automatic writing

the man prowled the office corridors
with a phone stuck to his head
he talked about deliverables,
differentials, divergence

he said he was agile

his spreadsheets were ready
armed formulas
ready to fire

his face was a white cinema screen
a bed sheet stretched
a bed sheet with a dead prisoner
hanging from the end

he stalked corridors
with a phone

a man of religion said God had sent
the hurricane to scare the masturbators
and the gays

he remembered leaving the house and his parents standing there like
two unexploded hand grenandes

reality changed when the tanks rolled in

his fist kiss
clashing teeth and the taste of mint

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when Rhianna came to tea 

she came to my house for some home cooked food 
—she ate like a baby bird

–small portions 

–she even bought her own cutlery

–the tiniest fork I’d ever seen 

         the conversation flowed 

she touched me under the table

I blushed – after the meal she sang to me. I was far too polite to tell her she was no Nina Simone

the next day she wrote to a prisoner and told him about the smell of the flowers in her garden
she tried explain the taste of the ramen noodles she had last night
she described the wind and
she drew them a picture of a dog reading a book

more automatic writing 

        inside the clouds reading about
25 million domesticated chickens – when the missionaries arrived they said you had to kill all the dancing girls – up here
      breathing in third hand air from the kamikazes oxygen mask 

   the song tells me Lenny Bruce never wore a pair of second hand shoes –

          arguing siblings & idiot brothers 
                 11 types of meat 

the milk doesn’t taste like it should 

     the coastline is mountains and belongs to a country I don’t know the name of

—-mountains of cinematic proportions–a Hollywood adaptation of the Visigoth tearing through this landscape of people taking selfies & macho volleyball
— time and geography is confused — 
missiles launched at nowhere in particular 
I saw a unicorn as the clock struck midnight 
fear of plastics 

fear of plastics 
neauve rich Russians with gold crucifixes & designer swimming trunks 
      their tiny wife’s have Aushwitz bodies 
     

heavy load / small chin 

mother as container a vessel with heavy load

entrance as an exit 

         I crawled through the forest 

on all fours 

    it was a sight

bleeding knees like a priest in pray 
(100 years ago I would’ve existed in black and white 

– the war was still raging – 

stomach full of a steady diet of fake meat) 
problematic use of language in the land of the deaf

– a throng of people just pointing and grunting – 

– regression 

zombie shuffle dead man boogie 

– kids with txt talk 
I’ve been told there is an emoji for everything – 

the future conversations:

•smiley faces 

•gun 

•closed fist

• flag of Cambodia 
my beard left my face

it was hoovered up and added to a bag of detritus – I noticed I had the smallest chin — 
                THE SMALLEST CHIN  
— I resemble me 

little me

baby me — 
a picture on a mantelpiece 
I was Adam for a short period 

I was Eve for a shorter period
I went home 

I came back 

4% battery 

a bruise colour blue

in the shape of a country you discovered in you mind years ago

         you named it and designed a flag

– Mexico City is angry

– London Bridge is falling dow

my phone has 4% battery so I know time is short 
I’m not who you think I am

all my writing is edited by an office of low paid secretaries and retired professors 

             I use computer programmes and algorithms 

             I steal lines from songs and books 

       I’ve never heard of Robert Frost 

I’m a 3ft black midget 

      I’m a cross dressing reality TV star 

   I’ve been to all the church’s in Utah 

        and you told me you wrote to a prisoner

and told him about the smell of the flowers in your garden

you tried explained the taste of the ramen noodles you had last night
you described the wind and

you drew them a picture of a dog reading a book

eczema scratch 

dead skin with eczema scratches and thoughts of enemies and enemas in a world where uber drivers deliver lukewarm food where the sky was white now it’s an ocean of clouds that resemble the arcade game characters you grew up with – 

 

I am reading Romantic Dogs on a bus where a two women are talking about how much they hate their children – 

the keys in my bag chime against coins – my mind drifts

to secret languages 

and handshakes we used as kids 

    – those old streets with dog shit and overfilled bins

dirty municipal swimming pools and empty swings –
and now in my ear a song that mentions the Satanic Bible and Steve McQueen 

and Papillon
alone

floating in the sea