this isn't even my lowest ebb -
          walking into a shed, sitting down,
and smoking four cigarettes -
repenting for today's -
                                 on no account
of a promise - a buckle nonetheless -
for an hour just sitting there
waiting for the sun to go down without
actually seeing it...
picking up a wasp nest killer spray...
picking up a bottle of white spirit...
picking up a hammer...
             picking up a bunch of other
chemicals...
              hell: where's that kilogram of salt?
it's nothing new -
it's hardly pitiable -
                       there's no matrix of thought
behind it -
where there was once a labyrinth all
that has remained is some sawn-off-bits of
wood... some shrapnel in a puddle...
      my favorite: conversations with
an old "friend"... he's here lingering talking
in a language my shadow can clearly
hear and clearly understand...
        today is not a good day: no day is...
but clearly not today...
       today i discovered grey hairs just above
my beard: i knew i had two grey hairs
in my beard - but i never thought i'd have
grey hairs...
clogged up tupsy-turvy of "feelz"...
            unless this turtle of a heart will ease
out: just one more emotionally stunted rhythm...
for  whatever that might have been...
this heart will most certainly not father...
      there's just this bothersome interlude -
a romance of pain that could come from
a cocktail...
        in the end a summation -
                         life is, as such... worth living...
but only up to the point
of the certainty of dying -
        i can't imagine being old and dying
peacefully in my sleep...
         i'd call that being robbed of the most precious
artifact this world has to offer...
                that precious aeon of The Passing...
why would it all be necessarily morbid...
taboo... that somehow all thinking can
deviate from this monstrosity of reflection...
it has clearly been a mundane day -
                finding my first greys wasn't
spectacular enough... spring is coming...
and elizabeth II is still queen of england...
                        probably the two best reasons
to be alive...
    otherwise, what? faking it...
                                or "not getting it right"?
maiming myself into a vegetable state?
                  i have to visit him from time to time...
it's not he's going anywhere...
and i'm getting to him: one poppy-seed shuffle
of the knees at a time: per day, per week
month or year...
            i'll have to face something beside
the ignoble fact of mortality -
                i'll have to face that "other" question...
because such events probably only
happen on a whim - in that horror circus
of the mundane - the better part of a necessarily
forgotten day...
this has to become a sterile point of observation...
otherwise it will be hard to imagine:
what happens to the body under
the "protection" of a coroner...
               or a butcher... or: well a lion or a pack
of wolves i can imagine...
it would immediately turn into mana...
  rather than some scribbling on a page for stats...
or... worse: the doubly butchered
cut of beef - once by the butcher...
   second by someone who cooks it: well done...
mind you - i didn't cook dinner today...
there's an oddity when not dealing
with the process of cooking something raw...
and making it: cooked...
whether meat, vegetable - root or fruit...
instead dealing a portion of turkey *******
for two cats...
                    everything has an eerie contentment
of being left undisturbed...
the current pandemic is just background
noise -
          here's to looking for a moment and
a space to sacrifice an unwilling willingness -
dream big: it can only get better -
i hardly think i have the required capacity
to dream to begin with...

/
               in some scenarios there is a distinct
line between the north of england
and the south of england...
but not so much when it comes
to east england and west england...
unless in london: clearly there's an east
london - as there's a west london...
     but it's an island...
            there's clearly a south-east in poland...
the ****-show poor buggers' home:
nearing ukraine...
  but north? that's the goldmine of the window
to the world: access to the sea...
this, the, "bigger picture"...
                        west germany and east germany...
with berlin and warsaw being in the east...
pockets of bribes and other, sediments...  
                                                                       /

if it's not precious... then it is... precarious...
then again: perhaps both...
here's to not wearing face-masks or panic buying...
of the latter event...
            well... i was only really looking
for flour... sugar... and tomato puree...
reminder:
something from yesterday -
still not old enough to give me the ***** when it
comes to: sitting on one's laurel leaves...

two names that skip way way over me...
roger stone... isn't that, that film director?
lee rigby - well... there's not much in the name...
but the title: fusilier...
i just see him as part of the queen guard...
on parade... playing a ******* trumpet...
fusilier lee rigby...
     more like: lee rigby - the trumpeteer...

