Category: art

a murder of them

the janitor at the library wanted to be a baby

naked and suckling on a breast

– but he just swept floors and emptied bins

– he looked at people in clothes and imagined them naked the larger the person

the greater shadow

fingerprints are like maths

you can’t argue with the facts

retina scanned at the door

they wouldn’t let me in

my eyes weren’t on file

where’s your favourite poem now?

in the fields at the edge of tow

all the scarecrows had their clothes stolen

they were reduced to straw

( I saw a man wearing the scarecrows trousers

held up with an electric cable

the iron was still attached)

and when the wind blew the scarecrows disappeared

and

the crows returned

a whole murder of them

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reading this will not improve your life

all the car lines up

going nowhere fast

all the colours

reds and blues

green silver and black

dented doors and all the registration plates are codes

I can’t decipher

this morning

has been going on for a week

( he had a mantra

rule one was “WRITE EVERYTHING DOWN” )

some join the dots to make beautiful constellations

some join the dots only to end up with a bloody mess of

childlike scribbles

I’m somewhere in between

someone is stealing my data

and all the FOR SALE signs are closing in

blocking out the sun

in the light

my shadow is twice as long as it is in the dark

simian space

more stuff for your eyes

dizzy sick 

I drove away from city number 2 got diverted through a town where they molest children and some fly flags bigger than football pitches
false feelings of patriotism for a country that never really existed

photos on the floor of ex-couples cut in two and eaten by rabid dogs

I had to get out of that town

but all roads were blocked

all these hours travelling centrifugally

I vomited a dizzy kinda sick

con artist 

a con artist in the big house

   the tiniest hands the easiest of crimes 

  a stolen nation

stored rock by rock in safety deposit boxes 

above him

out of his league
toss him through the window

leave him at the side of the road 
into a pile of plug in girlfriends

discarded as hard to clean for  

fear of damaging conduits and coils 
that hiss 

and fizz and the sound of a can of Coke opening is the sound of Satan leaving your soul 
said the priest 
the church of Coke: 

artistic glass bottles of the 1950s 

shaped like woman you wanted to fuck