Ever since you left me
I can see ends built into beginnings
Everywhere
You ******

Life is like the M25
Circular and eternal
Covered in tarmac
With little skid marks
And Little Chefs
Life isn't really like the M25
Nothing is really like anything

A mess of thighs and hair and love
We ******
For the same reason
That kids throw rocks at the sea

It's a shame my head exploded
The day I met you
In front of those dinner guests
On that tinder date
My mind was blown
It's a shame that you were disfigured
By the shrapnel from my skull
It was going well for once
It's just a shame that my head exploded

And the radio did play
As you sank deep into your chair
With eyes that said
Let the robots take over
Then the grass
Then the fire
Over and over

If you want to cross a sea
Sink

Glassy eyed and
Lost in utilitarian cities
With a low-yielding love
And a useless imagination
With the bad art
And the public transport seat pattern blues

I remember through the haze of Hong Thong and Thai Stick
Our sterile love
In that shabby hotel
In Chiang Mai
Our stubble
Like Velcro
And I don't remember much else
Wasting away
Here
It's funny how you forget things
It's also crushingly sad

Cranes accuse the sky
As people swarm like ***** in
A ******* jungle

There are drugs
And the shadow of divinity is scattered
By an unwelcome daybreak creeping into the room
Revealing lechery in our eyes
Everyone's voicing their ultimate truth
And yards if soul unfurl
As we distance ourselves from god
And words fail
All watched over
By the retreating darkness
And the wrinkled reality revealed

If you leave me
I will send you poetry
And if we marry
And you leave me
I will send you poetry
And alimony
And if your new guy beats me
I will still send you poetry
Your bones could leave this sad world baby
And I'd just switch to elegies

Like spit in the fire
Like seed in the snow
******
And a solemn me

Midnight seeps
Through
And one man is between his sheets
With something stirring beneath the pleats
And he wrestles his dusty memories
He relives and reviles them
And why is the night so dark?
And why does it make us damage ourselves?

Me and my brothers
We are raised tall and defiant
We are rallied and railed against
An apathetic world at which we spit
We spiel our ululations to the night sky
Our candles burn at both ends

We rise to get broken
Here comes ocean
Icarus wouldn't be a legend
If he hadn't aimed for heaven

I am by the sea
And I have left behind
A girl too good for me
And the sea swells to my libido
As it crashes on the earth
And bruises the sky
And you could write a masterpiece here
Or you could just try to forget

I leave Victoria
And 'Green Fields' by The Brothers Four comes on shuffle
And buildings crumble
London deconstructs
A primal forest laps at the southern service
As it flees to a coast populated by leviathans and krakens
The concrete suburbs fade to green fields
Kissed by the sun
And in that
I thought I saw you
Until the clinking train tracks reminded me of our slavery
And of the ticket collector
Tapping on my shoulder

It's hard to know when to call it a night
It might never be
But hold me
Let's see

I'm unhealthy, badly
You see..
Rotting, sadly
And I'd take you back
Gladly

I am tired of the Americans chasing their opaque neon dream
I am tired of well tailored speeches justifying wars
I am tired of the dusty remnants of a roman lie striking fear into the hearts of many
and an absent god forcing his framework on an apathetic world
and I am tired
I am tired of constipated museums
and the few dictating the sonic landscape of the many
I am tired of horse meat scandals and frenzies over crashed planes
and I am tired
I am tired of globalisation being an auction for the lowest human rights
rather than being
wasabi peas at Tescos
And sleep is the cowardly death
of the feelies and TVs of the world

My friend has a stain in his **** bowl
And it's a bit disgusting
But at least it gives you something to aim for
And it's always good to have something to aim for
Even if it is just a stain
In a **** bowl

I don’t know about those pastoral scenes
Those bucolic and primordial endless greens
Unspoilt trees and murmuring streams
I know the concrete and the pavement
Uneven cobblestones with cracks in them
With dandelions growing through
Only sometimes

I love the later more
I’m in love with the concrete behemoths
The back alleys of life
The gnarled bouncers (unreciprocally)
The curious glimpses at weathered flyers on the floor
I love the sterile street lights and the worn faces ILLUMINATED by them
The ushers and hustlers and cautious taxis
The drunk geniuses
The night-swimmers
The nudists
The opinionated
Etc

Yet life whittles down these loves for that of the
Calculable
The
Regimented
And
Controllable
Etc

Kids in states
In estates

A small butterfly
In Victoria station
No one notices

I roll up
and lubricate my thoughts
they spiel
the sky crashes down
and the furniture is shaking now
the bed is jettisoned
the outside whispers
nonthreateningly  
a perfection forms

One man on a mattress
out there
is a utopia

When you go from being a producer to a consumer
everybody knows
you’re going to have to dance to the producers beat
you
CONSUME
education
you
CONSUME
your
individual style
you
CONSUME
yourself
because you are
a brand

It's ok to smile once in a while
it can sometimes make you laugh
it kind of just feels good to do it
It's ok to think of life as a joke in these moments
because you need a good joke to laugh
at
this
****

