, in the beginning, it was just a bath of beans.
I mean, you were free, to just bean about, do like
beans do. roll. break, squidge, orgy yourself, kill
who you liked, take anyone else’s wheelbarrow.
‘If you got a problem with that’, and no one spoke
so wordy but it was, just like, I’m taking this and
if you’re gonna stop me, fight me. And with no rules,
contracts, or highlights, you won the wheelbarrow –
say he won it – fair and square, just say that, but he
wouldn’t stop at your wheelbarrow, he’d have your
down-pipe, your woman, the better kids, your spear
and so on. see, it wouldn’t end at your wheelbarrow.
It’s a lake of beans, back then. All smoozy and
undefined, and that went on for, so long., then guys
got in gangs, villages and teams. This is our stream
they’d say, no fucker is having it, and of course
another group, would see it, say ‘we’re having
that, be ready at 6 tonight’ basically there’d be
a fight, and as before who won the fight won
the whole caboodle, huts, stream, stream artefacts,
bronze and a recipe for soup.
500 –750 years later, everyone’s going nuts, I
mean crazy, everyone’s got teams and teams
in teams, and things in the earth, not just things
over ground worth something, things jewels in
the earth, and that team likes that team because,
they do this for them and that team hates them,
and they can’t get on even though they’re the same.
And that’s basically how it went

52.

If you were alive to see where they buried you, you
would not be smiling, it is cramped, and don’t be upset
but the guy next door was a raving communist
I guess all you get is space for a headstone and an urn
and I would visit more but that trek up the hill leaves me
dry. Did you know Bill’s carp bred this year?

53.

2 ladies discussed ‘lady exams’. I waved the
Portuguese embassy. ‘If I had known,’ she said
‘I would have been more sympathetic’, ‘you
poor thing.’ They both (then) looked at my
muddled solstice. I am moored just around the
bay.

54.

Hoxton is full of the new wide boy,
the media market stall holder is out
in the sun with friends, and I so wish
that upturned skateboard meant, large
truck hit-and-run knocked them all dead

55.

1. I keep hitting ice-
It’s one way of wiping my face
2. It’s up onto the wall
To get there
3. Along the top of the wall
4. Through breath, ugly throats (smell).
5. I hit ice, wondering why I hit ice
6. I keep hitting ice
7. This is a fit (isn’t it, what I’m describing, a fit)

56.

I am the last man on earth and I choose the crane. I want
the mobile pick-things-up & drop-things-down machine.
He bought posh white handkerchiefs for a wedding later
that day. He rooted around in the houses along Glendale
Avenue. He searched for jewellery and found a rabbit
hutch. There were spade marks in the oven. I hadn’t seen
an advert for oak furniture in 3-4 months. I blacked
my face with burnt cork and drove.

57.

I guess it’s politically incorrect to
say you want to cum over kylies
tits since they’re all full of cancer
and that there probably shows my
ignorance, ‘cos tits aint full off
cancer, cancers some how just in
it, like ghosts, or piracy, triathlon

58.

‘Our kisses should really nail something in. Our advances
should do more. We don’t do enough me and you.’
I feel it’s time for her suicide. I think she should cut the
grass. We walk around the zoo. You get pregnant again
I re-read the instructions. The small claims court is a pun.

59.

What is it like to live in my veins? It is like
ire and blood and fist kebabs twisting, turning
in tunnels dark and sugared. Dancing without
knees & working at a campsite. You eat my
bread; you confiscate my wine; you fry in with
my liver; you smell of this icky gas.
Poolside beneath the drooping banner, you
dip your toes and stir this ear infection. I got
lumbago on a bed of damp.

60.

I point my gun-slinger fingers. The vault is your
anus. I walk into HMV and demand quiet. I will
live for 2.5 seconds. I’ll take you down with my
TASAR. I’ll just nip into the Notting Hill carnival
for a piss. I’ll do finger-puppets for the kids. & at
sundown we’ll swim to the lice-y piano near pop-
off town.

61. Every ones shitting – just another Friday night.

‘reg. is lee there?’, ‘hang on mate, i think he’s
on the throne’,‘lee. lee. leee??’, ‘jel. hes on the
throne, i’ll get him to call you back’, ‘okay’

‘hello, julia’, ‘who’s this’, ‘it’s jel’, ‘jel?’, ‘jeremy’
‘o’, ‘could i be cheeky and ask you too see if phils
upstairs’,‘sure. hang on….’, ‘jel’, ‘yes’, ‘he’s on
the toilet. he said he’ll see you there’

‘jel’, ‘yes’, ‘did you just try calling my land line?’
‘yes’, ‘i was having a shit, are you still on for tonight’
‘sure, just gonna have a shit and brush my teeth, &
i’ll be out’,‘okay’

‘i know he’s in. the lights are on’, ‘paul. paul.
paul’ ‘give him a call’, ‘hes probably having a
shit or something’, ‘paul, where are you?’, ‘hes
coming down, he was just having a shit’,
‘thought so’

62.

I drank whisky. She could sing. She had no songs
though. I’d missed the middle episode. It arrived.
I wasn’t quite sure what it was. It was a very small
compact breakfast sandwich. I couldn’t stand there
in the wings. I couldn’t applaud with thunder. I was
buying pistachio ice cream when I worked out I
was touring Caerphilly with a bulb of twat.

63.

She was the face on the napkin missing from action.
the bow. The overlaid festive drum around the peach
trough. & being from texas had sand under her bonnet
and freckles for nesting freckles

She is bronze Tapas. The waitress with a wisp of
Virginia in her mouth. & when she gets giddy it went
kinky, and I had a symptom.

Now, 23 can’t be scored with one dart, though it’s a
unique place to get a stilt stuck. & me, I do not have
23 anymore. I recall vaguely paraffin by the gallon
do you have a heart, a liver. can you feel a back? at 23?

Her Daddy senior was a baseball star once 3 seasons long
before the introduction of electric light, a shift in playing
times stole his god sent eye. Fuck off I said, but it’s on the
mark, true.

Her mother makes pies. She delivers on time too.
From door to doorstep it’s all best wishes, and always
is extremely surprised for when you call, even if
you’ve Satan in your handbag. Lettuce is yellow.
And tomatoes are red.

64.

‘fate’ i wander back to
wouldn’t i just rather bleed?

65.

Against garlic stone white humble square
home, draped in clay black loose shawl.
Woman you are old, scratched. Breathing
delirium. Body of rutted grooves and
speckled miss mash. Growing ever more
clear on where death is. The mountain is
aching! And between twiddling your
fingers, a goat with bell also chews

66.

Ghandis dead, half the worlds starving. I just want some
big ones before I go. There’s glass in the baby food, a bored
polar bear at the zoo. Big ones, you know? Eventually the
universe will do something. maybe explode, maybe pack
up and fuck off (who cares) a few pints and some big ones,
that’s all I want. Statistics could prove the rise of the
biscuit, against the decline in stockings. I miss stockings,
but I’m willing to miss stockings for some big ones

67.

What ever happened to the small cock? You don’t see
it any more. The scribble, the doodle, the ejection
of fluid out the end. Once they were everywhere, books,
desks, doors, trains, walls, phone boxes, occasionally
accompanied by a large set of tits, with huge nipples,
and milk. It was really the only way to get over it, lots
of them everywhere cycling to the coast, it helped

68.

1. no jason p king, didn’t forget the s
so it’s war, big deal, i relax.

2. what war i say? (&) no im not getting up, not yet
don’t talk to me – anyway - im a general, a mastermind
fucker. stay away from me – i pull shots

3. rainbows would meet if i pulled that shot
i could snidely do both. missiles and rainbows
over berlin, fireworks blew mighty loud.

4. yes. ok. im an antagonist. a quiet antagonist thorn.
i did it. i admit. now go, this is my warm pie
im sucking on

69.

I went another way to hell this year, by china-canoe up
through the liver. I drunk. Memoirs of travel, vague, the
glitter didn’t stick. I woke a world cup later, what a
stomach I’d drawn in screeches

70.

I was there behind the terrace. I was the lager.
Young Jim squandered his opportunity. I drove
into his guts. I re-labelled everything the Odeon.
I made his girlfriend kiss his nipples too much

71.

I’m going to stalk you with my rhino, hunt you down to
that restaurant of your choice. Stand there at the window
like orphans in our ceremonial headdress I made both of
us. ‘look there’s a rhino’, ‘fuck the rhino’, ‘it’s him’.

I’m going to drag my rhino down to canary wharf,
overpower the guard with flights of fancy, buy time with
my good looks. Take the lift up to the 67th floor
‘sandwiches’, i’ll cry ‘sandwiches’, whilst the rhino looks
for your handbag. Cos there’s a feather I want you to have

I’m going to take my rhino up the oxo tower, by bus,
rotate around & around. Stand on my rhino, with a knife
between my teeth singing a song from the jungle book
The one where the jungles getting too much. The one
where the jungle demands your young

72.

‘would look lovely next to wooden panelling, in an oxford
bar.’ adding ‘waiting on silver of some sort.’ adding again
‘while her flatmate was hunting through the isles, for tom-
orrows croissant’, additions over

73.

When I get to work they
asked me what I did on
my holiday and I say ‘I
took a 94 hour bath’ and
what they say, ‘you didn’t
go away’, ‘no. I took a 94
hour bath and read a maga-
zine’ really you never left
the house ‘no I took a 94
hour bath’, and imagined
small shrimps swimming
around my undercarriage
biting my aura. Well some-
times it’s good to just stay
at home, ‘yes. in the bath
for 94 hours playing Bach.’

74.

i escaped an echo.
yes me.

one of my flaps is velvet
and one is gold

okay. they look odd
but they shimmy jimmy

and the forces dish
out platitudes.

& the rod in my back
is choppy

75.

I got a blow job on the steps of London bridge
It’s the only time I’ve really looked at architecture.
I lay back, under the starry sky thinking of all those
cats on ships, getting stepped on by sailors in storms.
Now I don’t know what we traded with the Turks
or why knots never took off,
but this intricate iron work
and the all encompassing perspective aint bad
It aint bad at all, 8 out of ten I’d say,
nine if there were flags

76.

I had to run another earth, get Gideon a new bible, find
Jonah another whale. The picture consisting of a graphic
image of a person or thing I renamed night, and buried
plans for a love generator

77.

I had to run another earth II
to the woman
outside the coffee shop
‘your knees are burning’

78.

I have this condition. I have this opportunity.
I have death and a nice cup of tea.
I want my loins out of the mouth of spikes.
I want my face out of the corner, my nose not
pressing up against the rotting cheese.
I would pray but my arms are tied and the punch-
lines are poor, and these bare boards are crippling.
I’d scream run mad savage into the road but the
label on my underpants chaffs my liver.
I cannot love an idiot. I cannot love nelson mandela.
I cannot find the words to open a tin of beans.
I am being strangled around the waist.
I have a penis that just wants the salad.
I am dripping blood because all my washers are gold
I am more inspiring than any of the disciples.
I have lived an eternity in a small caravan on fruit.
There is a light at the end of the tunnel I know, it’s
the gifted one bending over throwing me a salute.
I have an opportunity. I have this damned condition.
I have death and a nice cup of tea.

79.

landscapes on roller-skates
scooted by, SHUT heaven!, they screamed
julie garland –
she told that to me?
(just before she) stood up – moved oz – and i was
no longer in it.

80. I want her - I want lots of the same coin.

1.
and they raise their bowlers, or
twist with guitars, in unison, that’s showbiz

2.
and they, at the snap of my fingers, shoot like bacteria
and form pretty patterns, flowers, or polygons.

3.
and they wax and wane, curve and spiral, like
a staircase, through and among the axis, and
still hint reed as in haiku

4.
and for after dinner, jump, head to toe, edge to edge
to baroque piano chamber music, and what delight
we clap.

81.

I was leaning out my window, smoking. Neil Young was
on loud. Two fine ladies walked past. I straightened my
hairs. One nudged the other one, ‘look at him’. Neil Young
wasn’t happy but was trapped behind a glass-like UN-
sanctioned can’t crack it - it wouldn’t be right in my
position type of thing thing place

82. I will not describe Anna, Anna will describe me.

6 wallets back, previous to atrophic dreamland,
I believed in love. Notes, coins and photos were
complete packaged agents.

I drawled over saintly vestal bride, did up her
dainty boots and sucked the liquorice fantasy.
No one likes to see their labours cut into chunks
said Isaac, I drove a blue car, and spent hours
under the consequence.

I have done bare-chested, & the long walk home
Past those also on the long walk home. I once, I
did, ‘adjusted to an opposing opinion’, & it was
not contagious, or some other soft material. It was
something that served as a guide, but it’s not the
central stone in this arch.

The frequent screech of brakes, the psychobabble,
the intermix of garnish and garrotte, plumage
all fading to levers, turned me sour. I declare, I
wanted to belong, serve, sail. I did not want to
inhabit a hive.

Tinsel spends most of the year in a box. It is the
electricity in the gas chamber, this, meeting family
locked into a chicken meal. I perpetually misdial,
I fuck up, I fail, I have no readership here in masonry.
I get my coat, and leave the nook i grew out of

83.

I could say it was my first annex. I had heard
of lipo-suction the same week. There was in the
garden reflective twinkles. I took out the suede.

84.

Waking up on the floor of a bus drunk, a Chinese
woman poking me with a walking stick. ‘Get up you
man, get up you man,’ she was screaming, ‘this is
your stop.’ Well it wasn’t, she just wanted me off, so
I scissor-kicked her in the knees, and she got off.
My dad told me that it probably wasn’t wise to piss off
that lot, as they are on their way up. Back in the sixties
you could go down the docks and really have a go, but
these days it’s different. It’s a problem, it is

85.

I’ll give you mercy, I’ll give you it.
Mercy, bicycles, mercy, bicycles,
headless bodiless bicycles & mercy
loads of them. Bicycles in formation –
chopping bicycle, changing bicycles
Side by side riding bicycles
& I have the lane that runs wide enough
besides a farm of crops

86.

If the lion does not roar, does he not concede?
Does his mane vanish? And his crown welter?
Is the jungle less of a place? Or, the world for that matter
bigger or smaller? Can we be, on just what we say, or do?

