Tagged: poetry

downloading Back to the Future

one

two

three 
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  

 

 

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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

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 

automatic writing #55

the song was set on a space station orbiting earth
the astronauts were eating powdered food and trying to remember what
ice cream tasted of they couldn’t find the words to describe vanilla

in Russian Stalin banned jazz

he ordered all trumpets to be buried 300 miles from Stalingrad

yesterday was national poetry day and no one knew

outside hailstones have been falling on and off for an hour or so
spring now, but possibly still winter
the calendars could be lying

the washing machine is gurgling in another room

my cat ate my fish

my cat died when I was on a school trip

my bird fell off his perch and never knew he hit the ground

the news is on the radio and
words are jumping from its belly
something about a murder
Russian involvement

she told me this morning she dreams of dead children

I’ll leave this here
I’ll finish my tea then I’ll be off

automatic writing: #27

        flapping butterfly wings inside the wardrobe with the skeletons

fireflies circle the bulb

a low wattage casts small shadows over this thing
                         over this everything 
of empty petrol station forecourts

wastelands of concrete where shoes hang from telegraph wires
all the stereotypes I know

(but how many of them are true?)
she frantically searches the book shelves for the answers and writes angry letters to the council about the lack of WI-FI at the local library 
she sits on the roof to get a better view of the constellations which she can’t see from here