Your anatomy laid bare for me
Your silhouette in the dim light
And other things that can make a good man
Unreasonable

Door closed
Locking out the perfect faces on the billboards
Shielding two more from the broadcasts of unobtainable lifestyles
As our souls speil, soar and reel in the dark
As we descend into the milky cosmos
As the space between two sheets is filled with love

"I want to write the last banned book"
You used to say
And you bullied people with your words
Your ability for words
Your way with words
But you never read the silent people
Who couldn't find the words
That you used so liberally
You never tried to translate their
Solitude and turmoil
And you ended up writing
Some of the many
Forgotten
Strings of words

I hope we die simultaneously

Alone on a mattress
Next to my ideal love
That one in the head
(S)he's a shape shifter
And always fits in neatly
With my lunacy

Didn't want to make a splash
In those days when we were
Strapped for cash
And we lay indolently
Took things intravenously

Don't want to make a splash
As I skip stones on your lake
But If I leave a wake
Then baby ride the waves I make

I want to fade away
like Faye Dunaway

No sleep and I take my dark eyes to the streets
and the membrane separating the subconscious is weak
People become angels and demons
Screeching metro wheels are symphony orchestras
and emotions bump, collide and vibrate like particles in boiling water
No sleep but it's going to be a good day

Thinking about painless deaths
but decide to go out
on a flimsy bike
pointed nowhere instead
If some ******* is going to get me
it won't be me

Soul-mates come from hollywood
I know better than to love
It is as real as money
And when the banks burn
and people ask what was real
fingers will point in all directions
indicating nothing

On monday
I will have to brush shoulders
with artless people
in an artless world
but for now
I have Songs from a Room
and Dave Bixby
and the stumbling hours of a Sunday afternoon

Threadbare and naked
Shattered in ruins in front of you
Cold trembling leaves of your autumn
To my naive spring
Here
All I ask
Is for your limps
To unhinge
For you
To let me in
For me
To loose myself
To you
For however long
That may be
Take this longing from my tongue
And all the useless things these hands have done

Grindin'
With the cogs
In Moloch
When we could be diving for pearls

Drum Gold
Is my tobacco
It has character
And I had a girl once
Who liked Cutters Choice
And I told her it had more additives
And that it burnt hotter
And that Drum Gold had more character
And we spent nights exploring each other's bodies
And smoking Drum Gold
Which she adopted
But that ended
Like all good things
And I've forgotten a lot of those spent nights
And now she smokes Golden Virginia

I Love my baby
But my baby is bi
She loves me too
And girls on the side

I dont know what made her
Live through this dichotomy
Maybe it's her DNA
Or maybe society

The aliens looked at earth
And its civilisations
Like we see mayflies
And their small streams
And they looked at civilisations
Wax and wane
On a small blue marble
And one said
"Shall we stop it?
That agar plate has gone a bit out of hand"
To which the other replied
"No, they'll tire themselves out eventually"

My foot
on the small of your back
Your lips
at the foot of my ****
We rise
and fall
together

There
isn't even the shadow of a heart in there
is
There?
Love
Is an old shopping cart
in
a stagnant lake to
you

If only you could read between the lines

Is a stock character

I am an extension of some primal will to survive
But something bigger in here
Is asking
Why

I knew you well
And I can picture you right now
On your own
In your room
With only your beauty
And be pretty sure that you are just there
On your own
With only your beauty to keep you company
*****
And writhing miserably
Sometimes
But not mostly
And I'd have liked you without your beauty
But you are there now
On your own
With only your beauty
But your beauty was nothing in the end
Really

I feel no kinship with gay culture
Yet I am a *******
I feel no kinship with the heterosexuals either
Yet I lust after unhinged limbs in the dead of night
And I look for a concrete self
In unobtainable categories
That allure and allude me
And 300 people have been sentenced to death in Egypt
But I'm thinking about where my **** goes
And writing poetry about it

In the cold dead of space
The voyager one
Floating forth
With dark was the night
By Blind Willie Johnson
Engraved onto a gold plated disk
In its belly
So fitting

Too many people write about love
without being right about love
Full of
yet tight on their love
Spewing
an echo of flowery 19th century poetry
When the real love
is a point of view
It's looking back on that girl you hated 5 years back
with a new eye
It could just be a cat purring in your lap
It could be a warm fireplace
or a ******* you gave in Chiang Mai
It could be the ocean
or it could be that time when you collapsed in a gutter in New Orleans
and you lay in the trash
but looked up at the stars

The poetry
It has spilled
Like the blood of a great massacre
And it has diluted
To a near transparent film
Over the 21st century
Over Miley Cyrus' ***
Over grotesquely distorted salaries
It lingers in the grey concrete behemoths of utilitarian cities
It's on your cat
It's in your parents hair
It's in Angela Merkells teeth
And this omnipresent film
That only few can see
Is evaporating into a backdrop incandescent beauty
It's vaporising into an intoxicating nectar
It's what slavery was to the blues
Or the reconstructions of war to bauhaus
Or what the crusades were to the renaissance
So twerk on Miley
Your artlessness
Makes art stronger by the day