A story:- an Irish, of red hair, said, ‘oi you black pig, pick
up that shovel & get to work, you're not in the fucking
Congo now, understand!?’

I rattled with fear, sunken and hurt, he went on, I heard
him, ‘Shamus, what's with the darkie? he's a fucking statue,
where did you find that coon?’

These words ripped out my lion's teeth, they pulled
claws; I was young then, the day, I lay down, with a
gunshot in the side, and the land rover drives off

87.

1.a
Shaving small white fluffy hairs

2.a
On a hill on a bend
with a hanging sign that indicates that.

88.

There’s a woman I just got to get too. She’s got a trough in
her back yard, it’s empty now and there’s no plug. But I
know exactly what I’d fill that with. Her loft isn’t boarded
over and her sheds collapsed. ok. Okay. I say. I haven’t got
much to store. Plus. I’m not staying. The bus goes to the top
of her road. It’s then a little walk alone the lane. I won’t go
in winter. Not because of the snow. But because her old
papa isn’t dead yet. I’ve heard the apples on the trees just
wont fall. but the rhubarb does very well. There’s lavender.
There’s a wheelbarrow and a tractor. I don’t really like eggs.
for dinner though she dances. She sings. She paints. Not that
well though, pretty bad actually. She had an exhibition at
the library. The mayor didn’t show because he was ill

89. phone message

‘I’m reading here an article’
‘it’s published by, who’s it published by…’
‘it doesn’t say…but its by helen ’
‘it’s the definitive guide to optimum health’
‘it seems to explain your bowels’
‘your legs’
‘your face, skin’
‘i reckon you got a deficiency’
‘minerals… it makes sense’
‘okay then, that’s it..’
‘bye’

90.

I went into one of those gentlemen outfitters in Mayfair
I said, ‘there’s no price tag on that piano’
He said, ‘no sir, after anal sex what else is there?’

91. In the garden of St Paul’s Covent Garden

Two young boys, brothers, dressed alike, scream
and chase pigeons, clapping their hands and running.
The place is full, it’s lunchtime, the sun is shinning.
I want them to shut up. The two boys are very ginger.
The secretaries are looking at them, then looking at
me. They probably think I am thinking about being
their age, I’m not, I’m massaging my bladder, just
where it meets the pelvis

92.

I hid the lapse fire & safety regulations with beautiful
people. I drunk cider. I spun them on continual replay.
I fooled security monitors. I tricked the wise-guy paying
public. I emptied the tills of stained glass windows.
I raised their heads of hair as if it were my own. I was
not strawberry blonde. I was not ginger out of a crate.
I pulled the biggest heist in copper-knobs ever known.

93.

Liverpool is an empty shin
Morris was a dirty lamppost
& at the bottom of a supple
heaven, the legs of the boy
you never spoke to at school

94.

I went to the doctors the other day, well, I say doctors, it
was candyfloss and gorgonzola, and behind that worked
people with degrees. ‘I'm here to see the doctor’ (there I
said it) ‘which one’, ‘I don’t know’, ‘what’s your name?’
‘quinn. q u i nn’, ‘okay take a seat’. ‘So what’s his name?’
‘next’, ‘dr next’, ‘no him’. Behind me was a woman so old
& why do these oldies get so close, it’s a queue not a shelf
On the couch were small tiny kids pulling scabs out of fire
engines, and wiping snot on the left of things. Never one to
waste a minute, I had a tug at a few errant pubes I knew,
caught up behind the helmet. I just had the second by the
tail when I spotted the cctv, & fuck the next bit, it’s rubbish.
So I knocked on the door and went in. There was a broom
and a mop and a copy of Sharon, behind the desk was a
man made of shins. Behind him on the wall was a pic
of his two girls, they both had wrong eyes, one going Paris
one going Gateshead (you know what I say) ‘What can we
do for you?’, he said swallowing the rest of his biscuit,
‘I’ve got stabbing pains in the anus, sir’, ‘I think I’ve got a
pile’, ‘have you got a pile?’, ‘I don’t know?’, ‘have you
had a look?’, ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for, and plus,
the only mirrors we got go on the walls’, ‘can you feel a
lump?’, ‘where?’, ‘on your anus’, ‘no’, ‘would you like me
to take a look?’ He got up tweaked his nips, wet his fingers
and read a little Lorce, ‘why not, I said, while I’m here’,
‘okay if you can pull down your bottom half, get up on the
couch and bring your knees to your chest’. I thought about
what he said, I thought too hard, my anus moaned gypsy
with long dirty finger nails. Sat there looking at a green
wall I felt the snap of glove, and after that life just got
better. ‘This may hurt, I’ve run out of lubricant, I’m
afraid’, ‘okay sir, no problem, I’ve worked in factories’
Pulling apart my cheeks like he was looking for the other
shoe. ‘Christ’, he shouted, ‘your anus is torn to shreds’,
‘this is…I’ve never… okay get down of the couch’, ‘what
have you been doing?’ (& it was nothing like that) ‘have
you put anything up there?’, ‘a carrot, but that was about
ten years ago’, ‘I’ve still got it I think’, ‘your whole ring is
filled with tiny cuts’, and on the back of a fag-packet he
drew me what he saw. ‘so what is it?’ I said nailing that
second pube, ‘I don’t know’, ‘but I’ve got just the thing’ It
was a small book called ‘theres no sharp edges on coffins.’
(decent sort)

95.

The more aussies we allow
into Britain, the more hair
down our plug holes, and I
don’t know about you, but
I like to feel my piss hits the
Thames like a bullet thru a
brothel, not a sardine covered
in sellotape

96.

It was bad. I was real bad. I shit splinters. I had
to buy a beer on the way out. I stood in the way-
out. I stood in Chelsea–supporters court. Big fat
shinny mice couldn’t lift the gabble. The French
were on fire. I parried with the sinus’ of hate. I
took a bike ride of the premierships. Happy,
sort-of in cortisones.

97.

The medicine man must be in town. This place had
changed. The bar was stormed. All us men going bald

Then I spot the ‘in’.
Single white female. Her ‘back-of-head’, separate
from the scarred crowns.

‘Would you be so sweet as to get me half a star?’
‘Sure,’ she said.

& of course it was no smoking at the bar.
‘He’s upset with you’, ‘him and a few others’
He wouldn’t get smoke in his eyes
if he moved a bit quicker.

‘It’s a lovely shaped glass,’ a swan swallowing a pebble
‘It is,’ and I made her drink some of it
‘I work in a health club’, ‘you too’
Enter the muscled man

98.

I did my work-experience in a polystyrene whore. I was the
three degrees. I glued the fur to the letter-head. I untangled
the cat-walk when the electrosis went doo-wap. I did it
until I got flu

99.

I looked in the Wolf magazine for inspiration.
and all I found was James’s phone number.
(everywhere)

100.

Have you received an invite
to breath holes into newly
weds, create thunder above
the sodden ground, draw ka-
pow in red and yellow flashes,
& scratch faces in silhouettes
in black? I took off home. I
replicated the lion. All attempts
at the Trans-Am were agonising.
I’ll keep on the drip. Pardon.

101.

Touch and you touch, and brush
and you brush, but never sting or
slap. On springs, tongues, lips. A
decathlon of manoeuvres, limbs.
Intricate patterns but very basic
appetite. Solid ground, we made
complete outright noiseless
number #1 (in the charts) din

102.

Paschmina this is Bingo
Wait for it.
Now fuck off

103.

My brother had this thing with shitting himself, especially
at Sainsbury’s in Hornchurch. The Singh’s next door took
him to a fair and he shit himself there too. One of the elder
girls had to wipe him down behind a bush close to the
cricket pavilion. He got real upset too, calling them ‘pakis’
‘cause they wouldn’t let him hold his pants, even though
they were in a plastic bag

104.

What’s the secret to poetry?
‘I killed a dysentery then bought it back to life’

105.

It’s very easy to get lost in hospitals, arteries, based on the
heart. That’s why the bigger bands prefer Abbey Road. Cous Cous?

106.

I funeral.
It’s a last black nectarine
Billy now gone, laziness
& we agreed, no betting on yourself.
The games you play.
His nephew weeps from the wonky eye
I wrote a dirty Bohemian Rhapsody

107.

Madam Mo spoke hiding indigestion. Just getting upon a
horse brings up the acid. An accident by the brook? A
throw, a fall. Did she see my head upon a silver platter?
Eyes enjoying death? Did she freak – and pull the reigns
hard- & get thrown sideways? off? Was that Madam Mo
left stranded in her dream? Frantic, searching for her horse,
running hard to escape my eyes upon that platter?

Madam Mo wants to know, ‘have you done what I asked
you too?’ She is peptic, agitated. ‘I have but,’ Madam Mo
cuts me off. This is just no good. She shakes her crop.

Madam Mo asked me back to share her parlour a few days
previous, and I said no. Madam Mo is insulted. Apparent,
at my side more than usually often, today. Un-eased at my
day-glow livery. Rubbishing my beard.

108.

Then rub them as if marble were always greasy (what have
I got to do, get up and show you?)

109.

We loved the dolphins. We chomped on vanilla. I
swallowed a scab. I said insert, nepotism grew
in my belly. We were sharing a Minder by spring.
I am the press & the galleries are bible basins.

110.

The devils-advocate tried his own mustard gas. It was
an RD Laing initiative. It is the last time he preached on
the heath. I tried to set light to an old oak out of respect
I couldn’t. He must have washed his hair that morning
All we could manage were a few kicks in the legs.

111.

I want Bob Marley to say one thing
Bob, will you say plopsy?

112. Stargazing in hostel Venice

The night outside is mixed with other reindeer, tipping
trays, fooling, and a laugh just sailed cordially past
(put curtain back) There has been two something male
shaves in cracked hand basins seconds apart. With tap,
every razor tap, I gun finger a shot down star.
The yanks bedding next to me tell all in cries and wails.
These are garish nightmares: child bombs, toys & batons
Offence & defence sieve the finds of prodding a lunatic far
from home, and, but I am in Venice, Venice. Hearing cotton
socks being washed and June derailing the national grid.
The cot I’m bunked on is a colony of backsides and foreign
tail – previous signatures in the guest book at madam I
forget whom? because the card over the bell was grimed
illegible italic scrawl, but her hostel fiend, ‘vampire girl’ is
a starved niece with a curtain in front of her face. And a
small German accordion for medleys in the bath.
There are heated roses handed out at the romantic soirée,
below, as student jazz equivalent to student pasta stokes its
pitch. At my window pennies latch onto their new owners
caps and what should I do so, about starving as I've no love
hex shouting gold.

113.

Chicken is a common meal. It’s a decent sized brick
building. The Nhs is moored in clay and perks. Choo
choo trains leave marks. I put up a fence. I pick the
gnats out of my children. I fucking resent oregano
cold-calling. Who says Britain can’t wind-surf?

114. Living very close together

I can hear his neurosis (next door) re-adjusting
sweeping out crochets, milling for life-and-death.
insulin drips out of her pancreas, stalagmites and
stalactites form, there are jewels there in that cavern
fester is believing in condoms, his dream has him
wear a condom. The clientele at the Philippino
tattoo parlour bay a rooster locked in the mud

115.

‘It’s because of the way I look, my face, my hair?’
‘Have you never heard of Myra Hindley?’ (it was so)
‘Well at least no ones ever pissed up your anus?’
‘What do you mean?’, ‘Huntly. He pissed up what’s
her names anus’, ‘and killed kids as well’. ‘Come on.
I've got a spade in the van’, ‘I got to get a shot of this’

116. Looking for sidney fingers

. . .reached in to grab the
nightclub by its emergency
exit, then pulled the place
inside-out. ‘can you s e e
him? is he in there?’, look-
ing for sidney fingers on
we went, ‘that place looked
kinda like an intestinal bouncy
castle don’t it?’, and i hold
your hand big giant, and i
skipped, ‘lets go on to the
cinema, see them all fall off
their seats into mayhem?’

117.

The equators gone wiggly, some mastery undid its knots
Whose side you on snow? Whose bit you with, winds,
rains? Where are you Calcutta? (shouts) That middle
stretch of earth lost its borders, jumps back and forth like
new recruits (undecided) and nothings settled yet. No
places really exist and, wont stop readjusting till someone
huge large gets home

118.

Can I ever forget Mary O'Callaghan? Could man forget fire
and hay? Her sisters were as pretty so, but not yet of that
age. O Mary do you still blame me? But it was your father
who fed the dogs vitamin deficient food, that’s why there
was a white-turd hanging off my pitch fork? Which I slung
over my shoulder on my way to war, and it broke your
nose.

119. Plain and simple mental illness

Whatever happened to plain old simple mental illness.
without diagnosis, without a name. Where’s the head-
case without a bookcase and a self-help book upon it?
I’m thankful I did my time when it meant something,
when policemen had it in for me, and milk was delivered
by a man who put poison into it with a very fine needle
and a syringe

120.

Wind player, sand maker, divisible by yourself
and no other. Speak real names. Answer animals
across motorways

121.

sticky
thumb prints
on the jars of fingers
marked
‘spare’ ‘long’
‘buy pianos’
are you german?
y
because
combined exposure
will cost you less

122.

‘my spell over her is strong
my spell killed the last uncle
of what we call today the
cabbage. my spell is old. . .’
Jason Ringwold is the cop
on the trail of humid violins
supping the cummy yarrow.
haven’t we seen this else-
where? could be missed. PQ

123. May 12th 2005

Three secretaries sit on the steps outside
the church eating out of plastic, I ask my
soul what she really really wants, ‘a wicker
laundry basket,’ she says, which is quite
reasonable I think. It’s nice here

124.

I first met miss clare across a burp of consciousness,
a vomiting, loud, raucous, stride of nonsense,
from here to here and there it went. Wagon train,
wagon train, hours till it passed

125.

‘kebab hits linoleum’
The sound of Brent council
sleeping on a quarter
of a single mattress

126.

