any holiday can go on and commit suicide in some old ****
coconut
postcard, I reckon.
it’s alrite here.
it’s not burning and the sand is a lame type of concrete, but
it has a lot of life. there’s even coral here, I probably need you
to call me up and have you explain it to me
but it’s here
all the same;
there’s howling monkeys that can open yoking orange suns, that
don’t know what to do, we wont ignore them though;
they keep on skipping around
pulling
the tide up to our seats-like they like the raw smell we give off
its normal in the city but unknown here
we fight- nothing
the world dives into itself
and see’s that it still sings
the resort keeps on beating behind the eyes of the falling sunset
the calls of our skin are catnip to the flying things and moving things
we walk across the beach as it follows from 11 to 3 and 4am.
it dies and leaves the moon screaming
in sirens within the black distance of the shore
the vehicle that comes as we sleep
holds open the road with our eyes
and remains eternally as we wake.

there hasn’t been change or sleep here for a long time,
the grassy cave is open as anyhting you could scream or sleep about
there’s a good curve inside, like all of the moss has agreed
with each other
which way to go, and to leave something open, for you to come in
it’s nothing special, and I’ve only been back two days, but you go along
the riverside path
past the park
and the green opens up a little more, and thusly
a little more happens you see, as I’m sure you would imagine, you take
a left from the path winding up to the birdge and step into the country of single edged trees;
there’s enough history in this hanging enclosier to let you do anything, but alone, you
do the normal things, you think about love and your heroes, and the opposites;
you’re covered by most of it by the over hanging trees where they grow together
in an over hanging swarm. and you work it all out.
you laugh like a human being, forgetting that
cues are normally needed for such things, you’d cry like the sentiments of the green
if they wern’t so abundant and still.
you’d ask each of their individual names if it
wasn’t so obvious that they wren’t already around you, and surrounded you
like peacful movements of song and age;
of course giving you the choice to see them like this
if you wish
or not.

shell fish unshelled alive
grass cut when you have the time
the spittle pouring out from a bosch painting
a thin hard back on the shelf
a cinema vidies with absolute teeth
maths chime number by number
a cat bites the last from a rat
and my crazy friend thinks that she leaves
a gift
as she purrs by the door.

shoot all of your flesh
away
from years ago
say to the world
it’s here
make shapes from serviettes
when the service is slow, don’t worry about the crowd and
shower – quite literally
in the company of your dinner mate
let the cars roam as animals roam
let all of your lips cascade
into one floating hole
that waits before dinner comes, brought by some stranger
removing the day
from the plate
i am the sequins of your dress
your are my sleeves
rolled up
and reaching for
bread;
i refuse that you should sit opposite me this table – so i pull your seat
                       over, and instead of just waiting for the food
                       i pull you nearer
the staff and the clamour of utensils die
                       tonight there is nothing but us, passing
“how come you don’t like sitting opposite?” You ask me
that’s weird!

Aye and the table is white
and we’re dressed ready for the world
as
(s)he salutes us within our eyes;
nothing can take me away from your dress,
we’re frozen in flux
as the waiter comes;
and the city shifts
outside.

every time it hit 6
and the shutters went down
the shirt would come off
and he’d be up the stairs like a murderer
quicker than the elevator taking the rest of us
up
his father used to walk by the shop on match days
grinning like a friend with old teeth
we put the shop together
until christmas was over
but we’re still employed by it all
everyone’s different hunger
more delicate
than the clothes we sold.

it has to be straight to my flat tonight
my day ended with me hugging a smack head
on the floor
until we both stopped shouting
and my boss came running behind shouting
“gooood job!”
the cars twitch
as they stop at the traffic lights
and roam on into the night
the day wearing a black hood
screaming at the road
i take off the uniform
and hang it up.

and sometimes love is a stranger
walking up behind you
dressing the nights face
and you don’t wanna look around
until it’s too late and you turn
-around drunk
pouring it away like forgotten wine
when really the gift has no age
and never has the taste of anything nameable
she is the hum that torches words
as they are not like her
where the word hunts, this stranger
is fed by a drive on the open road
that knows every part of your skull
that moves through the parade,
and takes you too
war
turned away
like bugs on skin
where it sweats with no remorse
and rains
somewhere else.