Meteors again tonight
The Lyrid so I'm told
Once more the weather forecast
wonders preclude
They say the best angle
And light condition
Comes an hour before the dawn
I'll set my alarm
It'll do no harm
But I'll deffo sleep through it.

That memory you have sculpted
Though of course it was not you
Is starting to the take the polish
From being so often viewed
You used to view it as intractable
but you're beginning
To catch on
that perfect sunset
The day that you met
The moment your father died
Editing software
Gives a parallel.

Early
Mid
Late
Never.

Steven Spielberg called
And offered me and my identical twin brother a job
It was on his hatchery
We'd be monitoring
The defacatory habits
Of the livestock
We were to be
Close Hen Counters Of the **** Kind.

Essentially inedible
Is that all
That terrible?
When you consider
Where the criticism came from.

Moon Cresta was Galaxians
And by extension Galaga as well
Sky Kid was Scramble
But they hid it pretty well
Street fighter was yie ar Kung fu
Though it made a lot more money
Hyper sports was track and field
Or the or the other way round
Memory
Is so funny
Some say Hunchback begat Donkey Kong
But that's a bit o a stretch
But nowt beats Asteroids
The original and best.

Wence when you made me move there
When I would not
All of a sudden
The argument is current
Past sentiment is not
Why would you not love me
Despite what I said I'd be
It makes sense to
Your mother
Intafrasticly
Told you'd
What
I'd be.

An old dog with arthritis
Walking in tighten circles
Moaning low
Dimming eyes
Loosening sphincter
Asking to be let go.

I'm attempting to not to be a *****
But good lord!
Where would one
Begin with that ****?
Who gets to define
The benign
What turns into
The reviled ?
And how would you deal with it?

It only takes one *******
To cause a stink
But that's all it is
And that's what the winds for.

South Park must have watched
The Life Of Brian
Liked  the 360  degree
Vitriol spraying
And then thought
Where did they get it from?
Spike Milligan.

I did not issue
And I'm not that sorry about that
But to those who did I tip my hat
they did the work that I would not
With  faith and love
That I could not
Bring  my self
To bite the bullet
I was not able
To stand upon it
And I'd do it  again
Cos what you are so rarely changes
We set our path in certain ranges
And though I would not readily leap
I say
I still hold my manhood cheap.

I remember when
And it wasent
That long ago
The nature of the now
Changed
When the
Nature
Of the
Nature
Went unnatural
Somehow
And yet
It gets
Thinner
With
Time
But
It
Takes so long
It's like the dripping
Of lime

I feel like Goya's dog
Staring at nothing
But terrified all the same
Contemplating the void
Apportioning blame
Some think he's scoping out
Two little birds
And if they did land
He surely would lurch
Others think his target
Is an unfinished figure
That got lost in the transfer
Twixst plaster to paper
And that's the rub
With all the black paintings
You lose a bit o meaning
When technology is
Updating.

Everything's going somewhere
Even if it's nowhere quick
Those ahead are expanding
Into nowt that we can expect
And when we get there
It'll be changed by what has been
Is this some slow punishment?
The rubber
Against sin.

I heard a few people say
Their fear of death was blown away
By seeing a picture
Of their folks
Afore they were born
In the snap
An older sibling
In their arms
Giggling and wriggling
Before the stuff that made them was formed

At that moment
They knew
Gave them truth to hold on to
There was no pain and anguish
And they were not bored
And it will be the same
After The reaper came
No one suffers
All is nothing
In the void.

If you've listened to to the rhythm
O the drivin rain
Telling you
Just what a fool
I've bin
Then surely
You can listen
To the retracted pain
Of telling you
I would begin again.

A weekend of Millney
Grows thicker
Through the years.

The elephants graveyard
Used to be underwater
So there be whales there
A necropolis like no other
And when the seas rise again
And cover it over
Might be
An amalgamation
Of one with the other.

I've been staring at a greyness of late
No joy to which I relate
Feeling both ancient and infantile
It'd be nice to be alive for awhile.