Why don’t Lonely Planet get real, why don’t time out shut
its fucking mouth. If it weren’t for Hitler and his stupidity -
declaring war on America - we wouldn’t have the taste for
going anywhere and, while we’re on the subject, all the
phone numbers for hostels in Vietnam are post boxes next
to walls

127.

paraffin is a clear odourless liquid
with a ph of 4.5. no use for greasing
door handles, but can prevent eggs
of certain birds from hatching, suitable
containers equal small buckets and wide
mouthed jars. for more information
on the greylag goose get ladder, thru
april

128.

i take your
white wine
drink
off the coffee
(glass)
table.

the cross
beam
stage lights
don’t follow.

i am not
Hollywood
ginger
maracas.

129.

I don’t care to get back in touch with my
toes. & Pakistan slept with Pakistan.

130.

How can you be added to the more
Lovely Christian lady pages? If you
Are a Christian and have a web page
That would pretty much qualify you
[found somewhere, I don’t remember where]

131.

My cv may be written with my knuckles. There is gold
out back courtesy of irrelevance. 1000’s of divvy bobble
hats cling to the glass. I praise the naked government. I
hitch-hike behind a breed of large-lipped psychotics. Put
a tab behind the bar & let the areola find its capital

132.

My aunt is disabled. Her tongue is Al
Pachino. He comes out for pruning. I
wouldn’t let it get cold. Bourbon?

133. Never meet your hero drunk..

I saw Jackson Pollock in Venice, and I slept.
I saw Pollock on film explained. His wife cried,
friends cried, hats cried – I slept.
I walked among Pollock’s visions, and got bored being
told, ‘art, visions’ fucking visions..’
I have seen the last of Jackson Pollock.
I have seen the last of Jackson Pollock & his long way
round

134.

1.
back pain demands more hands than i have (not-
hallelujah!)

2.
the air is ruinous, not fit for dinning, the light - for
surgery - inadequate.

3.
flat, lifeless, an hour between stations counting wood..
i did never really unpack.

4.
i drink out of the eyes of this, throw a blanket over the
budgie, and cry lips, lips, and retch over played space.

135.

She told friends they had a study, they didn’t -
It was just a bang on the wall

136.

Fuck dreams and woken by large counters. I’ve
got cows in the top-field. I’ve got Ringo Starr as
the milkman. This isn’t a French novel. There are
headlamps for wallpaper. A mysterious force draws
me to Hull. Could the texture of a cantaloupe deny
mange?

137.

A night of erections I did have.
I slept badly on the steps of a bowling trophy.
I did what kittens do to their mummy
I sent pushes,
Roof tiles litter the lawn

138.

An anchor
Draped in plats..
The Thames is gone. So very gone

139.

older woman asks me round to look over poems,
should i go? should i take her call? or rain sick, dog blue,
tell her i have barking linoleum, syphilitic blossom, up to
the eyebrows in gudgeon me, ‘the kitchens full of pink
syphilitic blossom and i just can’t leave the only fox down
our road’, will she see bolt through that ridiculous ambit?
expose my indigestion? (her mid-life amphitheatre could
have proved a sell-out, fruit once again may have got fat on
her tree) damn such gardens and gudgeon.

then so, i should send an accomplice, dress him in my hood
and cloak, wash him in ivory soap, have a laugh (he hee) at
my own expense. lace his sandals with dynamite, fill his
satchel with itchy baths and an empty bottle of inky
turpentine, he can take that little red bus up to that rabbit
hutch in the clouds (the barbican) and in his brown wide
tie, knock knock, and say ‘frankly. poems are the mouths
of whores. goodnight’.

yes, that is an option, but what if those bows on them
knickers know the man will bells on his trousers, and the
man with bells on his manioc trousers knows, a fiend with
a pound of good hen trampolines, yes. i could take the
palomino, she needs airing. ride through Streatham, gallop
through Brixton, declare the ticks in my feather just dots on
the horizon, push aside other men at the door of the woman
with bows on her knickers, & with gravity and manky
corduroy for gifts, declare in turds, ‘this is icky jim
carrying an ideograph and 6 brand new words’

‘woman older than I, with bows on her knickers, your
teacher is here’, knock knock, i have bought, ‘abborjupum’
and ‘tresmording’, plus other jewels in my Hessian sack, ‘i
see you are only wearing a see-thru gown, i see how the
breast goes well with the possessive captain who once
mishandled you near to an iceberg’. bring me more of your
verse, and a cup of hot hinny, as i sit here looking austere
in an armchair, gazing out over poor london’s poor, and
maybe soon i will let you pat my mandolin, and show you
the puddle that never knows peace

140.

I’ve got animals. I’ve got pens. I'm three fifths
Virginia Wolfe. I do my laces up very tight. I
do the winkle-picker wobble. & her best song
was ‘going underground’ by the Jam. In every
shade of faded black the funeral taught us to
take care of our fibre tips.

141.

I preferred Ron as he had nothing robotic about him. I
loved the burnt sheen on his goggles. He fought techn-
ology by keeping the lights off. Hansen was spotted in
the town centre handing out leaflets. His predecessor
had received a turd in a mailite. I had no time for bamboo.
I saw the rise of karate in schools. Trapping Perspex in
vices Mellows smashed lefties. He opened the door in
a white vest. There was tuna but it wasn’t the case it is
now.

142.

I knew someone had died by the way the phone rang.
I picked it up, my father said, ‘your uncles dead’, just
like that. Really I said, I knew that. Really tho, I thought
it would be my nan, but it’s the same thing isn’t it. I’ve
bunked fares.

143.

1. the comedian we have enlisted refuses to co-operate,
our expectations of him are outlandish! he cannot say such
things on stage, a standstill is reached

2. the actual fact is, our jokes are funny, his girlfriend finds
us funny, the man that (then, there) tries to break into his
flat is funnier, he is still defiant – no (& calls the police)

3. hours later we have finally coerced him into at least
trying one, he will consider trying one – from a group of
several - this is actually a defeat, since we have several
thousand, at least an hour of material

4. ‘we were right’ I relay the gig over the phone
‘he was buzzing’, ‘he had them in his hand’

5. the following week we are back where we started. I managed
to tread a boiled sweat into the carpet, my partner managed to
sit in bubble-gum, it was extremely funny – he didn’t agree

144.

I watched Cassius Clay versus Mohammed Ali. Should
gay couples adopt? I saw a man implode. There was
trellis around that switch. Both parents met in the CIA.
I was a leading comedy actor. I mentioned my father in
an interview. The screen-play is obvious. I have a small
voltage / my partner has a large current. We would like
to open our home to a clock radio & build into a child.
We can quote an American Indian if we have to.

145.

Adeline asked me if I would be a seashell. I could be a
nuclear power plant. I could make all the little children’s
legs go green.

Did I mind if Adeline used her vibrator on herself? She
didn’t see anything she liked on tap, so I was now in
charge of snacks.

‘I had to be half past two. I was a man out walking his dog.
I caught her with 6 other guys. They were all black.’

In 1984 industrial white-finger brought the Irishman to
Whitehall. I’ll never play KaPlunk again.

146.

I kissed the Mars Bar. I chopped the parsley. There
were advances before the main course. We furnished
with no time to decorate. The chicken was now mould.

I didn’t have any of the well-known hungers. It was
all streams of brickwork. I lit a cigarette and thought
about Paul Simon.

This was where little girls sold matches. I was a durex
yuppy in one room of a converted mill. Below on the
canal ducks drunk catapults.

147.

How British is the British channel? Can it improve
on the bookmakers toilet. I don’t see any trousers
tied round the top of lampposts. I think it’s a cross
between a stamp-collector and a postman. Plonk
down your marrow and let me wallpaper over it.

148.

Tania coke is from the world of triangles. I'm a
tortoise. We’re in café with a patio. I was taken
in four moves at a chess showdown in Thurrock.
I was distracted by the bold use of sugar-paper.
She uses acorn halves to denote the WC and
wash basin. I hadn’t seen graph paper in 15 years.
The leaves feel as Larry Adler died.

149.

The Beatles are to blame for (the) Japanese students.
Camden’s ruined, Little Martin’s lane’s a no go (take
Charing cross rd) ‘Hi, Mr Red, call me Terri’, ‘I
fucking won’t, I’ll call you table face, dolls hair, or
son of cruel. Here’s your skateboard, now fuck off’

150.

Miss Pope’s light grey knickers were the mix of ham
and howls, slight of hand, aimless aid. Dropped on
the bald coke spot there in the corner via her leaving
me for good. & I never moved them for Wednesdays,
at least 3 Shatner’s or 9 prods with Madison Square
Garden. Pumpernickel?

151.

It’s the bits that hang out the clacker, the earlobes, you
can suck on them all day and it don’t make the slightest
fucking difference, they’re not connected to the brain, or
the rest of the cunt, they’re just islands. Franks where there
should be no Franks

152.

devout about large animals, rhinos, and elephants,
the high is parking them, watching them being parked,
keepers parking animals, into spots, rows of animals,
and keepers in peaked caps, parking animals.
acres of catalogued allotments, ready for a neat ice age

153.

The song finished. The crowd went wild. The
crowd waited in anticipation. Smallish, intimate
venue. ‘Play a better one’, I shouted from the
back, heads turned. Boo, shouted a few, poor
taste indeed. ‘You fucking cunt’, said Ed Harcourt.
‘Go on then. Glass me’, he wailed. Throwing up
his hands. Carl Barat looked pensive. Scared. I
winked. ‘Maybe. Was that rude?’ And Ed leant
across and kissed me on the cheek. And all the
girls were looking on and Carl Barat just kept
looking at me. Shrugging his shoulders. Graham
Coxon began his next song.

154.

Will Smith plays the gay black president.
Ottis Reading plays the gay part.
Ted Danson plays the pier
I look up into the great big bus-driver in the skies,
‘Looks like nuclear holocaust by Hovis.’ It’s all an
apocryphal dream.
I’m Rachel Welsh with a testicle under her nail.

155.

The flame of my heart if only, it would flicker. Turgid,
still, upright, the railing that encages itself. Does this
white man know no wind? Does this chamber whistle
no song? Who and why and what do I salute? This
orange soldier, on parade murmuring, he must have
something? to say on what passes before his dawn. Let
all other men taste my African queen, I say! If I do not,
let them celebrate, and jump, let them run, with dust
between their toes, and hope in song, and I will be night-
fall. I will be landscape, flat, endlessly deep. Available.
I will be there for them all. Look deep within and find us

156.

The insane and the deaf break the best wind
It cuts like trollop, and dies like magnet

157.

I had the complete freedom of jeopardy. I had a set of
commando pants. I lined up the pebbles. I hunched over
the massive clap of the coconut. The trains were quarter
past, half past, quarter to & on the hour. The trains were
every 15 minutes. The trains were every railway 15. The
trains were interpreted. The mission was dropped when
I found out where it was from. The blackberry grew wild

158.

I am the holocaust. I am telling you I only took
the ugly ones. I am certain of it. If you look closely
at the lampshades in John Lewis’. If you go to
level two you’ll see the egg within the scotch. I
watched as he inhaled his asthma medicine. I heard
how he forgot his pump.

159.

Turn my handle uncle Jel – turn my handle
and so i did – and what came out – more
crayons more pencils more books.

160.

The lady across the street always leaves
with an overnight bag, which is fine, but
I wish she wouldn’t use the Albert Hall as
a cloak, I can’t see the jets, the wonderful
jets

161.

The one that sends the meteors is a crap thrower. Maybe
these are just the balls that bounce of the cushion and head
to earth as the commentator shrieks, ‘fuck me the meteors
going in – he wont like that john?’. ‘No – it was a careless
shot – and I don’t see why at this stage of the universe he
played a shot like that’, ‘that’s right john – he had the
option with the rings. off the black hole, up around the
cosmos and back safely into Pluto’s armpit – at this level
of life and matter you can’t play on your opponent will
miss’, ‘ no. that’s right Alf – I feel a little nerves are
creeping in – we’re all a little tired – its been a long game.
twice runner up here to the big man god before’. ‘This if he
keeps his head could be our year’.

162.

I'm a pickle man. I got legionnaires disease. ‘Give
me one of them,’ he said. Liverpool street was busy.
It was the Friday before the Friday before the Friday.
I kept him awake on the tube. I woke him when I hit
the chair against his door frame. The immersion heater
sucked on his gristle needed doing.

163.

Bought a cucumber and a pound of apples
sat them down
and said
one of you gentlemen isn’t playing this week

164.

There’s a lot of wind at bus stops outside hospitals
Wind, burps, belching, bruises, stitches and bile
Occasionally there’s sick, syrupy sick, long sick
Sick through the nose of a sobbing infant. Of course
tears, where would we be without tears? Tears of
regret, tears of death., tears and cancer. Cancer of
the legs, cancer up the old mans A-hole, cancer in
the babies brains, cancer in the necks. It’s worse
than French VD, or meningitis, you could diagnosed
on Tuesday and be dead Tuesday week

165.

There are two basic openings, dying
alone, and not dying alone.
I have never seen Hull looking so sad.

166.

There are no little men in my pecker. That is my
matchstick-man picture of Salford. A plume of
smoke beguiling a peptic clerk. Oranges handed
to children who smash them.

I just can’t raise this weeks protection money
My bar is removed by tablet eraser. Men with
exhausts stemming from their necks do it. I
throw abortions into quayside growling industry.

167. There was just no getting rid of her.

‘I only live round the corner, it’s the second only place
I’ve lived, I used to live in shoreditch, then I moved here..’
blah blah fucking blah.. ‘Where do you live?’, ‘I live in
Streatham’, ‘Do you like it?’, ‘No,’ ‘Well I don’t really
like my place, I might move’, ‘Can you recommend
anywhere?’, ‘No’, she snapped my cigarette and started
smoking it. ‘It’s my friend who’s running this. I just love
it. Its just so free. It’s like the old days’, ‘Old days? How fucking old are you?’, ‘Have a guess?’ Her face was very
wide. Her dad must have been a plate. ‘I don’t know. 27
inches?’, ‘Higher’, ‘28’ ,‘no. 30’, ‘And how old are you?’
‘31’ , ‘I’m 31 soon.’ ‘This reminds me of Glastonbury, it’s
so free. I took so many e’s, and drunk so much, and
couldn’t stop crying about torture to animals. This hippy
had to hold me’, ‘I don’t really like people. I don’t like
festivals. I hate tents.’, ‘That’s a shame’, ‘See her, she’s
my friend. And her, I don’t see them so often, they’re
married, I’m thinking maybe its time to settle down.
What do you reckon?’, ‘I don’t know’, ‘I just spend all
my money on clothes and drugs’, ‘How much do you
earn?’, ‘20, 25, 30. how much?’, ’35, I work in pr. fash-
ion., have you ever heard of Reece?’, ‘No’ , ‘No!’, ‘Where
do you shop?’, ‘Charity’, ‘It’s a shame’, ‘What job do
you do?’, ‘I don’t.’ ‘You don’t?’, ‘Ever since the accident’,
‘What accident?’, ‘Chernobyl’ , ‘In Russia?’, ‘Yeah. After
that I couldn’t face the shovel.’

