TV

Lolly-gagged babes in the wood
mnuh mnuh muffled syllableus
on blue lundis when the news is
foul not fair not failed on four
thousand different channels all
at once disseminating the self
sacrifice of papal gophers or self
serving stock marketeers' wives'
mentor programmes' progess on
the nation's childrens' issues ack!

Let them suffocate themselves
with gin and tear soaked tissues.
The anchors on the bulletins all
stare into the camera lens, bunnies
with dilated egos flapping dollars
on the ten oclock tide, ears pricked
for promotion, boxes ticked for
believable facial poses of emotion,
intoning international tragedy in
genuine swine sincere tones live
lies lapped lovingly by the coven
gathered round every family box.

The kids sip sunny D and freak,
think they're power rangers cos
the hopped up toons gesticulate
so wild, flicker and shake the tube
each way round, the moral being
the coyote never caught his prey.
Nations full of wives watch each
tiny move the catalogue makes,
maybe the latest blending micro
wave descaler slash air freshener
will make that bald waxen lump
in the living room love me again?

The ultimate prop of every home;
a talking dead machine pedestal
gnarling in the corner about goods
insurance pills toys cars girls diets
claims hardware software bonds
plans savings cartoons therapy
love healing faith grace death love
real fake on off buy sell go stop
believe disbelieve hide reveal
give take push pull
yes no yes no no

Whores

Anon anon yeah? Hey nonny nonny.
Pissy infant, take your stupid money.
Quails egg crack between gold molars.
Four roof caveins in Sao Paulo slums.
Child bones broken under broken tin.
Forget the pen they penned you in.
Hold out honey for the holy rollers.
Smear your face on faked hum drums.
Lump lumpen crumby slump hopes.
All in the puddle go your silver shoes.
Ask the whore madonna how she copes.
Queen with the counting-house blues.

Flap

Could slouch in skinny jeans
for hours endless skinny hours
skimming the boho curds off
of government money, plug in
my maxed out synapse party
boy o boy headache silver platter
to tedi tiny fine inter webwires
getting my kicks this decade
then slouch off to Bethlehem
and pay penance pay back
the dough the do the don't
the diorama of a dozy boy
kicking around out of pocket
lickin stick sticking plastercast
limbs on the wall off record
and bubbling my soulbrew on
the midnight train to Georgia
porgia pudding and punch drunk
confession lovey dovey stolen
moment life shmife aha oh
well we all try don't we eh?
And she's three thousand miles away.

Sit here like Prospero with my books
or something I dunno just flung out
into the watery outer spaces, Buddha
on a bender, Shakespeare shaking or
shaking hands or shirts off taking
dives cheap lager strumming hip court
jacket out the window with sticky
toffee mardi grah doowop veins,
I can't live up to prophets poets,
people passing quiet down dark lanes,
it's all too much to take down town,
rocked round and round, no way
to know or think or write enough,
can I just mope til I'm at the end
of my twisted wrung rope? Nope,
time to lick my pistol, put pedal to cool
metal and speed into the new sunrise.

Love, you'll be a holy eagle flied
by my side until death us do fart
parp parp the car waits, ticking over,
no wasted time no more no oh no.
Hop in our chariot and spatter now
fired up turned on and witched out
through blind morning to the great divide.

Racket

Outside the flake white window
sound like leviathan ribcage maraca
craaark craaark scraping comes out
of a white council truck jacking up
a car inch by inch heaving metal
wheeze, broken bottle and card
board crushed up in the bottom
of a plastic green recycling tray,
skip noises, car engine rises, leaf
mumbles, pneumatic rattles, cement
churnings, plane engines bowling
their steel load cross the sky howling
like wind through an empty home.
The ice cream van clatters by again,
spangly off key chimes churn out
the same old cheery tune that means
crackrock powder grass etc, midnight
you'll know when they pull up beside
that a magnum isn't on the menu.
Inside our room's white walls
we laze the afternoon propped sleepy
on sofa or sleepy Josh feet out the
window reading A Room with a View.
Ours is just of plane trees, cars,
and other opposite white windows.
Tommy taps his thumb on the armrest
and turns the page, spaghetti sauce
down him, tired sigh. Josh talks
in his phone call corner for a sec.
The lava lamp's cold, the coffee cups
empty, ash tray tidy, scissors close their
points at light speed into afternoon infinity.

Birdbrain

Mr Smith you may fist and fidget
with that wire running up your spine,
may shuffle stacks of virgin A4 off out
the window 40 floors to the paving slabs,
white right justified copy flown from tray
in out pending wait something help me
to the storm of paper feathers falling
like the snatchings of a fat cat homicide,
and you one plump old plucked pidgeon.

You may cradle that balding egg you
would like to call a human being's head,
run your fingers over every little line
and hope your potato sack skin don't slip
to show the ham fisted you hid under it.

