Can't Face the Pub

Escape Velocity

Guilty feral pigeon escape velocity

Scuds through services and across the highway

Into the loving windscreen of this eighteen wheeler

Feathery fireworks and his useless brain

Evaporates across three lines of fellow traffic

Greasy pink spots washed away carelessly

A feather stuck beyond the wiper’s reach

Reminds me of my worldly presence

Just for a few guilty seconds, feathery and careless.

Found You

 

I found you

Turned over a stone

And undrowned you.

But parallel lines

Stretch, given time.

Time, a life of,

Crime, a way to

Prime the hours.

But perhaps a few hours,

Or months and the odd day,

Are all we call ours,

I pretend it's okay.

A lifetime of pretense.

Pretender.

Did I lose you ?

Surround, blind by words

And confuse you ?

Parallel lives

Stretch and

Separate.

 

Four Times.

Four time the height, length, of your love,

The ropes that bound us in green times,

Four times the drop, to be human again,

To eat from the proferred platter,

To struggle back towards the home fire.

Four times you sent me,

No time did I ever doubt my loving return.

The post-apocalypse nightmares

Continue, continued, and does today. These days.

We always wake before we connect,

We approach and dance with death, and happier times.

The rope is blue, a trucker's throw-away,

But you'll kill me for this love, no matter whether its real.

Four times I crossed the line, told you five,

Was too drunk to count properly.

Situation normal honey, your platter?

Full of doubts, as human struggle,

To my own apocalypse.

Four bloody times.

 

In The Cold Light.

It seemed for a moment that

It all could come right,

That errors we'd made

Would be naught come light.

Come light into corners

Where worries had bred.

Dissipate the nightmares,

And the dumb things we'd said.

Dumb things,

Some things,

Ideas of conflict.

Bad things,

Sad things,

Places we'd picked.

The moments that passed by

The minutes and hours,

All chance of redemption

Blown like milk sours.

Sour milk this morning, and

A time to divide.

In the cold light of breakfast

There's nowhere to hide.

God Is Dead.

Running water running rats screaming babies and

stumbling crone wardens on one last orgasmic trip

and trapped in coccooned role-gaming scenario-shifting

leg-pulling muscle busting supermen break down at the sight

of a dancing bouncing bomb

in numb surprise her eyes

and phantasise on wet moment kiss

scream death excitement escape gaming

no naming shit kicking arse splitting

head-hitting model breakers and piss takers

and dope smokers no hopers and the dark bell tolled

this night of old when such gases and vapours burned eyes

only in asylum dreams with mustard gas and ham

sandwiched between two broken doors

in the street debris

a little girl maybe 2 or 3 and a dead dog and

an intact bottle of penicillin

if she was willin' it would still not suffice

to defuse the ruse that God is dead, long live God

Amen.

It's been a while since I had a random "shed" picture....

Tonight's soundtrack has, so far, been several Red Hot Chili Peppers tracks, and most of the back-catalogue of the fabulous, but gone Red Snapper. Jazz/funk/trippy but not for the faint-hearted, well, maybe, just don't wear a roll-neck jumper, you won't need it.... Nice.....

All the poppy snaps were from work today, and my phone, as I hardly ever dare take the camera with me for fear of theft...... and when I do, I can hardly carry it around my customers' gardens while I work.....

It's Friday, and I feel so unsettled about things I can't explain. It's like there's something coming, but I have no idea which way I should look to see what it might be. You ever get that?

 
Be safe out there people.