168.

I had nothing else left. I began dating policewoman,
drinking straight out of fountains. I began telling lies,
began telling tales, began making up stories.
‘I see one bloke carrying a can of petrol’,
‘and another had some matches’, ‘it was at 0816 hours’.
I needed the affectionate hard-line of a burly stout woman
with small simple studs. I wanted the panty-pad eclipse
all for myself

169.

‘What about my cousin, and her vibrator,
they’ll never get in that drawer’ Ikea is
shot dead.

170.

There’s an odd prime-minister that lives opposite, in his 3
bedroom house. He don’t play guitar. He don’t call me
chancellor. He don’t give me the salute when he sees me
hanging out the window. He’s a rubbish patriot. With his
silver jeep and slick 2 door car. He just flexes his muscles
and carries a folder. What a load of rubbish this land is

171.

I have climbed dead mother hill, with me
I take the Isle of Wight as paracetamol

172. Threesome

I pinned you to the mattress in cobwebs, with knees
on your hands. Better you cup than scratch I remarked,
my cheeks spread about your un-lit thigh , cooling my
spine, and so, you had no elbows (now). You whimpered
silent as for a dentist’s mercy, go easy, but us, two,
were no doctors, where would we send you? What
could we treat you for? Half-mindedness? And so you
had no excuses. Clarice - a pet name - the face I see on
her tattooed pubis, our other friend emerges behind
your head, hello! I laugh saddling your face, her fingers
run across the frame combing your jaw line for ridges
or breaks, or nests and eggs. And so, massaged to
restraint, you could not swallow. Julia began quickly,
gasping strands, her breaths added to make bigger breaths.
And larger gasps, sanctioned, smaller echoes (we were)
sending her there, she was sending apparent signal back
& so now deep in, you had no return (with her out of sight)
and us here, I reach for the wine. Her eyes were closed,
they were the skin on fruit. It was dear, the silence you
need to begin a letter. And so, as the only man, bottle in
hand, I drew umbrella over this tired counsel (&) we made
love. We made love again. One meant three. We gave
birthmarks names, them accents over foreign letters. The
kisses I added to your forehead, we made love at mine. We
found our sense of humour, fought off cramp. Rose with
the weekend

173.

My mother died & now the potatoes
I looked at a potato & got a cold.
The little cupboard under-the-stairs ate the polish
The sewing basket never returned
The garden lost all its colour
The washing just stayed as washing
And we all took turns staring into an empty freezer
That hummed cowards, cowards, occasionally gristle.

174. Waterloo

I took out my cock, the end of the condom was
missing. I said it looks like the ends blown off.
Don’t worry she said, like it happened every day,
I’ve just had my period. She then fell into a heap
and blew off very viciously. I didn’t know where
to look. I had nervous exhaustion. I had heart-burn
in my hearts.

175.

I was older than the older woman. I had a part
in a Guardian editorial. I played the 24 cm
stainless steal stockpot with see-through lid. I
could go my whole life reporting misery, or I
could brake the official secrets act. I erected a
shed made from dementia. I pretended I was
dying 5 years before I actually was asked to.

176. woman: put that skirt on..

professor once said in italics, ‘this is my diary. it’s a bell
ringers’ pocket sized’ decoratively covered embossed gate-
way to Britain’s dongs and dings, but i never wrapped candy
with the academic uncle deep down in the quadrangle below
sooked up generators of ice sulphur and gloopy physics
whinging money. i whistled snide punching fraught my inners
trying to get in, coughed loud petulantly dislocated the cables
and ties, walked quick quick through the foray of equation &
lattice notice board and door numbers, leaving nuclear reve-
lation and research funded arbitraries, digging deep down into
the pockets for cigarettes and a fluff cocktail i emptied in the
bin besides the technicians baby. i whistled out, overtook a few
dandies lugging textbooks and hype on wheels from lecture to
bicycle to mark, a man they met outside the chapel grooming a
career in the constabulary. i heard the words saw the blue
pictures and waved havoc to the 18 foot high marbled
knight statue in the mini foyer, i proposed once should be
drilled bowls into at the base and switched to multi-tasking
eye ball kick and ashtray. i headed knuckles and toes dry
mouthed empty and mobilised plaid sincerity for a beer & a
song & another beer and was told so & such by a marigold
moustached guvnor no feet upon the stools. no drawing on
the mats for the glasses bottoms & definitely no picking the
wallpaper by the telephone on the wall marooned on bore-
doms clouds, waiting on the man with the connection, goof-
ing out on brown paper comb shanties and the threat of
tonight among chatty mortals. no paved four wall ceiling-
less orifice with hemisphere and universe for holidays and
lateral contemplation in gardens of observatory would have
me temped dabbling conviviality’s with rich long toothed
dull idiocrats debating the electrons caravan & the box they
broke to find the axe. the moon is the only carried flower
and how sorry i made shit eyes at him. his tumour in its cot
grew a pop one millimetre right there on that dotted line.
really the guy was just grey and fishing close to the edge.

spinning among slippers and pipe smoke perched to undo
the nuts on his pension plan. burning him with hot speared
intensity as i penned out, aggravating his suede socks
dripping in nitrous flames, all my gourd i recanted, eyeing
caught pointing to the family sunday platter with a brides-
maid daughter times two in a frame upon his desk next to a
calendar from makers of bombs. your chalked worn hand
even rescued my summer ounce weight coat from a dust
floor smattered in drippings from scientific gazette and
possible accolade begging me to reconsider. what lapel
badge did i wear then? was it black with a cross and a
feather? i was no there helping inroads burrow my future.
for sure shit academia is feet driven. feet up loafered feet.
feet for rioja wine sipped. feet for footnotes worth of rec-
ognition in 10 wide journals upon the gnostic shelves. i
cannot graze with mother-in-law reckoning ease. point full
dedication and masticated splutters. you’re dribbling man,
science has bent your arm like pi's tail. if i were a you i
would have whipped these 6 foot of riveted dreamboat with
the doorknob and a kettle cord. what the fuck is this door-
knob doing in my office you would exclaim as dean willis
appeared for cynical chat on weather. i will not open a pocket
watch that reeks of shandy manners. i see a smallish tear
inside the lining of your jacket and with strings. i am ripping
free not sowing up. no. i have seen the skirt to boot. i were
glancing marble concourses travelling to heaven a garment
of so so length. sweeping angles shapes in breath-in breath-
out names yet not believed. this is a new morning sir.
federal and post in the middle of nowhere but planted &
deep and i will strike a match this morn sir, birds explode.
not sing sweet thrush whimsies or diet on lice in bought
time. i have never been here sir. i have never voted either. i
am picking woman in heat and bashing them long wards
against the side of my skull. my ambitions want your bells.
i want buckets of bells. i am student number 457689; saliva
and torso flapping flag ship and stretching rope by the naval
once again

Sheepskin Vortex - Automatic & Proud

2007-05-11T08:01:00.000Z

1.

The U shaped mat designed to sit snug around the pan
never does. No fault of design, no. I just went there, to
the toilet. The emerald suite. I love Braille. Thinking of
writing a little on ‘food poisoning’ Germs. Diane. Hype.
I got to the part where he’d, Graham Chapman of Python
fame, caught impetigo through a scratch from a wicked
Italian. And the light now fading, it folded – rolled – into
great hither. Amanda – call me.

2.

From her ears hung, dangling turning postcard size
earrings made of crushed Indian gold, pear shaped
emporiums of adventure. Chandeliers, steep in ridges
and views of the micro city. I walked into the lobby
of that casino, on a board it read WHY ARE
BULLETS NOT BROWN & LOVELY?

3.

Someone broke into no.47’s garden last night
They left the see-saw up
That is an emcee’s job

4.

I empty the bowl. I rinse the bowl. I empty the bowl
of soil deposits. Nitrogen. Ash. Phosphorus granules,
music. The soil is what’s left from weeding the front
flower beds. It’s a multi purpose bowl. There’s no ha-
rm in our earth (none). We have a very pretty mix of
flowers running either side of our dribble of red sea
(some folks don’t have a dribble even) This is the edge
of town where all wanting to live lives in cots, raised
shelves, hanging pods, & lives laughing (children climb
on the ledges) Our light? (you ask) how can I describe
it? Well there’s no above (or such), & you would say
glow, we have numerous technologies and they glow,
they throb out of sight. They spill onto us. Spill into our
daily lives. Smother any complaints

5.

Are you a useless confidante? Do you love graft that excites you? Experiencing gabble in your gossip lately? Are there saws? Well, we can sever that subsonic turbulence. We work very closely with the kiss of death. We’ll pimp future terrain. I’ll personally preen them doorways of sighs and blot.

6.

His ears ring continuously. I have been washing
my bum. I am using his towel to dry it. He is not
a wrestler. Take a chocolate from my box, is his
manner now, ‘I don’t care.’ It is from the hospital
(to him) his letter. It is folded exactly stiff (I'm
making stew) There is a carrot-top beneath where
he is sitting. It rolled there. He will never know
Thorpe park - how it’s promoted in the brochure.
It wants him to gloss his gland (the family on the
front have glossed glands), he just can’t raise that
sized canoe. He can’t enter a temperature-governed
paradise with a denim cat-scratch before the lobes.

7.

I want to walk around the world. Why is the
world so big, it is isn’t it? I want to sail a kite
and carry a hamper to a picnic. Walk for 13
minutes and someone say (pendant) ‘why didn’t
you go that way?’, ‘it would have taken only 2’
‘it doesn’t matter’, ‘you can never be late here’
&Go to Dussledorf & skip around our 4 trees
skip skip skip plop

8.

She is dressed as a cocktail (I believe it’s blue sierra) She
is in league TR56FG0 (unrelated), he (dopey) is in
UP98YT6 (formally UP98YTT – see Act.III.(b) 2.1) This
is nothing more than a case of pulling pig-tails, a pre-lance
spat, & for this! (bringing it to the boil with a young Sophie
Lorren too!) The league secretary (67, arthritic, no known
reason) gets me up, that old tinker wants to put some cream
on it. Why didn’t he send Brian. Haven’t I done my time in
crisps & beer? (and who goes hurtling past on the 07.21 to
Gatwick, a KD45TG3, with wet hair, would you believe it)

9.

I blew into the pipe that fed the tug-boat. It was a
fisher-price vessel, & made the sailors (unnamed
version) bob up & down. I blew (a) phlegm into
that pipe and soaked secret deeds. I tried to suck (b)
phlegm out: but phlegm doesn’t go backwards. I ate
a lot of fish fingers. I (c) didn’t have a screwdriver.
(d) It was sold as seen

10.

I'm thinking about turning my coal-cellar
into a sweatshop,
This is my anti-depressant
I'm no virgin

11.

It’s late now, maybe 11.23pm. The two centuries
are asleep upon their goat. They both must rise
early, and fight, fight for opposing sides. And
every night they return, in opposition through
the day, at ease over dinner. And the fires of
the front line are a burning. I am top-less smo-
king a cigarette, without a goat. Seeing myself
in the window. Seeing the dark and light of my
stubble in the glass. I can see where men perish.
I can taste on the air the socks of fortune. What
would it be to die without a middle name I won-
der. That is why they are called and I am not.

12.

The officer thinks of his brother in law
Everyone thinks of their brother in law
He ran like a loony cock wanker

13.

Knickle knackle, pickle pockle
bickle backle. The six sounds of
a round neck. Never broke mine
and never will

14.

A pinned note, to the our side of the front door it reads
(that door is one useless door, it sounds thin all the time)
# if you are going to the big Sainsbury’s get me a bottle of
this, (there is then a floor plan of isles and checkouts and
the main exit marked) follow the arrow, and here > you
will find a red wine with a distinctive orange label, Campo
Viejo Crianza 2002. It looks like orange wood. It has
shoulders. The money is up the stairs on the desk, ignore
me # Om.

15.

I always carry her in my head. I carried a calculator
mind (way) back then. I exchanged theirs into mine.
I still stare.

16.

Breath in here, the level goes up to ‘stupid’
I thought so, move on. Breath in here, the
level goes up to ‘ridiculous’, I thought so,
move on. Breath in here, the level doesn’t
move, I thought so, I move in (big mistake)
Live in here, the needle runs across my feet
every morning, back and forth it goes, 100’s
in line, 100’s breathing into me (single to
employed/married)

17.

I unfold myself up. I have collusion. The crown is nestled
between my legs. I am not hysteric. I undo my hair. I shake
out the whores, hookers and cocaine. I was good – I’ll be
good again. I crave vindaloo. I am off the saucer when a
member of the audience throws a man-hole cover into a pram (it’s do or die) I defecate doing a handstand, ‘see, as
I said, you can’t push it back up your arse.’ I'm through to the next round, though am reprimanded for crude behaviour by an old English teacher red ill with rosacea

18.

Whatever you do you must not copy her little
moans [don’t over-do the tricycle] even if you
can’t think [get a fridge] If she whelps into the
mouth of your cave [see previous drawings for
assistance] order from the other menu. Ecstasy is
two hods, one ladder. So, if she edges more to-
wards the opening of a tight jar you must be the
firm hand closing a little cupboard with a sticky
latch. that way Concorde isn’t privatised & dissent
is pretty much rid of, like TB [western world pls.]

19.