It's a cycle or so they say
From singin the blues to feeling gay
Sort the laughs out into a pile
Yes I'd like to be alive for awhile.

The mood is different the laughs are old
By your father you have been forestalled
Who layed it down in that old sweet style
I remember he was alive for awhile.

If men can be rakes
And the ladies get called hoes
What garden tool
Are the sexless
Do you suppose?

He said,
Oh my god it's ****'s enormous!
Looks like it fell
Off of a brontosaurus.

She said,
Look out love,
It could knock you down!
It could quite easily level this town,
Glass and rubble all around.
My god it's gonna **** the town hall!!!

Chewits
advert late 70's.

He's psoriasis
And cirrhosis
Got the tablets mixed up
But both nestled
In his ale gut
It didn't matter
A ****.

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

There's some places you go
Where the mantle is thin
And there's just enough cracks
In the crust to begin
To let something through
With no shape and no size
No essence of anything
On which to rely
For definition
Or earthly ken
Makes you start to remember
Of occurrences when

You've felt this before

Kefalonia
Central Glascow
The street where you live
The whole nation of Ireland
These locations all give
Pause for thought
On what is and what ain't
The nature of fact
Though it's incredibly faint
I felt it most pronounced
Outside Cozzarelli's in Belleville New Jersey
Over ten years later
Still makes me uneasy.

Just made a big whacky lasagne
Had bacon and chopped roasties
But no onion
Neither mushroom
Nor basil
But I had the the right cheese
Squashed the garlic I had
Seeped through the mozzadool
******* tasty stuff
Had me down on my knees.

Went to see that new Wes Anderson number last night
Entitled The Phoenician Scheme
An excellent effort all round
Scene
By scene
By scene
I've always admired his movies
But this seemed a cut above
In pacing
Framing
And intensity
A true labour of love
But there seemed
Something extra
A deeper meaning
For me to take
The gods of cinema talking to me
Or perhaps
***** rice crispie cake.

We couldn't see atoms
In any kind of visual way
Till about thirty years back
And before that they did say
You'll never be able to see em
Not enough luminosity they display
Once you zoom in that far enough
The photons *******
So way hey hey

But they didn't reckon on
The sensitivity of advancement
And now
The image forms
With a radiological shift
They all look like golf *****
On Gods sacred pitch.

I can hear the gulls
Through the rain
Such a soggy refrain
And the Broken rhythm
On my sill
The rotary swirl
Of the wind
As it bothers the bins
The monster that
Empties them
Draws near.

I remember a fella
At war with his self
At times he seemed lost
But not beyond help
He howled at the moon
He wept to the rain
The ants in his pants
Then lived in his veins
His verse was beauty
It was warm
It was tight
Right up to the day
That he turned
Out
The
Lights.

Which bits of you
Are you ?
all
of it?
or none of it?
Or just a bit of it?
That somehow controls
Everything else going on
Pretty much all the bits of us
Are automatic and so thus
In which bit
Are we to find you?

The Hobs of hell have to be operated
In a rotational system for maintenance and cleaning
Even though the work's intense
They're never exactly gleaming

Though the workforce is unlimited
And of course they get motivated
The endless drip of blood and filth
Gets baked on fast
Hard accumulated

The demon chargehands
Drive on the ******
With whip and fork and brand
But The broken barely keep up
In this accursed land

And so I think of childhood
With my poor mother near in tears
As she proclaimed the above Sisyphean task
Akin to cleaning
Behind my ears.

These statues if they were not cracked or chipped
Would seem to be recent finished
Not long passed
Just a bit
Like the final polish
Applied only minutes past
Glowed under lamplight
As shadows cast
Toward the doors
Of the inner sanctum
Which then are sealed
Against the millennium
And then another
Yet two more
Sat still in darkness
Gathering stour
After sands had shifted
And shifted back
Monied raiders
Gave the seal a crack
Now they stare over your head in the great museums
Disgusted that the proles can see them.

My mother is lovely
Let me get that straight
I know there's some people
Who will not relate
The Jimmy W telescope
Has captured some ****
That NASA does not know
What to do with it
Some analists think
It might point to the fact
That our entire universe
Is captured inside of that
Which cannot be possibly real
We inside a black hole
Or that's how it goes
Does that mean we can never be born?

