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Jodie-Elaine Jun 2020
THE PIANO KEYS. KEEP STEPPING. ON MY TOES. THEY DO IT WITH A LOW, GRAVELLY, DOMESTIC APPLIANCE VOICE LIKE THE DAY I CAUGHT YOU DANCING. DANCING SO BEAUTIFULLY. IN THE VIOLET ROOM WITH THE SHAGGY. DRUNKEN. HOOVER. OH. ONE-EYED CARPET FACE I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING. I SWEAR MY TINNITUS IS ACTING UP. THE ROOM HASN’T STOPPED RINGING SINCE YOU OPENED YOUR MOUTH THE FIRST TIME. WHAT AN UPSIDE-DOWN BLUES CLUB I WALKED INTO. I ORDER A DRINK FROM THE SINK. IT TOLD ME STRAIGHT OUT TO **** RIGHT OFF. I THINK I JUST LOST ITS NOTEBOOK. THE ROOM OF BACKWARDNESS. OUTWARD. HANDS. THUMBS. I THINK I MEAN. PLEASE DEAR GOD. STOP CROONING. SIGHS THE RUG. TIRED OF STEVEN. STEVEN DOESN’T KNOW EITHER. ANYTHING. NOT EVEN. ABOUT THE CARPET.
Jodie-Elaine Jun 2020
Beach tunes happy-go-lucky spins around the living room the way you catch me when I launch myself at the kitchen tiles, I just wanted to catch something right like a childhood home and things won’t stop lobbing themselves at the walls like sad, falling existential poets eye rolls bad yarn fingerprints track loosely around this domestic space come in for a slow dance, I’ll tie my hair up and we’ll use the lawnmower as a kitchen table chasing our dinner down the street microwaved bats keep coming through the windows Happy Halloween, my love. Slow lips touch themselves together tiredly at the end of the words fall off the face sliding slowly drum beats pleasantly thoughts die here in this greeting card poster perfection ohh, how nice it would be to have a shootout in a 50’s diner with baguettes the same tune it lollops around the room a little glamorously nothing has ever been this perfectly balanced before I fall off my chair it knows something we don’t.
Jodie-Elaine Jun 2020
It was a few days after it all
when I clung
to the ship that wasn’t really a ship, or you told me so
I,
I would have believed it could have been anything
a block of cheese, a fandango,
that old porch
I’ve been dreaming of for a few years
the scene doesn’t end but
Frank, the jumper wearing fellow-
he’s shaped a little oddly- he
told me to leave the fridge open
and you see I got a little distracted the world wasn’t quite there
and the machines weren’t quite machines
and I couldn’t pull things off the walls like I could pull
fishes
fishes out of my eyes- something a little backwards
didn’t we used to keep this behind the teabag jar?
I,
I thought the lid was
superglued with something a little tougher than
soft touch
blues
the melody calls out from one of those dog-eared
spitting instruments and we are reminded
it knows something we don’t.
Jodie-Elaine Jun 2020
Things are falling out onto the floor, bits and stuff- old hoover batteries
doing a bit of a jazzy buzzcut dance like jam hand sandwiches that moment where your
hands can’t skate fast enough and can’t stop tying themselves in knots
elephant trunk knots protruding precariously like weird plate show tunes breaking the moment, wave, pebble beach, ugh.
What a lovely space question mark, it is?
I thought you were a little kooky sandwich filling, blocks from fake eyebrow movements
the childhood adverts like many sided shapes flashing Michael Landy sheds his dose
Mavis plays the harmonica cha-cha-cha
the floor caves in but you don’t need it
you’re held up by sheer, pure spite, very little
IKEA scrambled eggs on toast this is how I scramble it, like bad cement mix
eyelid blink pin drop sounds like not fitting I hate your shoes, put them in the kitchen bin
and move me to the top of the wardrobe, I like to be very, very far from
the floor.
