Will the universe
Select you?
Will it throw you a bone?
Cos not all
constituents
Get chosen
You asked them all
To just leave you alone
To float in the depths
Permafrozen
Is it because of your virtue
Or lottery like?
All notions
Of the righteous
Can get on their bike

Will you swirl
With the other dust
In ecstatic dance
Or dwindle to nowt?
What is the chance?

I implore you to listen to
Tyler Ballgame
He's the essence of McCartney
And a bit o Lennon
And a lot of Orbison
In different songs
At different parts
He's a big man
With a lot o soul
And an even
Bigger heart.

Digging through my CDs
I keep finding
Two copies of the same album
Then I remember
Ah ****.

Each of these *******
Has hundreds of tenses
If you pair em up
They could be
A dying king's
Incoherent instructions
for last ditch defences.
              
Go Run!
Get Put!
Take Turn!
Stand Set!
Strike fall!

I die! Uuurrrrggghhh.

My liege?!?!?

If I didn't love myself
So much
I'd love you the best
But you're gone
And you're
Not coming back
Just like the old string vest
A fashion choice
Some would scorn
An anachronism
But it was comfy
And it kept me warm

I took it off
At your behest.

Hunter wrote
All energy flows according to the whims of the great magnet
God knows what he meant
It was something of a tangent
What does it mean to you?
The energy that moves
That pushes through
The thing that propels
Your essence
Away from the shadow
That pursues you.

Conservation of energy
Conservation of thought
Conservation of my ******* self
When the real battles get fought
Contemplation of the future
Contemplation of the void
Contemplation of the furnace
Where atoms get destroyed.

When the good lord
Came up with fruit
He made it a bit of a test
The type that benefit
And the poisonous rest

Made us filter out the lethal
And the ones that made us sick
But once we did
We were grateful
And knew with which to stick

The colours
And the textures
The sweetness
Almost holy
The creator
Chuckled
To himself
Wait till they invent
Smoothies.

The Love
Is the like
And the repost
The love.

I'll see you there.

*******.

The influence
Of the self
On the self
Is not generally
Accepted as defined
The self itself
Not even definite
But that way
We're inclined.

What is there and what's it like?
Why is there something rather than nothing?
Simple questions without acceptable answers
Go on try it
Your head will be apopping
Maybe you can do it
But I know I can't
I start and trail off
Straight away
Cos I know
There's no commonality here
Trillions of notions
At play.

I was reinforcing  concrete
In my dreams last night
Yet
I've never worked
On a building site
Though for a short time
I was employed
Ripping buildings out
Is it the collective unconscious
Chiding me?
Urging and directing me?
Less destruction
More Construction
Is
What it's all about.

I keep meaning to get back
On the lions mane
To relay the nyalin
That the years have stripped
And cleared

Neural roadways
Are now potholed
It's like
Blackburn Lancashire

It worked so well
The time
I took it
Focused the fuzz away
But I keep forgetting
To retake it
At the beginning
Of each day.

The nice things we had
Lay in a broken pile
Smeared in *****
And set on fire
We couldn't play quiet
We couldn't play nice
Despite persistent
And heartfelt advice
From us from
The future
In separate pods
Crying the blues
Shouting the odds.

Some sadness
Can't be burnt away
You'd get asbestosis
From the smoulder
You've got to wait
For brittleness
It's chips away
As you get older.

Once
Love handles
Now
Just grips
Unhandled.

The dreams of meals past
Visited me last night
And made me
Revisit all my waste
By Christ there was
A lot of it
Hard to take it in
Talk about
Repent in haste

Is it better
To **** little
And often
Or go for the
Bread and butter
Clean out?
I'm getting
Conflicting opinions
Down the pub
Cos you only get
So much mileage
When it comes to
Human silage
You'll get your
Comeuppance
There's the rub.

The trees shake with fear
The beast is drawing near
You can hear
Its roar and rattle from
Afar
The bins will soon be empty
The dragon feeds aplenty
On our packaging
And food wastage
Oh la la!

Stephin Merrit said
Every day in every way
I'm getting worse and worse
That must have been said before
Simple ******* in reverse
A fine counterpoint to Emile Coue's
Daft pronouncements
The late nineteenth century's
Proto Noel Edmonds.

Synonym
Antonym
Contronym
Tiny Tim
That last one's illiteration.
Bread and eggs
And unripe 'nanas
Lead to constipation.

Poets
Philosophers
And
Theoretical physicists
Pretend
They're
Up
To something.

If you doubt the Lords beneficence
Let me put it on display
Why did he make it so simple
For us to run and play?
Why does coal burn so easy?
How come cows move that slow?
Why is there fruit and nuts
And ***** everywhere?
Food on land
Sky
And below
But he made a slight miscalculation
Concerning
Numbers
Hubris
And greed
The experiment had promise
Till just now
Duly noted
He proceeds.

If you've been dealt a bad hand
Perhaps the game you play's
Unsuited
Peruse God's grand casino
Find a chair that fits
Get rooted.

Like in one of them fantasy movies
The hero draws the sword of power
To emphasise it's pureness
They make it ring
For half an hour

You try to be concise
To scallop metaphor
Cut back on the floweriness
Let sweet simplicity pour

But you think
The point's unmade
Your thoughts lay unleavened
Just one more verse my friend
What was that?
Six
Or
Seven?

We knew it was impossible
But it happened anyway
There was a lot of fallout
There was ******* hell to pay
We were glad it occurred
Despite the cost
Had it not
All would have been lost
Tragedy and triumph
Relief from pain
Just one slim chance
To begin again.

The world is like
Your mother's ****
It's full of ******
Now
How's that for parlour tricks?

