Icicles drip from the edges of your car, but we're drinking up fire within
I lay back, feeling the clouds swirl around on the inside of my head
I'm slow, I told you,
I can't move too quick - I might just create a hurricane
And white rain is slowly falling, blinding your windshield
and talkative strangers who might see me sip smoke from your lips
I was almost tempted to kiss you
But almost isn't close enough
Better get me home before I do
And before the scent of you melts into my jacket
Before my mother smells the fire on my tongue

Find it in the sound
of the crick of your wrist

the crinkle of an eyelid
drooping by the gravity of sleep

there is laughter
to be found burrowed
down the back of the sofa

but people who live
in static images alone

headaches dissolved
in purplish juice

it is so easy
to dance wickedly in the dark

look how it holds you

right through to the bones

Claws at the doors but he's missed it by a whisker
the tube scuttles down into the tunnel below
oh bother
tarnation
I'll have to wait at the station.

So
I eye up the opposition
who take up position
along the length of
the platform

it's a war where words are shot
'Mind the door'
'Mind the gap'
'Use all available space'
or
something like that and
what for?
can anyone tell me
why the five thirty three
is always late to arrive?

Wednesday can take
a running jump
'**** day?'
more like
push, shove and bump day
but
every day feels like
Wednesday.

and redhead just
purloined the seat,
beat me to it
by
another whisker

I must be slowing down.

The outlaws
yellow gold and
painted ******
digs and rigs and
mountain men.

We went mining
refining
dining on dirt
gambling the shirt on
our backs

glasses and cork
good news
loose talk
killers and drillers.

The stores that sold or
so it was told
everything
under the Sun.

Madness only ever comes
to entertain the sane,
poetry's the same as this,
an epoch in the afterlife
another world
to go around another
time.

washing's on the washing line
blowing in the breeze
and shooting stories
shooting stars
is there really life on mars.?

everything's adjacent to
the vacant flat
the look says that
but
we seldom say it.

Cords stuck
To skin
Paper thin folds
Lines and numbers
Measure life
And shout as death
Steps closer now
Take off masks
Detach tubes
Check off tasks
Gasping slower
Come on
Come on
Let him run
Into the next world
Zero and lines
Straight lines
Are the final goodbye

A cyborg
with its
umbilical cord
walked into a
minefield,
nuclear yield
one megaton.

This is the next
in the series
of almost
eerie
jokes for the nerds
jokes without words
jokes that Joe
wouldn't get.

I get it from the lead
******* it in from the
genetically modified
feed.

They will, one day
attach me to the node
download the last of me
bleed my humanity
and then I'll be
one of them.

We are being
itemised
stacked up
racked up
politicised,

some are being
radicalised
does that surprise you?

I'm being mechanised
integrated into modern
mascenery
which is a take on machinery
and it's the best I could do.

think I am through with
the cuckoo clock,
I am being touted as
new on the block,
but you know that I'm not.

I'm being marketed
packaged and sold
told I'm a failure
and that doesn't work for me

I get the message though,
being in is the new out
I know.

Computers
sharp shooters,
there's a reason they rhyme
but machinery don't have the
time
to explain.