roger stone... i think of... oliver stone...
coming back from insomnia news reels...
is... roger stone equivalent to...
alastair cambell... well...
if it isn't a joseph goebbels...
it's that guy...
by "that" i am implying...
alastair cambell...
when the left in politics had someskin,
some bones in the matter of minding marrow;

for holy ****'s and ****'s sake!
the madonna over 'ere!
bow... look out! scouting for knighthood...
no... not really...i was... i woozy woz...
how many supermarkets did i visit?
5... i was looking for... tomato purée...
sugar... and plain flour...
i don't mind the eggs...
but i should mind...
the flour is "missing"...
the sugar... somewhat...
i have the yeast and i'll just bake
or fry up mexican / indian flat breads...

all the chicken did a runner...
the turkey for the cats is... once again:"missing"...
the shelves are empty and all that remains is the brute beef...
****, stake and parlour... but i was making...
tatar chebureki...
and of course yogurt cucumber shredded...
with tzatziki infused spices...
the raw ore of cuisine was missingalmost everywhere...

the sugar and the flour...
no one was looking for salt...
or the vinegar or the oil...
i'll be stocking up on whiskey in the impeding hours...
well... days... i have over 200 x 8 - worth ofcigarettes...
but enough of that sort of..."lepzig" / lowry...

i was still scouting for flour...
i've stashed enough self-raising flour to never bother buying...
baking powder...
but even if it comes to thickening a sauce...
all out on the plain flour...
(you'd still be better off with cornflour...
or an egg yoke when it comes to soups)...

it's good to know that people know what's gold
in terms of crude details of shopping...
milk and all the dairy products are of no concern...
nor are the fresh vegetables or fruits...
let's talk about seasonal eating habits...
strawberries come in june... etc.
now, let me become truly honest...
i've been walking around in a vacuum of spring...
the scents and all those otheradditives...
floral patterns... walking like a peacock...
armed with a baboon's *** for a joke
and an ***** spine for comforts...
peacock... when all this... this...
rife propagandist tool-shed of "news"comes apparent...

suffocating... no new war:
       grinding the metal for a new rifle...
and a bullet with some nutritional additionsof shrapnel...
bite the curb bite the ****-up...
it's not like i've been waiting for the haitus of
the whole bread & circus affair...
i'm just starting to stock up on essentials...
well... "lake of fire": whiskey...
i am most welcome at the summit:
a wayne stastic dies from an overdose
of prescription drugs...
he's not married to a pornographic "stature"...
case... and jealousy doesn't simply suffocate him...

cool jimmy day'ohs... sure... it's true...
the winnings of a "winner" and the losses of a "loser" -
st. thanatos or mother death can curate the rest...
i am hardly about to win...
then again: what's there to be lost...
when the "prefigurations"of a scooped mortality are,
already...
pre-positioned... pre-supposed...
           elemental...                            

                      well... that was clearly a fathomable
yesterday... the balloon as metaphor
for the vitality of life has slowly been...
easing out a wet whizz blurp of vibrating lips...
it's going to be anything more than...
the inaccessible life...

                couch rug and chair accommodating...
kettle roof walls and coffee... also accommodating...
             but otherwise... an inaccessible "life"...

cohorts of marching meaning
              and all this life's due of "adventure"...
even as some priestly clad serpetine of:
the once fabbled metaphorical shepherds...
even by the grace of making progess to establish
an attention span for a summary
of "hobby" -
                                  the crushing depths of
air by one solo, endeavour...
   to breathe is a bit like drowning...
                to drown i imagine...
agony aunt of the tabloids to boot:
        is a bit like reinventing life's
forgone principles of: expanding attention
spans...

                        as ever: life in the adjacent...
hyperbolic "non-entity"...
            king of the vermin rattling shadows
of toes and insomnia glaring vivid screams of
blank white pixel paper screens...
huddling and... hardly with a check-mate
crescendo of: a litany of anecdotes...

               the kindly expected: non-mover
essential progress of: ex-instance...
out of... this and any other...
                  otherwise the sort of angst that
a pensioner would gladly succumb to...
in writing...
               to collect his affairs with life...
   but always too early: or never...
this sort of affair that's spewed from...
a splintered tongue and all those teeth lead
to rot... exegesis...

                      this body once had an ample
of limbs to create a canvas of vitality...
with these bones...
                 that these bones were once life...
now: leftover antique signature that
lives within the permutations...
this little crevice of intactness...

                                what a bundle of joy(s)!