You could stick paper clips through the septum
rectum colon guts acid tube talker teeth
or swallow coins ball bearings tabs files
and digest the substance of your adult life,
leave the remainder steaming in a public lav
as a memento of the grinding grab grab grab
babble babel babe brothel brother ba-backstab.

Every memo to you is Qu'ran Torah Sutra
and you keep them all filed tight together.
You'll never shake ghot, never lay egg
on the doghter of gohd on golden sand,
or break with the whore's whore, the big man.

Those wire taps you tried to pluck out
were veins, the steel plate in your skull
was dehydration, and your mother never
stole from you. There's no poison seeping
to your conscience, no system of taxation
has the answer, Barney was just a dinosaur,
the scalpel in your hand will go in there
but busting up organs won't bring her back.

Mr Smith you've got me really frightened,
I've got to know is this the only road
for the enlightened man? We can split
the atom, the difference, hairs, our skulls,
but oh god if oh it god comes to this,
Mr Smith's short cut to everlasting bliss,
a rusted blade blunt and brown shoved in
to rupture Smith inside off to the rapture
while outside Smith is twitching, foaming
spit and blood and messing up the desk,
then why continue with a tired charade?
Smith you'll bail you shit you coward
I know how cold and old and tired
you have to be to take that leap you
Smith no Smith shit stop Smith ah no!

Flaked, didn't you, nancy boy, scared child.
The world needs your rheumy eyes more
than you know, your pasty brain's a grace
to the grey world, grey grace, grey love.
Your pidgeon chest is virgin white for now.

This is a Stick-Up

Rabid strictures of puppet crisis cuckold
filthy dew-brow Mr Smith, drawnout
ragged scriptures, depth charge, holy ghost
palpitations and meanders, swan-wrongs,
wrong-songs, forked prong stuck on
lecturn dick chain rounded thong thrum
blam blam hokum gestapo Aleppo bother-
hood who'd lynch species out and out
keep knocking on doors til they get a hit.

Bully boy butt head knock outs gnash
tablet twisted teeth and crouch reloading,
who's shit? Twit twoo! Gas the bleeders,
kickem too, shovel em shaftwise down
the hole to fester in the steaming brown,
gasp and grasp the plug and fail and drown
in children's toys, in hyper boles toilet bowls
stern father's frowns of misty whiskey eyes
four ayes a hundred nays neighing silt
and crusty acrimone alone hanging phone
line hokum hooker hooka holla ho ho!

Certain stinkers Mr Smith won't swalla,
whetha his gullet misters him or not
he's a standard rippling in the breeze,
and jees, Jesus and disciple cronies didn't
have tax rebate repossession lawsuit filing
jack! Baseball bat phonies breathing flicknives
down his neck the whole merry while.

While wiley David's seed was divvying
bread and fish Mr Smith was getting fucked
Royal Imperial Intergalactic anywhichway;
tactical, taxical, personal, shmersonal, blip.
These pen pushing bean counters aint got dick.

It's all real if I say, in my head,
please, I insist, listen! he cried, left
cradling his grey head in an empty office.

Shout in the Street

Do re mi fa so blah la blah ti
so far i've quenched my bleeds
bloody bla bla black sheep bleating blah
stumbbling on bloody black stumpts
blam to the slaughter, tall grey blue
drink o water drinking dead air,
tub thump. Thumb throb. Flob a dob
flapping felt jaws of the world,
news of the rag, maws of sparrow
kids, crumby kid gloves, heavy metal
satan snow white doves on tape,
full throttle frontal blah brain rape
blah blah bah ah ha ha aiaiaiai!

Hai ya! Karate carrot top ten yr olds
falling faceflat, bruises, pride, where
have I remembered this crap from?
Churches out of bedroom widows,
well to do lovebirds tripping fol de dol
down Cambridge roads, round round-
abouts, carousing on the carousel
then vamoosing in a vamoosel sec
at the beck of chemical bursts,
loving and busting out, intestinal lust
seeping, bodies are not just blood brain
and vitamin; pus, plasma, spunk, a ton
of funky shit to squeeze through veins
like toothpaste tube ordinance, it helps
to lurch your waxy skin bag out
the door to booze and find love, sacrifice
your fluid amalgamate on the steaming font
of raw fucking life life aiaiaiaiaiaiaiiiii
alalaalarahstahflahaeeeee fuck
blah fuck yes love blah life oh blah.

Catapult me lord from the vinegar
and beery piss, I've better brains
to batter, bigger mugs to hug, shrugs
and lugs to slug in the gut with what
I'll scream from slung lungs, the
holy word of our immortal savior
ha ha! I slap the lord in the face
with my dick, he turns a cheek,
the meek old felch! I've bigger
fish to fricassée, ask for me today
and you'll find me a graver slave
slavering s'liva aliver than you'd hope,
never yet broke but token, joking, done.

I'm not a dead soul or a lost hope,
why I know, I love and worship
not a crackpot hippie christ, but a girl.
Over and out, I summer sault off
into the catseye nebula spangling shout
scatosphere per iph er aieeeeeeeeeeee!