Lord...

You’re a shiny
Italian Lambretta
Carrying me invisibly
through the day’s traffic.

You’re a chunk
of fresh bitten apple;
Refreshing the teeth
of my soul.

You’re a rescuing
helicopter coastguard;
Winching my spirit
Out of the turbulent Benchill sea.

My England

What does the world know
Of my England?
British Airways intro movies
Set to classical fanfares.
Charles and bloody Di.
Maggie bleeding Thatcher.

00000000oooooooh

Look at the raw
Naked north.
My country.
Cut yourself on our
rough edges,
Then we’ll bathe you
In our spirit.

Going home.

Bold streaking sun
sneaking up on shadows
...silent crackle
.feedback.
itchy & stractchy
.:.fluffy shudder
.air just out of grasp
just out of gasp.
Temporary loudness
now back to the hum

I fear...

I fear the eventless day,
Its craning arms
outsretched.
Tormenting tomorrows.

I need the relentless moment,
Its sucking throat
moist.
Salivating sanity.

I yearn irresponsible calm,
Its cocky nonchelance
reclining.
Disowning duty.

Pop Tarts

Peroxide flavoured
pop tarts
daren’t speak to each other
for fear of cracking
their make up.

Nearly new
fairy lights
condescend their plump mate
with a tone of
opaque friendliness.

If I had one wish
I’d give them all
uncontrollable flatulence-
then quickly alight at the next stop.

Civic

Cold custard comforts
Ill advised concrete clutterings
Wrapped saplings in tarmac bandages
Whistle down my steel shutters
Please dispose of your chipforks
carefully
Never look up
The clouds are out of bounds

Brain Tac

If only I could get
A ROM extension
For my head.
So many things are
Running simultaneously
That I’m just clogged.
Right now I might as well
Have a brain
Sculpted from Blu-Tac.
AHA, that could be it.
Perhaps I have.
Maybe by some alchemic spell
Cast in my sleep
It’s gone and mutated.
Well, best look on the bright side.
Now I can pick my ears
And stick posters up in my bedroom.

Dusk

The best thing
about watching the sun die
and the blue sky
gasping in fleshy tones,
retreat to a distant land
Is
Staring up to witness
the fresh-born faces
of the stars
emerging
one by one
Effortless
But meticulous
from the womb
of the night.

Dusk

Pale menu.
Filter.
Gently extrude,
the pinkest sandbar.
No, coral.

Pale menu.
Filter.
Blur more,
almost a swallowing.
No, absorption.

Just this once it would be nice
if the sun stayed up late,
You know,
to surprise us.

South

Its like fog
but it shines.

Its pink
but you can’t quite see it.

The exit’s shrouded
with hair
and hot pants.

Fizzy sodastream women
shudder to half bubbly beats.

A bit like beer
but not quite as tasty.