But all jokes aside
We live on hope
So please my friend
Don't let go of that rope
When clouds roll in
Faith get soaked
Then you desire to twist and choke
The shadows not certain
History I invoke
With your feet
You don't have to vote

I think I heard you
Bleat half a laugh
Between the sobs
And that's enough
At least today
It is a start
Tomorrow
Begins
With
Trembling
Heart

But we've been here before
And I hate to just spin it
But you bear the unbearable
Every moment
You're in it.

Beyond help
Beyond hope
Beyond care
Beyond grace
How come you're staring?
Have I got **** on me face?

Don't confuse funicular
With rack and pinion
Or you'll never get up Snowden
There are those who'd argue
But that is my opinion.

You'll be welcomed into Hell
And not tortured
They have a place set aside
It's an orchard
Where the fruits are so sweet
Cos the roots go so deep
And you get a boss view
Of the torment.

Mum Ra the ever living
Your ma the ever giving.

I keep strange hours
Neither late nor early
It's not my fault
Time's gone curly.

I was walking down the street the other day
When a spiny anteater dropped  dead right in front of me,
I kid not..

That rabid Labrador puppy
Looks so cute
As he twists and retches
Contorts and stretches
Howls and coughs
Runs then stops
Bites his own hinds
Quickly declines
But lingers
In tortured agony
Begging for the mercy shot
That will not come.

If we could just keep our lacking mouth shut
Consider the planks in our eye
Sit in quiet contemplation with our cold heart
Hold two opposing ideas in our mind
Maybe not lionise the great Alexander
And his method of dealing with knots
Untie ourself from our surety
Let our blood flow through our brain
And not clot.

Sometimes I feel
I can see through the air
Not the air
But the air
Beyond light
The one
That gives life
To the world that sits over
This Earth without blocking
Our sight.

It's been a bit flat and murky of late
Like the country
Fixed under a cloud
That's not metaphorical
Political or arch
It's meteorological
But you know
Nudge nudge
Anyhow

But

The light and the air
This morn
Are truly a joy to behold
Like a childhood summer holiday
When the world was at peace
And all the sweet chestnuts of old

When freedom and sunshine
Stretched on endlessly
The morning telly
Exotic and grand
I think I'll turn it on now
And see if it's still there
Hopefully
ONCE UPON A TIME MAN!

You can buy a vowel
On wheel of fortune
But pay with embarrassment
On this site
It ok to misuse
Them big long words
As long as they
Sort of
Almost
Sound right.

He still loved the crushing darkness
Despite what he said about the light
After he got out of the hospital
Police work
Seemed no longer right
At least not for him
In his half butchered
And tortured state
He'd always been darkly comic
And loved a good debate
So he tried his hand at comedy
Though big laughs
He seemed to lack
There was always
One big ******
******* his trousers
In the back.

Much will be wiped away
The rest will be all altered
He said it
Mona Lisa eyed
The only sign of faulter
Your home and chattels
Now belong to us
And of course
Your kinder too
You need our codes
To eat and breath
So what you gonna do?
He didn't say that last part
Though he really wanted to
Pushing forward
To perceived perfection
A techno-Buddhist
Stew.

There's 96 bags of **** the moon
Or at least that's what I have heard
Among other detritus
Scattered around
We gifted the universe
Some turds.

The world with all its peaks
And canyons
From highest point
To lowest trough
Suits them that seek
Reckless abandon
And those
That  just can't get enough

If our planet
Got shrunk
To cue ball size
I mean really shrink
That sucker
It may well you surprise
Earth would be smoother
Than that ******.

Come one
Come all
And gather round
Let us sit upon the ground
In the dawning day
As the warmth accrues
The birds awake
To this paragraph new
And the badgers slumber
Beneath the clay
Human progress
Not delayed
The horizon suffused
Orange and pink
To be alive
But not to think
The rising sun
Sings it song aloud
Oh look!
There is a mushroom cloud.

He wanted you to switch off your brain
Shun analysis
And lean into the paint
Leave aside conscious thought
And all the things you aint

Step inside
Past
Layers
And
Layers
Feel the work
For he is not saying
Give yourself over briefly
For you will not be staying

On wall sized panels
Dark enough
For all to handle
You will know
The soft limits of language
As you stride
Into the grand ditch
And stand there alone

They ask
How far back should we stand?
As from left to right they scan
We are almost out the room
It's getting out of hand

He frowns
As his head it itches
******* all these
Sons of *******


"Oh! All the way back
About eighteen inches.".

For them not taken sudden
By malfunction
Or malice
There seems to be
Some sort of acceptance
For most
Upon the approaches
As the world
Narrows down
From
What we call solid
To that we don't know
To nothing
Or back to
Some host.

Like Norm said
Through the voice of Billy Bob
It's fun to be a lone wolf
Except at wolf picnics
When you have no one
To enter the wolf wheelbarrow race with.

The Pythons
Refused to mock Jesus
His words
Inescapably decent
And true
Just the malaise
That followed with him
It'd happened before
Made anew

All the pro
And the anti

Every sycophant
And cynic
Accrued
Before the lacking
Made it all cliche
Before the naysayers
Shouted abuse

The golde rule
Of love over hate
Should surely have never been up for debate
Poorly copied by charlatans
As ****** berate
Just like they did to Elvis
After 68.

The best material
For the job
Sometimes
You have to rob
Off of
Others
Building sites

In the midst of life we are in death
And as has been said before
It's true the other way round
The sweet realness of love
As you're watching them go
Is the truest place it can be found
For the petty everyday
And the ersatz fog of the self
Make for
Vapid and dull introspection
But knowing and feeling
They'll soon not be here
Musters
Beautiful
Electric
Connection.