She said you have a beautiful body (I collected the rent
the old-fashioned way) Running her hand over my hip
flask, along my stomach and across my chest, through
my left-brain, my copy of Vogue (the only) out towards
an electricity, into the night sky, beyond planets and
gatherings. Past evil. Past doorbell. Past messy hydrogen
Into that super loud revving solid nuisance of clean gourd
- the Sheepskin Vortex

20.

Are you saying? Celebrities figures are pumped
full of wax bullets fired from guns by students
gaining experience and we’re merely insignificant
in that sand is sand but there’s only one bit called
Brighton?

21.

He put out his cigarette. The ashtray drizzled in the veneer
of a pouting quim. No one here wants sunburn. Strict black
& white moodiness throughout. Go get a coach

22.

I was young once. I had a small anchor on my pyjamas.
I am in charge of your fire. Your life is in danger - which
way should I send flames? (I beckon) hurry, which way!
man ! which way. (a motorised-home leaves for the
Hebrides) Make up your mind, say anything, show us with
your hand – signal which is it? Solitude? (probably)
perversity? (generally) Good at school? Hopeless at the
table? Just put one foot in front of the other. Give me clues
This ball of burning hot ash will dig in and dig in and
spread and we’ll both be sucked down. Answer your
prayers? Did you never dream yet? Why can’t you decide?
Come on! Young boys MUST all have a little fire

23.

I want her out of me. I want her out of my smoke
breaks, rid of her. I’ve put her up for auction. I’ve got
a signed face. This idler is annoyed. I have a memory
and I am not busy on this earth. She is slowly vacuum-
ing up my tea. She is intruding on the idler. The idler
cannot be agitated and wistful. This just does not stand!
All I can do to usher I will do. As I step quietening all
around me/exasperated/garrotted/ I say the word FREE
and FREE as if ordering a lung

24.

O what is must be to have a spectacular wife. A dutiful
loving – I got your favourite pickle wife. To hear over a
conversation at a barbeque, He’s so lovely your husband
(ME), He’s so nice, He’s so good with kids! O the joy of
the Spanish Riviera with the wife. The wife and the towel
for two she has ironed and rolled. Did you forget the towel
you ask? (Of course she didn’t, it’s there with sun-cream
and the revolver) No dear I have the towel, and I got you
the book you wanted. I’ve underlined all the chapters. O
that wife is out there. That wife has not a hem unstitched,
or a tear unnamed. SHE loves your friends and buys them
slippers. What MY god am I doing without one? Why MY
god are my secrets without excuse? Why my Leader is
there an untidy ashtray full of crooked toe nail clippings?

25.

It’s between me and Jude Law who goes bald
first. My picture could go where his goes, &
his picture could go where mine goes, & my
picture his, and visa versa & on and on, and
together we can slow down baldness by half
or a third. The affront of the rich oik.

26.

I am out of place in a department store. I let the traffic
in. I break the escalators with my geek love. I is where
they make tight underpants and tighter underpants
(choice) and the rings on the dressing room curtains rattle
& rattle and scratch. INTRUDER INTRUDER. appears
(so) one tall looming moustached man ‘Have you got any
tight underpants in yellow?’, ‘I’ve got an abortion at the
weekend’, ‘sorry sir, we only sell white’ (chorus line
colour) ‘are they tight?’, ‘extremely sir. quite fucking so’
‘well yes’, and I snatch my bag and run and run & run,
with a bobbing head

27.

Can we have sex like otters? And then skin ourselves
and sell our story. Then save enough money for decent
furs and kinky boots & have sex in furs in mansions
on high. Then drop them furs into Ebay, as we’re picking
up our suits of Cadillac, auctioning off our smells and
juices for thousands of dollars $£$£$£$£$ and pounds.
‘What next says one journalist? the moon?’.
‘Maybe,’ I say walking up the steps, putting the key in
the door, trying not wake the milking wife.

28.

Inter-species sex is coming.
Open your arsehole & let in the zoo.
Cloning is for sell-outs. Noah meets
Marble Arch meets menus

29.

I was a slab of love. It was a buttercup-topping. I
walked club footed in circles. I was doing quite the
opposite of The Smiths.

The knee jerks and the balancing on one foot, dropping
her down the back of my shorts & feeling her tickle me
until she appeared on the laces of my right shoe.

Put me as a sound-bite. Run me parallel with that era.
I’m telling you they ripped from me
a cynicism I never were.

30.

Eaten by the fuzz, curled into a Nip-on, my on-off
relationship with the Isle of Wight

31.

How many kisses on the cheek from girls
did I get for just talking? Maybe 12 or 19
over 4 years, various subjects different
times. And how does that feel? Like hiccups
in old movies, where all the men’s hands
are stuck to the hats

32.

Skaters commandeer the underpass. The freight got
to keep moving. And a small girl with a squirrel
on her bib turns grey. I grab the thunder of wheels
I make them say ‘enema’. I make them say it like
they mean it. I make them unfold it till our cheeks
return roads

33.

So what else do you wear of your mothers? Her
shoes – I see. ( & she nearly fell over then, angling
for a law suit?) Her hand bag (too) – red? What
kind of mother is she? Slut red that is. (&) you
say she has way too much stuff?! I want to meet
this mother. I want to see you in her! I have the
impression she’s orange, skin orange. Could I use
the mother of all pimps, Google?

34.

I had sex with the tall model. I was playing-card on tarot-
card. I focused. I wore the yellow safety visor. I spanned
a Deliverance river. I got pins & needles continual in the
poor estate. There isn’t an extremity without picket-line.
There are Olympic bids circling on the crows widdle

35.

Well it depends what you steam your carrots (or green
beans) in, if you use plastic, it’s going to taste (slightly)
of plastic, and if you use metal then metal (not really)
but if you use a few seconds from a Bond Movie, you’ve
got your Chinese gangster, silk socks, and Liechtenstein to
explain, capeesh?

36.

1. Barwoman, captain of female race, fabulous lower
back. Why the power cut, why you sad, why you put
Mexico in the bin?

2. ‘I want to get her something like an airport. Or a reason.
Something without a lease’

37.

I was warned of the flasher. The common grazed
cows. The Toby-jug frightened me. The Hoover-
pipe was misused. I’m waiting for the ambulance
My girlfriend has him in the emergency position
His bell-end is being rescued by ants. I have tints.

38.

I kissed my mother on the stone cold forehead. I kissed her
out of politeness. I never expected a copper coin. I kissed her
again, and again. I was so happy - more copper coins. I went
to the other rooms in the mortuary, kissed all there stone cold
foreheads, kissed them several times each, over & over. I
snuck out as the bell on the door rung. I snuck out with a
kids-coffin full of coins, avoided the tramp with one eye at
the bell tower & run to the marsh to count my urchin wealth

39.

I broke a ghost by dropping it on its back. I had
one arm under the legs, one around the neck. I
straddled us both to the shore and dropped you
upon the rocks, (that’s) one sown – I went back
for the rest

40.

Why haven’t I got anything that lights up, that flashes,
that goes boing. Everything I got is paper and wood &
old. Where are my toys, and my Opal Fruits ™. Where
are my things that go with being high? A mad man needs
a junkyard, or at least a generator and a big drill. Where’s
my nearest well? Where’s the local airfield? This is useless
being mad before I’ve yet to move in (properly)

41.

She weren’t happy (comically annoyed – which
doesn’t direct me away from the traffic, anyway)
unless I was settled, ok, but I can’t be settled babe
I was born with teeth (3 small, white, never since
any!) and I travel. The difference is class, and there
was talk of marriage: (being) who should go to the
doctors and seek medication, me for anti’s or her
for hormones. (to add, I think she meant see me
when you’re rested) But the same can be said of her
(and was) ‘you can’t hold a mans whiteness against
him’. Very unforgiving type. She was fucking nuts.
I’ve always said, better to have and to hold (you brush
your hair, you don’t brush each hair, one at a time) I
just don’t want the intrusion, and you find yourself
begging her to keep up. (guaranteed attention that)

42.

I rung up Vogue.
Can I ask a personal question
How big is your abyss.?
I don’t have its last name, no, sorry

43.

I don’t like to be forced
hands out beside my head, palms down – barked-at
told, forced against the board, arrested - told off by
Delilah, spat at. Delilah is a nurse for real. She cracks
the whip & knocks over things. That only makes her
more determined. She kicks aside my papers against
my protests. I had a list there that is irreplaceable.
She part apologises then realises, this is out of role.
‘vermin’, she orders. ‘I am not the Kaiser’ (I get it
wrong: I am) ‘I am the Kaiser,’ and what follows
upsets me, she pulls - or attempts to - her PVC pants
aside, bearing her squished lips, and frog-marches
her cottage to the post-office for a stamp.

44.

I couldn’t stand this ravioli love affair. One would
only eat ravioli & the other would only eat ravioli.

45.

This is his log. There is a turntable. This is where he will
meet a lawyer one day (big business). The Somalian has
a chequered cape, a trimmed timepiece above his lip, a
slimy sachet below his nose. This is where he tests his
suction (it’s appalling to see) This is the elevator we are
taken to be cured of the elevator (apparently) There is a
lot of naivety in here, it’s that kind of coupe. His broom
is a turkey baster for the crevice. He sweeps it all up
inverted to the normal bubble flow

46.

He’d travelled near on a thousand miles
by road and rail and partially got held up
with a gang in white banging a tambourine,
never did he think to check out the crumpled
leaflet he’d been handed by a gang of men
in white banging a tambourine a town back

47.

The rain was dripping in always dripping in. I lived
in an EVIAN mountain. I only knew the French for
bakers. I didn’t get a dressing-gown. I was naïve
thinking the BBC would cling to one end as we
stretched the budget past recognition. There was no
almond tree.

48.

Is that the bakery?
YES
Well I’ve found two small fingers in my doughnut
REALLY – I had them up my arse earlier.
That’s disgusting
No. that’s BAKING
AND A BIG BUN CAME DOWN THE PHONE
& SQUIRTED CREAM

49.

I popped you in the post a maisonette, a battlement by
the sea. I have the mason by the ankle, he has our plans.
The view is ‘hypo-critical’. The view is frightening when
it’s cold. I keep sane by drawing beach flowers. I guard the
gas supply. I have a system for counting the ocean. It’s not
in figures. It’s thinking: how will I get all them instruments
in that large blue box.

50.

He was Irish def Leppard. He drank the red lion. He wore
the divide in his spandex. He got caught examining his
scrotum in the rainbow of a diesel puddle. They bit off
his ear and poured him into the mix. There’s good ham
in that bridge

51.

Looking for lumps on my testes I found an ab. It was
a simple ab. It was covered in fat & weeping. It wanted
more. It was bored. It wanted to plough fields and mow
lawns, shop on undulating ground in heels. It wanted to
peep through keyholes. It wanted to look at underwear
on washing lines. It wanted to know why woman use
pencils to measure there bums. I didn’t know they did?
Yes they do it said, and told his mates to make me do a
pop-off

52.

Live by the sword, die by the sword
I live close to the common, dun dun
DARRRNNN…

53.

I don’t like
our dentistry. I have built another England.
I have used the jobless and the insane. I have
them head to toe across a well known bay.
There is a brochure. There is paper & sugar.
Dentistry plumbing and showers I hate too.
It’s not free. It pays families compensation.
I need to fit an exhaust

54.

I'm Fagans spawn. I get inside your head. I
see your files inside rockets. I doubt the
technician. I delve into French cabinets. I
break the guard a deal. I climb out into dawn.
I am cosmic Chav

55.

You stare at me and rile me, scare me and persist
upon scaring me. You won’t budge. You don’t fret
you grind me like the peppercorns in the pot. You
are the finger marks on the wedding cake, the bride
that run off. Pete with a little dent in the e.

56.

This mind wrestle could undo
stone. ‘Hungover with the tudors’, my fault. I swallow
Ginormous dirty atoms. I tap loudly on the manikin
infestation. I cry at half-almonds on top of cakes. I’ve
lost my time-machine. I'm fucking sure I left it pregnant
at the well

57.

My Jonny ascended up to heaven on a cloud, and here is a
picture of him (on top of TV) It was so. A small doormat
sized cloud, & a boy on it holding a flute. She went to the
kitchen to make tea, so I (sneakily) opened up that frame.
HA!! CHEAT!! BASTARD!! I unfolded the picture. HA
HA!! and either side of Jonny were policemen with guns
and a warrant for a dirty bugger, written in ink

58.

The show has been cancelled. The circumstances
are bionic. I see them hanging off a star. They are
pink panties hanging of a star. They shrug when
you point.

59.

I am ready for a decoy. I am set now for an
escape into true old age. Everything decent
has climbed out the test tube. This realm is
extremely long in replying. Marriage is blank.
Pictures on calendars of gob

60.

I want NY for a fruit bowl. I want NY to hang
itself outside my window. I want an empty table
where it matters most.

61.

There is the beginning of an address on the
reverse. It is incomplete. I never sent it. I
was bold and you ran away. It had to stop.
I have a sparrow and a bit of window. I
shudder, they (fly) go in opposite directions
I didn’t even have time to fire the pistol

62.

It is the same button
that the police have
on their walkie-talkies
that I carry in my
elbows. Head down
nose to the world, I
keep the pylons and
the trees & the houses,
ON

63.

I couldn’t motivate my cannons. I couldn’t
get her to play nice. I didn’t have the foot to
sweep out the wedge, & all my miracles are
in the post. Be a back-drop, or be a number.
Be a darling and pop next door & get my
solicitor. He may try and touch you up, so
don’t say he tried to touch you up when you
return.

64.

It was up to the poet to detach his sickle from his
elbow and clear forget the wheat field that grows
on the back of his neck. If he was going to stand
in large crowded rooms listening to large crowded
rooms he would need to tuck his farm deep down
in his pants, below his belt. There was once. o there
was once, but I’m not going to tell you about that…

65.

For book ends I use cinema,
George Clooney & whoever he’s fucking at the time

66.

I bring you a bird in a cage for luck. It’s identical
to the Marvin. It does tremolo, I tell the jokes. I
roll mine & tell the bird I will teach him one time.

‘She does like you.’ He’s not so sure. She’s off
snorting powder, & I'm getting the ‘evil daggers’-
Have, I set up one of gods creatures for an anorexic

death? I wouldn’t trust her with a peanut. I hand her a
peanut, she throws it at my forehead, the bird drops
a big white guitar.