Jodie-Elaine Jun 2020
LITTLE BLUE HANDS GRAB ME FROM SOMEPLACE I DON’T KNOW HOW TO MOVE HOUSE IN THIS PLACE HOW IN THIS PLACE IT’S NOT REALLY THAT DRASTIC NARRATIVE FALLS FROM SKIN LALALAND ROUND AND ROUND THE WHEEL GOES IN FUCHSIA IT MAKES US BOTH SICK AND WE FALL OFF A LITTLE LOPSIDED WHY WEREN’T YOU HOLDING ME YOU’RE NOT MY SEATBELT YELLOW CIRCLE BUT THAT’S NOT WHY THEY CALL IT THE BLUES, THAT’S WHY THEY CALL ME THE BLUES? AUDREY HEPBURN THE MEAN REDS ARE MEANER THAN EVER, THEY’VE GOT BAD EYEBROWS TOO AND THEY WONT GO TO THE BEAUTICIAN, SAID THE BEAUTICIAN WON’T WORK WITH PLASTIC TAKE YOUR DISGUSTING SWEET TIME TO COME AND SEE ME, WE’LL SLEEP ON THE FLOOR AND PRETEND THE YELLOW SHEETS MAKE US HAPPY, GRINNING SO WIDE MY FACE SPLITS IN TWO. GRINNING SO WIDE MY KNEECAPS ITCH SO WIDE I BREATHE IN THE WHOLE SETTING.
OOPS. FILLING SPACES A LITTLE SUCCESSFULLY LIKE DEAD FLY’S BAD ART BUT NOT THE GOOD KIND, THE DROP-DEAD KIND. GOOP KIND. RIP OF MAN OVERCOMPENSATE KIND. NOT THE ME KIND. SOFTER FRIENDLY SPACE BETWEEN YOUR FINGER’S KIND. DON’T LOOK BACK INTO THE SUN, THAT IS. NEGATIVE SPACE SPANS WHITE NOISE SPANS 157 MILES COLD TOES IN CONCRETE ROOMS BLAH MINIMALIST ******* SWEAR AND YOU LOSE ALL TRAIN OF THOUGHT, AND THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE IS MADE TO WOO, YOU CAN’T FAIL ON THAT IT TAKES EFFORT LAPS DAISY TONGUE TWISTS SHHH, PLEASE
AND TAKE ME TO RED ROOF HOUSE COTTAGE PLACE WHERE ONE DAY WE DIE TOGETHER AND THE SKIRTING BOARDS ARE BRIGHT GREEN I BITE THEM THEY TASTE BLUE BUT BLUEBERRIES NOT YELLOW BLUES NOT GENRE MAYBE TOSS BE OKAY IMAGE OF PERFECT DOMESTICITY RUBBER GLOVES ARE WORN AS SOCKS AND SLOW DANCING HAPPENS BETWEEN A MOP AND A 50’S HOOVER. IT’S FROM THE 50’S IT STOLE THE FLUX CAPACITOR AND ****** OFF WITH IT TO WHERE I SIT SWAYING, YOU HEAR THAT? ME. TRAGIC COMEDY LIKE A FATHER JOHN MISTY SONG IT PROBABLY ENDS WITH A SAD ALL-CONSUMING WAIL FROM A BEAUTIFUL VOICE HARMONISE I STAMP ON YOUR FOOT PINK PLASTIC WALLS CLOSE IN AND ALL I CAN THINK IS OH, GOD, YES. FLOW OF CONCENTRATION IN A ROOM OF AWFUL DEFAULTS AWFUL ONES. ******* OUT PINEAPPLES FOR WEEKS ON ENDS, RUN FROM THE ORANGE MAN LIKE BAD NURSERY RHYME SHEEP. WHAT? I BELLOW. TYPING LIKE A COMPUTER ON AFTER READING THE INSIDE OF MY BRAIN ON HOW WEIRD IT COULD BE TO TAP DANCE WITH COUNTING MONKEY CYMBALS PINK ELEPHANTS DO THE CAN-CAN ON THEIR TIP TOES GOD WHAT A PLEASURE IT IS TO BE AROUND. PERCUSSION A LITTLE TOO READILY. REALLY, ISN’T IT? THE 50’S HOOVER WEARS A SKIRT THAT SPINS WHEN IT TWIRLS, THE ENEMY OF TOXIC MASCULINITY. I WOULD LIKE TO SIT WITH YOU AND I, URGH. LET ME EACH YOUR FIBULA, I COULD DO WITH A SNACK. LAST NIGHT I ATE TWO WHOLE-WHEAT CRACKERS, A WHOLE ORANGE, A BAG OF SCREWS AND THE SOLE OF MY BOOT IN MY SLEEP, I KNEW WHEN I WOKE UP BECAUSE THEY SAT UNCOMFORTABLY AND THE SOLE WOULDN’T STOP SLAPPING THE CRACKERS, THE BAG OF SCREWS WOULDN’T STOP TRYING TO GET THE ORANGE TO PEEL. THE FEELING OF IMPENDING DOOM CHANGED TO HAPPINESS SOMEWHERE UP THE RUNGS OF A BADLY BUILT LADDER AND CRYSTAL, FORMER WOMAN OF THE NIGHT, FBI, HAS STOPPED ******* OUT WET FISH AND STARTED DRAWING LANDSCAPES, BUT THEY DON’T QUITE LOOK REALISTIC BECAUSE SHE KEEPS DRAWING DANCING CROCKERY IN THE FOREGROUND.
