Tag Archives: flowers

Pub lick execution.

There’s only room
in a room
for one ego
be that front, back, chat, bath or
This siht is symmetrical
Our bubbles can move
360 degrees around
eachother in a right
emulsion and everyone can share.
There should still be public
executions in the Uk and
USa, then people would work
harder and have fewer children. Mind you there basically are.

The pit of death shall
circle round
and down and bound
the sensing skin
which is akin
to serpentine grains of
wrack & sin scaling
reckoned layer upon layer of
holy rigormortis (Argh Ouroboros!)
Watch your attitude
Don’t, anonymous person, ever f%cking
call me dude if you don’t
usually call people that
And I genuinely like your hat
by the way.
And don’t, if your a man in full dPM,
call me darling because
I will find a gap through which to wink you it back and
shit shul’ get all awry and awkward 🙂 for (only?) thee
I’m twenty three plus three not three
&You’re probs in the Tee A and not the army
Combat career thee not me

By the w.. Nice car-
Seen’s you ask
I’ll have a gin martini please,
two or three o lives and
swirled, not stirred so I can
Shake it til’ we’re out of this
First with ice to get the cooling process nice…
Flow follow
By the w.. what’s the litre-age on that mate?
(Do I truly give an ass of rat?)
I soon retire to tend the flowers
that grow to me in witching hours
and come and grow deep from dirt sour
“.. wuuh..That sounds strange man”
“And so do you,
and so do you and you and you, and so do you, and so do y..(all down the queue….)…….. “

The simultaneously long & short hour.

Conscious of 11.01
I think I need a cup of tea
A couple of jazzy soul songs
pull it round to 11.10
We’re underway
I feel the day
Careful what I say
Five minutes is the
universal “I won’t be long”
which makes 11.15 happen
It didn’t seem like such a
blip though – as does the
multicoloured prisming
of light blasting through
this byro and onto this
book which brings 11.16
which is the death of that ‘early hour’
thoughtfeel – you
know this to be true as
11.16 slides to (and
even sounds a bit like)
11.18 which is basically
20 past, the end of
the hour’s morning and the
real time to make plans
is basically between here
and half past.
It just occurred to me
this would be better if
I’d actually taken an hour
to write it, tracking feel
as I go and brutal realism
but that’s not the
way I’m doing it.
So, where are we? 11.34,
it’s taken some perceptual
time to get here but
that’s nothing.
I’m jealous of people I’ve
not even spoken to for ages
because it looks like they’re
more resourceful with
these mashes of minutes on facebook.
The 11 thirties roll on
by on the year wheel
til the forties are achieved
– 45 is basically,
psychically the completion
of the hour in
the experience of the
Pleasing myself has always
been a mad struggle so
let’s show everyone a true
waste of time, the exact
quality of uncaring framework
of hours that I/you really
should be more actively
opportunistic with
– but this is all
just words that take a
little while to say
– Everyone gets surprised
that the day’s individual
hours don’t take up eternity
as soon as they each finish happening.
– You’re always being born
and dying, but wow!
– You’re alive now (I assume
if you’re reading this)
– Ghosts really exist in these
increments of minutes for
the people who’ve dug down
to the roots and swung hard
with the sharp ax of
detachment – speak to them
and let them fulfil you.
A cigarette should always leave one unsatisfied – cheers for
that oscar lad.
To the non-layabout,
they’ve put more effort
into the perception of
past 50 past which
ticks by slow for the
work-hating clock watcher
but is actually not a
long time, as wasn’t (or isn’t) the
hour really.
This is pointless and
was feeling like that
as my intention for it to be so squidged out the
end of my stylo.
So it was meant to be so,
so where does that leave

Ylang ylang shortbrim.

Tentacles from the deep blue briny

Wrenched right up on steel winch

and a name is anointed unto the beast,

Another one that won’t hurt me at least

or…. Was it helping?

At last it’s thrown back in, in timid yet vast and yawning fear

Of damaging a delicate imaginative ecosystem

and the great black void gurgles and burps its approved yet knife-edge anticipatory contentedness.

And it said (amongst loud music)….

Worry sideways,

Go ‘head and let it pass on right through,

the Pristine Coalescence

is the only thing that I want to do,

Had enough looming consequence

is it cool if I don’t hurry at all?

Need new people to address, I’m a mess

And now I just want to fall,

Seems like months since I’ve seen happiness

But I’ve been happy with that?!

I miss the sweet sparking energy

runs out under my hand on the fur of a cat

And round the brim of my bonce

Around the rim of my hat.

And the curl ripples out farther and further, gently licking at the far and hazily gilded opposing bank, ghost-like but true and quiet and scattered all-over with dew spattered white lotus flowers.