67.

The split in the brain isn’t easy to reconcile
The split in the brain is beige then
The axe from Paris is a crab apple

68.

©
crash pad

69.

I got a real proper set of throwing knives for my
Birthday. I woke up to find my UK tour ripe.

70.

I know now my neuroticism will not now kill me
Its cracked horned globule of trigger went bing pop
I have room now for a coffee table. It was a local derby

71.

I was the 7th thousand baby to be born at the new
hospital. Not including abortions or miscarriages.
Including spillage I was the 11th thousand baby
to be born. At the end of my cot was a rosette, a red
rosette, then it wasn’t, that was replaced with a gold
rosette. Even at a young age I saw the shift patterns
of nurses

72.

I got a nymph
I got an oche
I sell front-rooms for brittle-bones

73.

this wedding ring
was my great
great
great
great
(stolen from someone)
great
great
(a juncture of bigamy and infamy)
great
grandmas
grandmas ring
and I put it on thy finger
of your great great
great
great great

great
(Australia)
great
(traced with a tree)

grandmas
finger.

74.

I took tea (in a teapot) in empty afternoon cafes. It was
pure fluke. I'm useless at leisure. Next, I rode the QE2 to
Barbados. I thought I was hunting asbestos. It showed
when I left the cabin boy a tip of neuralgia (fall in shit
me, come up smelling of roses)

75.

The tail on this beast is four times the size
of its body (huge/wide/truncated/sausage)
It digs furrows. It deflects vehicles. It is
always, it seems, hanging over the edge
of the earth, as the earth is round, and the
beast is gigantic. Real-ale have approached
me for rights. Real-ale wants it for a badge.
It’s the average pet we walk in our thoughts
late at night I say

76.

I would like to lock the GP in the cabinet, eat her
rose, then sit down, brush my hair, have a free
aspirin and shout next, sorry I mean, yes, come in
‘really’
‘ermm’
‘yes’
‘quite’
‘if you could bend over’
‘and hold this’
‘but this is a corner flag’
‘correct’
‘we have no soil’

77.

I bought a hot-dog. I went blind, and because I
had diarrhoea too, I blamed it on the architecture
‘what do you open-prison? erm’

78.

Kids learn colours through ‘white supremacists’. The
hue of hate. The pantones of pigment.

Who does this meat-head prefer elsewhere or even dead?
Bernard is making monkey lips, and we know that
monkeys are negros, their woman shake their vaginal lips
like baboons - therefore Bernard is black.

Each book comes with a real Bernard & a yard of rope?
It is hours of bath time fun.

79.

There was a woman, stumbling to herself, that’s right,
stumbling to herself, walking to herself, & talking to
herself, and rocking to herself & she sat there stumbling,
wobbling & muttering. The bush people of the Kalahari
left London thinking we’re all like this. They drew big
idiots in the sand. They bought their mates over. They
said this is the force behind the west and smashed a goat

80.

Got to find me a small peg sized ethos. I’ve got to hold it
and squeeze it and keep at bay the toots of barking laundry
floating on ones Julian

81.

Who killed the highwayman? The tea urn.
The tea urn.! That rusty piece of shit
(why I should have known)
At that half our fan-base went to oil.
O Eric Morecambe
What were you doing in my cheddar?

82.

But we’re too far away to notice. We’re too blanket fed
in the stars. What happens ‘up there’ melts by time it
arrives here: ‘throwing ice-creams off the moon’…
Come the question of foetal termination (dot - dash)
astrology slips out the door. To demonstrate I take an
electric whisk in each hand and stick-up the blazing sun
(cowboy style) This does not please her nautical father
None

83.

2 adults please, & the bat
that swoops trying to steal
your fringe, what can I do?
I’ll be busy wiping off the
gasoline & kicking out at
wannabe matches, near the
aisle please.

84.

How it pans out, my gun, that was turned back
on me belonged to Sir Lawrence Olivier whose
biggest achievement was mixing two types of
faints and giving the world the shredded perm.

85.

Mormon kids aint nothing to play on but beards and
torches. There’s hardly any movement in the soup either
Out the square window is a lot of squares. It’s a hardwood
episode of the smurfs. I think I’ll carry my bike if I see
a man carrying a sick horse

86.

Got a brand new gleaming red bike, light and speedy,
quick and whippy. brakes work, chain works, mountains
work, landscapes even (a touch green). Got a brand new
bike, a big slice of woodland (we ride, me left, that right)

87.

It’s room 129 (not hotel) not 129 the road, the rooms 129,
office 129, whoever took that call hung himself. I took
that call. I won’t dabble in the furs plight. She stays at the
Waldorf. Don’t know her own room number -the man just
gives me the key. Well, her little pooch was agitated,
sneezing out of season, coated in red leather. It had through
its ear a baby chisel. The bag was Gregory Peck.

88.

When I look in to your stubble, I
see where the marks are biggest
and deep, and you are not so pretty
at all. Up close you are terrific, up
closer you are demonic. Because
hanging off your face is buckets of
ice, on a tree (small brown dark)
that is your head, a dead tree

89.

The black raven is only ever in and out
& we see them off, edgy about the apocalypse
Waving our blankets from our cots
Planning our airport runs

90.

Harolds = sexual moves plus enjoyment and
smiles. After Harolds her hair was top of pine-
apple. Harolds and night sleeping made her
hair go Gazzoooommm. I can’t say I saw the
Harolds at work but when I woke I was with
another woman. It was the Harolds she said
flattening the Gazzzoooms. Leave em I said,
leave em -No don’t - but she did. She bashed
the Harolds down, and I became withdrawn
(withdrawn = pretty much)

91.

I am a private dick. And you hold the mantelpiece trying to take it all in. I would like to say this is a rare case - swiping at a little dust - but it’s not. The head rabbi doesn’t want to hear it! Here’s your cheque he waves. I bite into it, and say sorry I can’t take this, it’s my aunts leg.

92.

there is a pair of great bouncing bollocks
they are bouncing
they are bouncing, searching
they are bouncing on the body shop
they are jumping on the body shop
they want to come in
‘let in the bouncing bollocks’, says the crowd
let them bouncing bollocks be an active ingredient
we want bollocks, give the bollocks a chance

93.

I see kids with swords. I see kids with
shields and daggers and guns, but what
about whips? What’s wrong with whips
& malice? A little whip and a little malice.
I want to hear, get back get back, the maps
mine, get back, I am the king of the queers
OooooOoooooOooooooo

94.

Be what you like in the fridge, empty the washing-
machine of blood? & let the others know, the ghouls
are here from Yarmouth

95.

It was you that came and went. It was you, the elasticised
golf ball, slapped out of the tee, over the water, into my
menu. And yes I was having a lovely cruise of the lakes,
and you came gleaning past the menu, & that waiter was
quick -Jujitsu I think, and grabbed you (proud he is) and
just as I was getting to your oily bits, snap, you pinged
back. Getting smaller and smaller, and the shadow never
left the plate

96.

I will go tomorrow - it’s a bonding exercise - with
a bag of gold coins and corporate address your
wobbly eye with my nervous twitch.

I will steer your wobbly eye. I will take you through
the streets. I will drag you to the stile, to the stile by the
brook. There will be brooks but no lakes.

& up and over we climb whilst sellotaping a
phone-box shut and spelling out ambition

97.

I want an easier resurrection
(get out of here, go on) I’ll wait for the next one

98.

Whether he lies on his back, or front, does not
affect sales or rumours. He is Nepalese & drinks
Tramps. Tramps is a shortened version of the
local brew in his language turned into English.
Then the Garage band scene (came along) stole
his uniform and ironed on patches. Arron is na-
ked and has no lice in his hairs and all he fears
is a big lamp shinning upon his whats-it and re-
vealing his busy office. All is udder & common-
place

99.

I sometimes sneak up on young ladies in fashion clothes
shops, loom on their shoulder, wait. X-security I say, and
snatch the hair-band out of their hand, and they snatch it
back. Still got it I say, aint I, - security, you tell them. It’s
then I pull out a firecracker from this here pocket, ‘fancy
coming down the abandoned lane?’ X-Para (see) (night
vision) I could show you how to land on your spine in a
hurricane. Build a damn in a small polio ridden village.
X-para I say, who did extra curricular courses

100.

careers advisor sees frog-spawn in pond
# ejaculates in straight line with no talking

101.

(The final few lines from a conversation with a female
tattoo artist, suggesting she should ask her place of
work for free tattoos) Yes, you should have your twat
continually over and over done. (A dragons paw. Then a
jubilee. Then broccoli) Changing your twat-mind over &
over. Modify your twat until the twat lost its rainbow
name. Till it’s burnt cork

102.

There’s a hand crushing my skull. A deafening twist
of occasion. A manic applause from the Laughter. And
who’s laughing? Tommy. And who is Tommy? He’s a
train driver, a liar and a kidnapper (plus) and Horace
but Horace is quieter. He’s a grinner. So what about
it boys I say, trying to turn. Don’t turn. Don’t turn. The
grip tightens Are you holding my head I say? So you
can shave off my face? They were laughing. They kept
laughing. It was where two roads met and I was just one
of them.

103.

A young girl shakes a young
sapling tree. She is looking for
the devil.

104.

Your words have meaning she says, you have to be
aware of that. You have to know what you say freaks
people out, you come across as rude. Well I got up
and put a feather in my hat, and pranced around the
room. What you doing she said. ‘no words baby, see
no words’, ‘because it snapped, because it snapped’
‘What the fuck you going on about? Grabbing the vase
‘This aint snapped’ But all the words in the world have
snapped and are now just broken fruit on the orchard
floor, because you will it, because today you have
made it as a missionary. Waving a large chain, through
the trees, and the boys won’t come down from their
houses. ‘woo woo woo woo woo woo, because you
will it baby!’

105.

if this is my bubble O

then this is Me putting it up FOR SALE ‘Q .

106.

Someone left the iron on, and not only did they leave
the iron on, they coloured in a panther and went over
the edges. I just went downstairs to take out my laundry
and make a cup of tea, and yes, whoever borrowed my
bike hasn’t put the seat back, and has left the iron on
and coloured in a panther, but went over the edge. Did I
mention the left trainer, I found in the grass? too. It’s not
mine, I know whose it is but I won’t name names. So. I
hang up my laundry splitting garments into piles and I
see this light on, its an iron puffing away. Christ I say,
not only do we have the trainer, the panther, the bike, the
shower that don’t work, we have halitosis of the spirit
we’ll all be borrowed rags at a paupers wedding, a paupers
wedding, I sigh, a paupers wedding

107.

the coolest point on earth o
the hottest point on earth O

and this place just doesn’t X
give a fuck about that kind of thing

108.

What contaminated my fiction was the poison of
misconduct. There was stops and starts in my frivolity
There was a ghostly burden. There was necks of turds
and the bodies of pressing engagements. There was
therefore a crossroads. There was an apology I could
more easily make.

What ruined my fiction was psychic gout, behavioural
induced, behavioural relieved. An exemption not
coming, a conundrum unfitting. I’m ready for the post,
I say (half heartedly) calling through brush, calling
through comb. Speaking round the civil servant in
my mouth

109.

Gujarat is no name for a horse, when
you’re trying to work out how to
get rid of an old suitcase. Just, how
do you AC/DC?

110.

As the sun rise, it forced the negative onto the bedroom
wall, the grease on the pane was lacklustre. You looked
at the Bentley on the wall and knew it never had.

111.

When all my patients ask me (seldom paths cross) I tell them I’m pretty sad but I’m baring up, and thanks, and goodbye, and watch the step! (ingrained see). I go to the bank to bank the cheques (he doesn’t now). I buy a pomegranate
I stop of at a bar for a Guinness where a black man asks me, ‘would I like to hear my future?’ (some African thing)
I’m retired now (see I said that) Am building my own house. There are trees and bushes in the square and flowers in the beds. The picture on the desk is no longer (it’s in the medicine cabinet) & the woman I fell in love with is finally
property of the state (alas)

112.

I was at the crossroads, which on
looking round was too grandiose
so I went to the valley, which was
too quiet and huge, so I went to he
train station which was fine but there
were no trains today, so I went to
the brook and watched the small
fishes. The small fishes went and
so did I, up the hill., to gaze at the
stars which were a soupy mush by
time I got there

113.

Who bashes heads against walls in the world of
noses? Who leads with their head? in the world
of snozzers. Who orders Chinese food with their
head? in the world of hooters. Who puts too much
left-hand side on the red over the pocket and misses
because they’ve used their head and not their
gazonka? Who wants a head on a pole, when a
bib-twang says it all.?

114.

The Bukowskian curve is a flattened average rainbow
spilling its druids over the landscape, searing the strings
of puppets, knocking out the lights. They get up and walk
some they don’t get up. They spar with the mouths and
makers, they fight between themselves. They have the
hands to. The tiny hands too.

115.

A new craze sweeping Japan is called
GENOCIDE. It’s furry, and it’s cute &
it obeys the international law of tartan
pop socks

116.

“an apricot would make a lovely purse”
“have you got a stone?”
“yes. I think so. hang on. o yes. here it is”
“thanks”

117.

Don’t buy statues
if you live in a
bed-sit. They
turn into presidents.
They see ash-trays
as tap-dancers
They dislike a helmet
of whelk

118.

I have been long waiting
for the time, to
walk up
to
Graham Buchan, whip off
his moustache
&
DECLARE
this fig is rotten

119.

They poured hot oil down the little mans chimney
but the little man was waiting. He had rigged up a
pipe or several pipes, the idea (from where I was
sitting) was to put it straight back to them like a
flying ACE. But this stupid little skinny man didn’t
realise that the pressure required to put it back to the
robbers was insufficient. So nothing came back to
them like a fucking demon ACE. If anything the
system of his cooled that oil a few degrees, but
nothing else, other than splatter on his drying nappies
there was no fucking flying ACE

120.