TYPE A LITTLE MORE EVERY DAY, PUKE OVER THE SIDE OF THIS FINE ROLLERCOASTER, ROLLERCOASTER? IS THAT WHAT I SAID? EXCUSE ME I MEANT OVER THIS FINE YELLOW RAILING FROM THE SCHOOL TV PROGRAMME WEDNESDAY ROAD OR SOMETHING DRAG MY TOES OVER THE GRAVEL EDGE, THEY ALWAYS PRESENT A FUNNY IMAGE A LITTLE BETTER WHEN IT’S TOES DOING SOMETHING I HAVE TO GET ALL OF THE BRAIN FOGGY GOD KNOWS WHAT STATIC LIKE OLD COLOURLESS TV BEFORE WE GET TO THE REAL GEMS BUT WHAT IF THERE ISN’T REALLY ANYTHING THERE I FEEL LIKE I’M PULLING A QUITE BURIED IN THERE STRING FROM THE BACK SECTION OF MY BRAIN ITS MAKING MY EYES ROLL, SUBMERSED IN THERE, STOP IT, PLEASE.
MY NAME IS SONNY AND I WOULD LIKE TO BE HERE AND I WOULD LIKE TO DANCE WITH YOU AND I CAN CHANGE MY MOOD LANGUAGE TO FIT THE ROOM BECAUSE I’M JUST THAT GREAT MY NAME IS SONNY AND I THINK MY VOICE IS SCREAMING IN YOUR HEAD RIGHT NOW LIKE AND ANGSTY TEENAGER I’M A LITTLE BLUE AND I HAVE THE MEAN YELLOWS OR REDS BUT NOT, CUT ME OPEN I SPILL OUT YELLOW BUT I SMELL BLUE, OH SO BLUE, MY NAME IS SONNY AND I WANT TO BE TOUCHED.
YOU SOUND LIKE A BUNCH OF TURKEYS WARBLING.
THE HOUSE GOT UP AND JIGGED ITS WAY OUT OF A PARKING TICKET LIKE A REAL ADULT. MOONSHINE, VICTORIA AND BRING BACK THE FUNK ARE STILL STUCK IN THE TOY SHOP. THEY’RE ALL A LITTLE TOO WRONG, IT ALWAYS HAS BEEN. THE SCORES ARE STILL NIL. THE PORCH. WHATEVER HAPPENS. I WOULD LIKE TO SIT WITH YOU AND I…
Jodie-Elaine Mar 2019
Shut up and go to sleep.
I would give anything
to feel your sleeping body next to mine.
Poem from the 'PERFORMANCE ARTIST POETRY...' collection. Finally, one that makes sense, yay right?
Jodie-Elaine Mar 2019
Tyrant vandal Belly buttons born from tongue toy hammer whack shameless pantomime gold-digger jezebel ***** archetype bad product off food witchy fingers green fluorescent pink yellow ray of backwards twist mother truckers flat wheel tyre engine fire engine whoop weep tear tears down ripped up feeling face straight up to ceiling baby crib our tired little limbs break against the tide I want to swim away from here place island Caribbean holiday at Christmas I don’t want to be here when I get back lead trail hike walk up the stairs followed my shadow tie me up to lamppost dead flowers bouquet take give taker giver relationship spit out the blues by Benny and The Jets riddle saxophonists up walls and silly laughter clown faces you are a good morning stream streamer party thrower down sink lob me up pipes plumber broken loo place to sit and ponder on my **** think too many faces cherub fat little smile me a river bend down here we build a fort like kids and you’re home for ***** sake safety traffic cone orange still scares me to death bobby pins left on windowsills I chuck the memory out back it makes me sick pummel the cheekbones down flat face two face baby feet get into bins bin trash bag split when I picked it up I’m covered in rotten courgetti hipster you’re a stinking mess I hate your stupid shoes walk in a straight line you drunken ******* skip home with me hop scotch decanter glass slips off side crash pop Rice Krispy cereal noise white noise rain playlist through the walls
I push through in pure stubbornness
I
leave us be
lots of love,
distance.
Manipulated stream of consciousness poem from the 'PERFORMANCE ARTIST POETRY...' collection.
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