Category: Just stuff

extract from a diary 

an uneventful train journey through a landscape of  wasteland & acres being developed barns and silos cows standing meaning rain &

empty roads and church spires that disappeared 

into the past that is over there
and all the people outside looked small faceless blurs as if sketched in a study called

people in the distance drawn at 100mph

and I arrived and went underground

where physical money isn’t recognised
I re-surfaced and it was cold
I then meet two friends 

one I hadn’t seen since the funeral of another friend

who had been blown up by a badly wired fridge 

and who who cremated by a Buddhist priest

and his ashes were flown home in a plastic box 
we drank and left to go to a concert

and we saw a car crash of bent metal &

police sirens screaming everywhere 

and homeless folk asking for change 

while telling us rehearsed stories of their chequered past 
and the concert was fantastic 

and it’s been playing through my head looping over and over 

and there’s some footage on You Tube
& since then my dad asked me “who did you see” and I explained

you wouldn’t heard of them and he said I was probably

right and we talked 

and we said good night


free verse 

        the promenade stretches along his field of vision


like a school text book on the first day of term

      the sky is grey the floor is grey with old chewing gum glued to the surface and the angry sea is grey and the fisherman sway like they’re listening to a ballad at a concert 
     the world looks like an elephant 
              & the weather means everyone has retreated indoors

         &. the local council want to legislate the towns magicians 

to follow a single code of practise 
   (precise measurements of top hats 

from which they will be allowed to pull identical rabbits ) 
    & when the thaw comes we will walk in the wet world

down streets with human names 
   & and the kid on the bus

takes aim and shoots me with his imaginary finger gun 

little Lee H O

Lee Harvey O smelling of cordite

Lee Harvey O reading dense Marxist tracts 

discharged Lee Harvey O cold in the Great Soviet Union

Lee Harvey O in Mexico
Lee Harvey O in Cuba

Lee Harvey O in two places at once

communist Lee

wife beater Lee

– a loose thread on the jumper of history – 

Lee Harvey O pictured in 1993 in a Nirvana tshirt in New Orleans –

– little Lee O 

masquerading reality with parts falsified 

 O’ Little Lee falling down a wormhole 

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 

downloading Back to the Future



French kissing your mum in purple pants and pretending it wasn’t you   
I asked her what she was thinking 

– she slammed the doors

– smashed the windows

– stole a car

– burned the house down

 -fled town
– two weeks later

anonymous phones calls where I can hear a fountain /waterfall / seasonal rains / hotel shower / pissing

– whispered words 

– a well fingered photograph of

teenage confusion: 

I knew I liked woman 

and spent years thinking I must be a lesbian – 

— erasing paragraphs from the bible like a child screaming with his fingers in his ears —

if it’s removed it never happened

—all those people in the cemetery never existed

vertical burials in the wasteland  



Continue reading

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