The hallways are full of young beautiful woman.
The pockets are full of erections. Doors that should
be pushed are pulled. And underpants are full of
erections. Knee length leather boots, thick belts,
That’s the look this year. I've seen that look
in magazines. None of the men in mansions
have erections in their pockets though,
Or reach into their pants to undo the knots.
A cigarette and a mobile phone, a coffee with
a napkin, she’s so pleased to see her back
This year they air kiss, and a young man with an
erection squeezes up on the bench, digs deeper
into a book that means absolutely nothing

121.

Don’t you dare move that glass
it has the scent of her perfume.
(under close inspection)
Just as I thought!
What is it sir?
There’s a selfish cunt in Neasden

122.

I went to the end of year prom with seaweed in my
jacket pocket, and mercury in my hair. I’d been to the
bottom of the ocean -it was a wild night. They run their
glasses in me for fancy cocktails, they bummed me
for sound of shells in their ears. I wished ‘no’ and wept
(leaving with a) a salty lisp [ o. I was a oil rig with two
physical legs, but two legs more in the 9th element.
that was the hang over]

123.

Your own weight clenched
you in. Your own spoilt self
could be your victory. I w-
ould say sir it is the differ-
ence between being served
an egg and being served a
plate with an egg upon it

124.

little lake
big lake

little lake
big lake

then two little lakes
and two big lakes

then a sign:

‘NO GULPING’

125.

When you lose weight, first to come out is the chips.
You leave a greasy trail starved drooling in Asda.
Next is pastry, this makes elbows ache, and head dizzy
It’s a ‘decorator on the atkins diet’ mode.
The beer and wine happens all of a sudden, you wake
severely un-drunk in a crowded carriage of severe
alcoholics & the train doesn’t stop till Cardiff.
Note. buffet food will never leave, it is the eyebrows
on the colon.

126.

He had
separate moist tenners.

It was the
worst Mickey Mouse anyone
had ever seen

127.

Trial & error, yes it is - see race relations - someone must
have tried eating ivory, mating lead, first out like, taking
a spoon and smearing molten eye balls on a herpes scab
It’s not so weird - the resurrection was the first garden-
Centre. Limb reattachment, penile extensions are retro
There’s been so much cleverness but so much wrongness,
as they remind us at special school ‘you’re not different
you’re in special school’

128.

Tour guides & people that teach English as a foreign
language won’t rest until everything is a pop-up book

129.

There was a bottle of wine on the fireplace, I borrowed it
I replaced it, he borrowed it, he replaced it, the guy that
owned it, he never drunk it, and the saga went on. I
borrowed it, I replaced it, the bottle changed as that brand
didn’t sell at our shop. Then he borrowed it and forgot to
replace it, ‘and that was ok’ ‘since he owed him for
something else’, so there was no more bottle to borrow

130.

Look I have the parcel, and I pass it to him. Now stupid
listen, you take the parcel and pass it to me, the parcel
take the parcel and pass it to him. look. Watch me. See?
got it. Why don’t you pick up the parcel? What are you
laughing for? Christ, just pick up the parcel, and pass it
to him. That’s it, pick it up, what are you doing? Don’t
rub it, pass it to him (grabs his hands and arms) swing
your body, and give it to him. Now you take the parcel
don’t look at me, you take the parcel, HOLD it. Don’t
undo the ribbon. Ok put it down, let go. LET GO OF
THE PARCEL. LET GO OF THE PARCEL! right,
stand up, UP. We’ll try this standing

131.

My life is one long PINK. On a rainbow
that just won’t stay how I fuckin put it

132.

Has no successor or captain, no denomination or grade
It is the bright parrot without a birthday or name and
the look of inquisitiveness. Under its own weight it
squeaks (what do it hear?) and flies off, legs flapping
very fast but only very minutely but if you look closely
they do move, 100’s per second, up and out of the
workshop, into the chat-show air

133.

I’m a ridiculous pointy tent with pine needles in my
britches and I’m never taken down and I’m never used.
And why was I put there? And why am I waxy & green?
And so when you came to inquire when you came to see
How I would photograph you were taken by this mini
circus the vacancy of this story the space inside the
kingdom for that very fathered articulate mind, you
begin to grow within me

134.

The security is all Watts and Ohms
All they say is ‘nicholas nickleby’
They are scum

135.

cricket on the radio
would be better played
in bands of sound, an
alphabet of morse, a
long one note bugle
for the run up, a door
slamming in an empty
warehouse for the bat
or not bat, a note bended
on the guitar (much
sustain) for the fielding
HHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOONKKKKKK
EEEEEEEEKKKKKKKKKKKK
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHHHHHHHHH
etc
for 9 hours/

136.

They say my wedge is unhealthy. My wedge make you
fat and hungover. My wedge makes you narky. My wedge
is cruel and won’t live forever. My wedge was once a union
jack

137.

I dropped the pork loin. I picked it off the floor. I
went to dinner with a plantation. I burnt the niggers
& the crops that day.

138.

How do you wake a fella, flat out on his back
trousers open, fly’s apart, snoring, stinking
hands flat and down there, and shirt stiffened
just press, CONTROL + ALT + F4 + P + ~ + £ + Y

139.

Asthma is a master camouflage, a netting and a
barn painted. Storing all the massive explosives
Hiding all the lost and gone summers. Drummers
marching inside the skirting-board contract

140.

On that bend Blackness hung. It was a Wiley old vulture
a neatly stacked hand of coins running through the ever-
waiting fingers. On that bend end-isms bayed for harp
choruses, Nightfall went sudden WHOOSH, Homelessness
of the soul came. Death shook a convex mirror and took
another truck driver. On that bend not a soul could see an
open thing

141.

I want an armpit
hinge in the centre
of my breast
as so I can hear
the charity squeak

142.

There is real boys secrets in re-finding
squares of solace / small cemeteries (2 plots) are genius
This is British sanctity
that left behind his syringe

143.

Your apology stopped a hail of rocks. Your apology
stopped me coming out in the 5th with nothing to lose
I was double-crossed. I was set up, I realise, and last
night I thought hard. I had to have this blame, like I
had to have luck and not luck. I sniffed the nail-bomb
they call politics and this office

144.

the nearest sainsburys is here

the nearest sainsburys hater is nearer - here

145.

acoustic guitars
kosha chickens
and spare hooks
9 9 9 9 9 9 9
hang across the top of this page
the sign on the door reads:
before entering, tuck in your lips

146.

Before they go to the disco they iron out their heaps
with creams and lotions and wind powered machines
and several biscuits. They smooth out their heaps in
front of mirrors, in taxi cabs, on the stairs, in the garden
miles up in the air. they speak of men, and some men
are fools they say, for bringing gifts of flowers instead
of tools for heap maintenance. Heaps are for pushing
and pulling and if the heap fits, then they smile, and if
the heap aint shifting, then it’s diet

O my life of heaps O my life in bits, bits of heaps, heels
and heaps and tears. heels and heaps and tears that never
fit anywhere. heaps of Cinderella. heaps of high street.
heaps of whining boils. heaps of hair wrapped in tin foil. heaps of blood to contend with heaps of fathers. jealousy. phones. and heaps of bitch. heaps of poodles. heaps of cats. heaps of scratches. heaps of clothes. piles of hats. heaps of dreams. heaps of horses. heaps of Mondays. heaps of ghosts. heaps of humus. heaps of toast. heaps. heaps. heaps to iron and arrange. and sort. and heaps to send to hell. and a heap
of bricks with a front door bell. heaps. and heaps
and heaps. and heaps and heaps and heaps. and a baby. a baby heaps etc.

147.

Morse code must be really
fucked off with texting

148.

With kerosene for dinner and barbiturates for lessons
I got spots. I walked with a fridge for a head and a
fridge-door that was always open. Youth demands too
much sacrifice. This author remains sceptical stroke
pneumatic

149.

Throwing a castle here, throwing a castle there
one here, one there, another notch tighter goes
the belt, because (ah!) they were very much the
bird tables of the stomach garage dark hole bat-
cave variety

150.

I just stood at the bar with my elbow against it, and my
pint in my hand, and these flashing lights came on, and
the doors opened, and the conveyer belt began with a jolt
and the bar staff all waved and started to cry too and they
turned on all the taps and let them run in my honour – and
they run like waterfalls. I was going out to sea. I was being
taken off, I was launched. And the brass band began and I
went into a blackness stone-still. I was going to that better
place. I was completely made up

151.

You joke with the bar-teller, do you think
I could hit the ceiling with a severed artery. This is
when a paper plane hits you in the eye. It’s hilarious
on her part. You spend the evening trying to make
her see it isn’t.

152.

No matter the price of the hotel, feet up on a grave stone
in the lobby is a deck-chair. The plum that runs this B&B
informs me breakfast is between 8 & 8.03. I pump up my
inflatable carcass. I do what Heinz did to Lou Reed

153.

I want my knees to click. I want to hear the clock in
my heart. I want my chest to crumble and hair to wilt
and blackheads to give up. I want to age. I want to brim
with small quirky old man adventures. I want youth
gone, completely gone. I want to hear him throw down
his keys and run out in tearful disgust

154.

Those that show photos turn like a carousel, wear
a pointy hat, and beg whine beg whine beg whine
This is Larry Graceson with dips, & a shot of a sink
with asthma. And when I hear, that’s why we founded
a charity for sinks with asthma, I ring up everyone in
the world and say do not donate to any sinks with
asthma charity. It’s ill

155.

I didn’t belong to this LSD set. Once a paper-round
always a paperboy. 5 am is for weather. Get off my
window you long-haired cunt

156.

Comedians spend hours
in front of the mirror
jumping, trying to make
their willy bounce in the
opposite direction to the
motion of their body. What
a waste of time - buy a
filthy harpoon

157.

Great fighters have read my poems. Great boxers, and
apes, and menaces, they have read my verse. Love-struck
teens have learned my words, word for word, & recited
them to bathroom mirrors. Ambitious young city types
inhale my scripture, they get high on its positive vibe.
severe maniacs know me but not through my work, &
roll my book like it’s a cosh. I have incited black on black
crime this month. I have put the axe in the hand of a
woman. I have taught kids dirty words about woman’s bits
I have not even finished. I have not even said what I
wanted, and surely that’s the first thing anyone can teach
themselves

158.

From what I heard of her mother I never wanted to meet
her, see her, hear her, or witness her. I was flexible. I had
a bad image of her breasts - burnt. I had a bad image of
her lines [It was Francis de la tour getting emotive over a
biscuit barrel] She is a theatrical trollop I thought, a
disgrace, and a drunk. I don’t like cards. I don’t like
neighbours popping in for a drink. What do I possibly gain
sitting there as you watch me watching her, and watching
her watching me. It is some form of dirty-clinic waiting-
room. And then when I leave for a piss, the words come
out sharp & blunt.

159.

Why does Nelson Mandela always attract more fluff
in other peoples houses?

160.

You are the great wall of china and I am the inspector for
the wonders of the world, and I say to you, 56 years ago
you were up there but now it’s common to be amazed
it’s common to be cynical and amazed. Well, what about
my termites? What about those drilling midges? Well,
there is not yet sufficient damage to claim X wonder of
the world – * see it before it crumbles * but, call me in 37
years. Excuse me, good day

161.

I had a complex arrangement - a
not ordinary – complex impressive,
arrangement of turrets circling my
crown. I was dubbed the bird-man.
The supreme court, the highest of the
high, said your gondola face ‘had no
chance’ really. Even the press appealed

162.

Getting too fat for your suit of armour
But the best work-out is war?

163.

(do) opinion-ate upon the workman ship, as I
said it was long ago. What happened to them?
They chose footage over foot massage. I’m sorry
Well it happens. They had a baby to patch up the
ailing business, that’s me. It wasn’t a suicide pact
It was a joint

164.

whoooosh. up went the wheat into the sky
arrows and arrows of wheat, roots up-ripped
radios left on. wheat met the sorceress in the
back doorways beneath her coat. little fireplaces
the size of peas glowed

165.

A haemorrhage on the rainbow: all of Calcutta is
using the litter-tray!

166.

I have a friend on a cycling holiday
I sit on the remote

167.

Lets face it the dumb bastards have it best. The dumb
bastards who don’t think, who just go bout things
They have it best. They have it good. I tried to bring
out the cretin with cream. I’ve attempted dumb bastard-
ism. I got trench foot. I slept extremely well. But there’s
something that just won’t not be aware. I get to Kilroys
office and cry sirens of badly played flutes.

168.

I’m looking forward to the little perspiration you bring
Aborigine. I’ve seen your thumb paintings and I think
we can work together. After you’ve done your crocodile
Dundee thing, after you’ve defecated on the London eye
pop over - come crouch. I’ll take snaps of you throwing
pickled onions at cyclists, then we’ll eat some sugar or
something

169.

I was just walking down my road, Ellison rd, thinking
about crabs and sand in hats when a small boy the colour
of an olive squashed into a fence leapt his balloon-head
out of the window calling, calling down to his something
I did not see for the bunch of leaves, small ten pence
Leaves and then whoosh out of a small cock came lots of
hot piss. Kids piss, his brother? with his cock out the top
of the pyjama belt streaming loads of piss into the tap tap
went the soils tap tap. and NO NO said the head on its
stick, from above. About five seconds shot through, mud
and piss. Mud and piss and pupils expanding and I turned
like I’d been slapped with a corner, and the pissing boy
was still pissing and laughing and all the piss was shooting
everywhere. Splashing piss as his belly wobbled and he
laughed like popping crackers mixed with sheds collapsing
what a laugh for a small cock boy, and they laughed both
of them now from above and from the mud below they
laughed, and I heard them.

170.

When the clock struck 20:23 the glass chopping board
on the front porch went Chuck CLuck Chuck
it was a carrot and steel hurricane heading our way

171.

one grain of this, one crumb of that, one little nail
broken off, lump of that, and heated over a candle
secretly and carefully blown on, and carefully stirred
as one bit of dust could be a major ingredient in
carrot, celery and peppercorn & dust soup

172.

About 4% of fires are put out with piss
The magazine hedgehog basically, strangled by urine

173.

He filled his recorder with rice for a cosh
for a revenge. (He) could only swing himself
really – as fingers on holes was the buckle on
this venture. (Now) over to the sack race

174.

O

ABOVE
keys on the keyboard that do nothing.
(well, nearly)

175.

it
FREAK OUT

it
PLACID
FREAK OUT

It
PLACID

it ten minutes
it two minutes

it spy
it COURT
it placid

it yip
it yar

it RAT
introduced to marbles.