It went so quick
From bladder to boot
Like a Haitian
Visited in the night
By the Ton Ton Macoute
That was stark fear
Knowing that this was the end
No compassion here
Just torturous ruin my friend
Some say with a straight face
Hilarity
Does the same thing
Poetic license
Served by fools
Is one hell
Of a thing.

The whole room swathed
And so moodily lit
Back when smoking
Was smoking
No one coughed
Not a bit
Like fat little zeppelins
They pumped out some fume
As the replicants
Gripped
By existential gloom
Studied the humans for weakness
Time to die would come soon.

Staring out the window
Can't find the words
I crave
Trying to get this finnished
Coffee keeps goin
Back in the microwave.

This time it's Ecumenical!
Especially if you include the pagans
All rolled together
Ritual,food and offerings
To both the Carpenter
And Goddess Eostre
That what was Ceasre's
Could have been laid before her
Fresh Cherry Blossom
Swirls down on to rotting Magnolia
And it's only Holy Tuesday.

It's the start of pidgeon mating season
And the boys are getting cocky
Circling each other like
That big Drago and Rocky
I hear them flap and peck
In the ring of green beneath my window
They look so clean and preened
As Into battle
They go
Both stand side on
One facing north
The other south
And flick precision left wings
Into
Chest
And eyes
And mouth
The two I'm watching now
Have near indentical
Neck plumage
I think they might be brothers
The old old story
Fraternal doomage
If these are Christian birds
To the death
They'll fight in front of me
Then follow the command
Layed down in Deuteronomy.

What must it have been like in Jerusalem
After the dust of that first Easter settled?
Imagine the recriminations
On all sides
Including the Romans
The way it was handled
Who was a traitor?
What now?
Who wants to lead?
What the **** just happened?
Will the grief
Not be relieved?

In the fairy tale of New York
The knave who would be a knight
Rejected by the queen consort
He attempts to throw his light
As gods lonely man
Every muscle must be tight
For one day
A real rain will come
And clean the streets of blight

He rescued the Fair princess
From the beast
And his foul hoard
The queen now was interested
The gas pedal he floored.

My auld fellah
Had a boss way
Of pricking pomposity
With his prong
He'd simply listen to them bloviate
Then
Get their name slightly wrong.

Are you
A Lover?
A fighter?
A drinker?
A dancer?
Which one these are you?
I said
A lover
A fighter
A drinker
A dancer
Tell me what  you like to do
Do you
Smootch?
Punch?
Swig?
Or boogaloo?

The timing belt
On the conveyor is loose
It jerks and it stutters
That won't be taken as excuse
And the boss man refuses to shut down the line
Got to keep his numbers up this month
Short sighted selfish functiory
Without any spine
So the drones work like drones
With staples and tape
And put their hands in the moving machine
Praying it won't break
Risking injury and death
Cos the job must get done
As the ******* sneaks off early
Away to have his fun
But the tales always the same
The line is bound to choke
Then they'll wheel in the next dicksweat
And trust again to hope.

The only thing stopping you
Is that massive unclimbable boulder
You pretend can't be walked around.

Cat food
Is not good for you
Don't eat that ****
Unless you in
Mad Max2.

If you break your spuds
After the boil
Before the roast
Just a bit
With the back of a spoon
They will take on
A hidden flavour
More than
Salt
Oil
And vinegar can bloom
Soaking
And grinding in
With steam as an ally
Fluffing carbohydrates
I'll turn up the heat
Shall I?

''Tiswas a lovely lark in the park this mid day
Crap coffee  at the fountain cafe
Hippy busking the standards
Every now and then
Slipping in one of his own tunes
And that's the mark
Cos he wants to know soon
If the stuff he spews is worth a second listen
He trills off everyone who stops
To stop and listen
He thinks that this could be his mission
And he wasent bad.

Bus poem
Bus poem
How I wish
I had
Your ma
To go on.