176.

And why we love to queue –
to burn-in what we think
upon our neighbours pergola?
That’s right.

177.

Spiders must feel sick most of their lives. All insects
must make other insects sick. Eaten sick. Face sick.
Concentration sick. Network sick.

178.

I want a toupee with a hand in it, with a hand
grabbing it. A hand grabbing a fist-full of hair
All matted and bloodied. On another day, a hand
swiping a trophy from a mantelpiece. The movement
is in the spring

179.

C C CCC C C C C C C D D D D C C C C C C
C C CCCCC CC C C CC C CC C C C CCC C C
CCCCCCc cCcCCCCCCCc C C C C C CC CC C CC C
C C CCC CC CC C C C DD D D D DDCC CD CDC D

a) BRIDLE PATH
b) MUDDY BRIDLE PATH
c) ILL CONVEYER BELT
d) NONE OF THE ABOVE.

180.

Did Romeo say she’s alright but she looks about 7
and she acts about 27. So, you only look about 11
and are going on 18, anyway, what did I say about
getting involved with Mitchell brothers, eh?! They’re
14 going on 22, hands like hams. Playing with fire
brother, playing with fire

181.

On one leg she had a tattoo of the Eiffel Tower
And on the other just above the knee a tattoo of
a stick-man. I think he also had a gig with the
flour people.

When her skirt were a hilt she would sing a yarn
about the cheap cost of public transport in Paris
For Prague just add the smell of horseshit –

And speak too after if you asked her, on subsidised
transport in Europe. & sing this yarn, and bring
her knees together meaning how easy was that.
There was no problem.

And even when she was pregnant by private
enterprise - the slag. Nothing sagged enough to
severe tenure.

182.

Bully wear - logo of a fist and a rose - on t-shirts
Head-bands and trousers. Easy trousers, and relaxing
foot wear. Glows (shows up that is) with fuckin fear

183.

Rhubarb, I follow the form.

184.

1. I wipe myself with cooled brass. I pinch myself a
touch behind the ankles. There’s a sign vicars do, and
there’s a sign I do (secret) And now I’m pert and blessed
and tingling, ready to reveal to the lucky woman my
‘detector’ love. If you could walk this way (like a square
frame on cheap carpet) ‘just don’t nudge my Arial’
colleagues will talk (head)

2. GO
3. HOLES
4. NOT BAD
5. POWER DOWN

185.

As a child he pulled legs off of Swastikas and riled county sheriffs with his gravy spoon which was never cool. Always hot, always 145 degrees Celsius and that 4 foot bugger ran down the stretch of white picket fences scolding the strips, branding the paint. and all the smell and fumes joined together in a twirled wispy MySpace page with wow

186.

I can help you, need? A few satirical articles,
political poems, jokes about a dictatorship or
cruel regime.? Are you UN (you en) registered?
Are you thinking of clinging to a truck axel?
Well don’t, guaranteed asylum the wordy way,
call me. Better than picking peas in Kent

187.

AIR

--n ------ n--------P----------- n----n------ n TIME

NONSENSE

n = head
P = broccoli

188.

His head come back with such a thump
Atoms shot up the microscope
The first Seikh amphetamine
The first doll.

189.

There is a handle at the back of your head (with a
little left over tinsel and blu-tack on it) & you can
wind up and down your Adult Education. Bringing
all manner of shops in & out of view

190.

Behind enemy lines. The first spy landed here X
The next spy landed here X
& the next spy here X (no where near)
‘instead of keep sending new spies, why don’t we
just tell these lot to move closer?’, ‘because it’s only
one shot on the black sir’ ‘O’

191.

I gave birth to a seal. I am a kaleidoscope
30 or forty seals to start with said the scan
but on the day just one.
I turned my neck sharply, see

192.

Motorway flu is a variant strain of snooker flu
It was brought to this country by androids
‘These are lovely French cakes,’ you say, then
realising -shock horror- the bag is his extremely-
stretched knuckles, ‘Where did you say you were
from?’ Politely coughing-up into Anne Frank’s
napkin

193.

She wears nothing under her flesh chain-male tunic
and under her skull helmet is her curls, locks and curls
she has the straightest longest nose with a sword in
each nostril, she protects the honour of the harmonica
in the songs about whales

194.

Old man huddled in-over crippled fingers, odd-patched
unshaved hairs on chin, skin colour of dirty coins, rattles
Christ as he brings Budweiser to his lips - like the cliffs
being poured into the sea

195.

I couldn’t see from the front but from the back he
had a large ‘eat an orange’ growth on his cheek
and one of those small hands, and she – fuck – she
looked like she’d been electrocuted, then boiled
then baked, then had a week in a health farm just
to keep the hell from falling out (picking weeds in
an orchard my dear, picking weeds in an orchard)
I thought, and how they ever produced what – I
assume was their daughter I didn’t know, I just like
to think of the tale of the flying dominoes, flying so
fast all their spots fell off

196.

It’s nothing, it really is - nothing ‘a fish versus a
sardine’, and I know a sardine is a fish etc, that’s
all, it will pass ‘Canterbury versus vodka did’
as did ‘a hard suck on the music room’

197.

It was one of those pubs,
where the common family
mix a spirit with a soda
say ‘fuck knows’
and a fireman is involved.

198.

I turned my fist into a french horn shape, a pretzel
shape, and blew a Eb (e flat)
I brainwash ducks,
I have the gullet of the motherfucker duck in my fist

199.

I was in your dream as a rolling number, as a tumbling 6
as the shadow grew and grew, as the 6 was badly written
so it did not roll, but slammed like the pound of a child’s
feet, the first attempt at a head-stand

200.

Has anyone ever bettered themselves with ivy
But twirled in ivy?

201.

I broke nerves and splashed heeling sores with pints
of saline. I knelt on ribs and cracked the carcass
Peter is a suffering Helmetitis. Peter is going mad,
entwining himself in the barbed wire. He cannot get
the helmet on or off

202.

I’m just cooking up a blue-bird curry, and oooo it’s
spicy. I’ve invited around poets and writers and artists
and grandma for 8. ‘What is this? What are these wings?’
‘It’s blue-bird,’ I say. The room goes silent, ‘you can’t
use blue-bird, that’s sacrilege!’, ‘and what’s this, may
I ask?’ Very suspicious of devil me. ‘Well that’s deep
autumnal soup, and that’s shards of glass in a iridescent
pie, anyone fancy a line of Hughes, it’s good stuff’

203.

Spherical captions pass me by, they pass me by again.
they orbit me again and they speed up as I speed up
and I’m handcuffed in travel, I rarely travel. I don’t like
travel. It’s always dialling. Travel is always using it’s
chocolate finger to call

204.

We would meet in secret away from the rest of our
lives. Away from the kettle and the table, apart from
the voices and the tunnels. Leaving behind the neckline
and the disabled. Pulling from the yawns and the desire
to kill. Making enough room to fight amongst ourselves

205.

Besotted with ramming my thighs against your
hamstrings, my knees in your back-knees. Eggs
in cups -marrows stacked (so to speak) rocking
on the runners, hobby-horse from hobby-horse
lane.

206.

Half moon, half thinking about it. Will she arrive with
brandy and a legend for a pillow. Is she really, the arc
of Carry? Something simple then, will then be more
profound, though I’d like a motorbike or a plane.
arc = in covenant Carry = ‘on Films’
the arc of Carry = where they meet for strawberry wine

207.

The wet rushes into place. The berries all polish
themselves up. The leaves begin suicide
It’s green, with a flick of a switch, VOOOM.
Then a bloody fuse blows and the ramblers must
be vaporised.

208.

There is a god waiting for me. He is an eagle on a
plinth, a music yet un explained on the stave. I
want a barrow to break him off and cart him home
I want a hose pipe long enough to soak him and
squish him and mould him into blocks of chivalry
and serpents. I will have the love of a squaw

209.

Who’s the greatest cartoonist? Salvinder the snake
whys that? Because he has a cooking stove in his
room and everyday has a fresh question for the
landlord. Why is my room leaking? Why is my room
leaking? Why is my room leaking? Why is my room
leaking? There is a free-kick in that kids flip-pad.

210.

I was in operation of many buttons. It was not the dairy.
They were like arcade machine buttons - very sprung. I had
more buttons than fingers, and I spread my fingers out. I
was thrust straight into the booth. I’d just nearly flipped my
car. I was on my back. I had back issues from slouching
on my bed. When I said now, the guy above inserted the
wires, no, try again. It would be much easier, like a truck
cab, if it folded forwards

211.

Music shops hate cardboard

212.

What about all the single beds outside the pub
all looking like a hospital ward,
all tipped up on its side. All crashed and
touching, piled-up some. They had to be so we
could get in. They had to be so
we could fuck. I love Samantha Fox

213.

I am being followed by the massive inflatable sign-
language hands. They are like balloons tied to my
shoulders, and they reflect in the glass of my mind.
They are outside. They are inside. They are the deer
you only just glimpse in the rear-view mirror. They
flutter like a bird in a box. I’m reporting these hands
of freakiness to you. I may not come back. I may be
held by the neck by one and flapped away by the other
Higher and higher to another ground. And as we travel
we wave to the other hands and apprentices. And dip
slightly when we do.

214.

They shot an episode of Eastenders here, it was
when Sharon went to Sharon university and
Tracey bought a spirit-level on the cheap. Slightly,
then touched on the psychology of mishap

215.

He didn’t place the fruit bowl on her head as to
part protect/shield her from the island he was
throwing, he was just clearing out the small back
bedroom of the world and had no where else to put it

216.

I couldn’t I couldn’t - it was good -I couldn’t I couldn’t
it was dark and symphonic and moody and England.
‘Cum , cum on me’, she said. But I didn’t want to. I wasn’t
ready. I was Queen & country. I was doing this for the
passport office. ‘I’m tired I’m tired, just cum on me!’ This
was my fathers, this was my fathers fathers, this was our
sausage-roll. ‘cum on me, come on’, ‘I’m tired’.
O great lord of England, great lands of knowing. Send me
some jism. Send me some detail. Whisper me her real
colour and let me shat my bolt.

217.

When I’m up here on stage I always keep a keen eye
on the knee-line. It’s an evolutionary left-over from the
days I was an 18 inch hawk. Every now and then I drift
off. I see the murmur of a babbling brook or an
abandoned mouse hole. If possible I do prefer to angle
myself away from the twitching of a polyester hem-line
just proud of bony knees

218.

Dixie Joe and Tennessee slim were there, there
was a fiddle player too, and because there was
no designated porch we set light to all your mothers

219.

this is the red mark across my stomach

-------------------------------------

I was wedged against Guns ‘n’ Roses
for 7 minutes.

220.

I got a large large key and shoved in the front of my
house, and turned, I wound it up. Took that key out,
sat back on the grass and watched ,the upstairs window
opened, Fester appeared, looked out, closed the window
opened the window, looked out, closed the window etc.
Ben opened the door, jumped onto the step, then jumped
back in, opened the door, jumped out, then jumped
back in, etc. Fester opened the window etc. The roof
lifted up went up slow, slow, then snap, crash down shut
then went up slow, slow, then down sudden snap. Fester
opened the window, Ben jumped out the door. I went
to the back gate, peered over, the sliding-door slid open
then slid shut, the ironing-board crashed smack bang into
it, the sliding-door opened, crash went the settee. I slapped
the side of the house, that was better, everything eventually
wound down. Fester went back to TV and Ben cooked a
favourite meal.

221.

What I meant was the odd night, the odd – what suited
night the glove made of rubber – do you know it?
Well that – that night – on which it signals – just right.
That night. Blow and shake your soapy rubber glove man

222.

I am being exhumed with salad tongs. It is a Saturday
in September. Who would have guessed it. I became a
pencil shaped leaf. A leaf of carbon and nickel. Between
the crack in the patio I went. Dr. Philpott exhumes me,
and holds me up to the Nicholsons and the Farleys and
the Bakers and the Yoriks

223.

Now I know every cog, wheel, nut, screw, fuse and
wire, and all are silver, and I call spell them backwards
I screw down the bonnet (shut) I polish off the hand
marks, I check for any gaps (no, none) I put it in the
garage, & close the door. ten minutes later I’m back,
I’ve changed, I have now a moustache, I have a selection
of moustaches. I sit in the back seat and read a book

224.

People don’t know any different, they were born in this
camp. A soft blue lilo floated by, it was another infant
death, another kid trying to escape. ok, I said. And I
willed it, and we waited for the bottom gas to discover
the top gas. We waited as it fizzed. we waited as the
human chewing sent its sword into the coughing sea

225.

everyone’s in tennis shoes
white tennis shoes
soft canvas shoes
leaking and full of holes
beaten with silver.
summer white shoes
comfy white summer shoes
sloshing through the silver and
doorways to buildings being built
apartments being made

226.

DdDDDD DDD DDD
DD D
DD D DD D

LOTS of NOB ends

227.

Who was ever cursed with the taste, the continual taste of
metal? Well a shepherd was, Gary his name. He fielded
the hills beyond the Grace mountain range, and when he
wandered with his crook to see ducks, platypuses, tortoises
and geese, he just SAW MINCE. Mince, mince & more
mince

228.

I rotated your world baby, I flipped it, 90 degrees – a
90 degree transition, the ceiling became the wall, the
wall became the ceiling, the wall became the floor.
I flipped your world baby, I did not turn it upside down
(who said that). I sent you a spinning swastika, I sent
you a mowers wheel. I leant hard on your room baby
and when I got it tilted, I pulled it from under you. &
you’re still standing babe, you’re still alive. You’re still
the address that you always were

229.

Up on my art is something no one has ever seen.
Up on my art is a burp wrapped in onyx, or might
as well be. Up on my art is where mythic creatures
duel it out for a pinch of salt, ‘cos salt is live or die
up there, on top of my art’. Up on my art is a saddle
that faces north, north by north west, and that is just
my interpretation, of the scales of compass up there.
There are no pegs. There is no catalogue. Art is rested
on art, on one another’s art. Up there on art hillock.
Up there in the infinite breach.