Tag Archives: god


The bottom of
my boots
sandwich pack,
decorated for Halloween
on the front with pumpkins,
when I picked up the last
piece revealed a word.
“Smashing!” it goofily
shouted up to me
Now this is a reference, intended or not,
to the band The Smashing Pumpkins –
but what the fuck has nineties
indie-pop music to do with a sandwich?

Money-making companies
arrogantly take infinite license,
more so than any poet, and
for what?
The sandwich was
fairly bland and didn’t
feel that good for
me I thought as
the big black bin bag
swallowed up all this
bullshit, even he will
eventually rape our mother

Honey Sweet and the erratic Arabian night letter.

I got a god complex
about seven miles wide
Careful, you’ll fall straight through
if you look me in the eyes
My sins are like salt left
where the tide was dried
But somewhere along the way
I don’t know what I’ve imbibed
Somewhere along the way
God knows that I’ve died
Yet I look down here and
I’m twitching alive
All you atheist fuckers that think you’re alive
Bringing down debates you don’t
know with pride
You do believe in Heaven
– you shot it up into the sky
You still believe in Heaven
You hope you’re going when you die
You can’t see that you did
So you went and told your kids
But you shot it to the sky
You think you’re going
when you die
But it’s pie in the sky
Apple pie? mmm my favourite
But that’s by the by
I lost track of where I’m going but
that’s by the by,
it’s made it a laugh – I think
Your attention is a draught that I drink
probably could do better but
this will do – I’m knackered, it’s
late, I’m writing this from the motherland, Africa and
its fucking late and the
Sun has caned down on my
shoulders all day and Africa’s
a mad place, got chatting to some natives today, covered with sand) and they
told me the mad fucking
big butterfly that landed on my
leg was an auspicious sign
and I buzzed off that as it
buzzed off me
what? butterflies don’t buzz, that’s
bees…. fuck it I’m going to
bed… I’m already in bed…
Christ I’m tired and this
pen makes me weirdly wired
– those guys also loved rap
but only as of recent – they
buzzed off “Fuck Tha Police”
which I told them was old but
they have only had four years
since their revolution in this particular
country, before which you couldn’t
say “fuck tha police”
or you’d be taken away, astray
for no more bright hot days
and cokes and ashtrays – they
loved me because I could say what
I could say and live to see the next day
(the midnight oil’s really coming out now..)
– also the main one was
called “Mr. Paradise” which
I though was sick after
old jack and all that.
A pleasant evening to you.
I’m starting to doubt the spelling of
words that are deffo spelt
right so good night,
a pleasant evening to you.


Fortune’s fronds brush the brisk air gliding along glassy pearls of grassy dew.
Mist sprays the dawn with an echoing ecstatic eeriness that will exhale the full presence of all the day’s humming eventualities.
A rising cascade of this cotton-air caresses the edge of a slit-windowed stone church in a skirt of the city-centre, sucked off the surface of the emerald flatgrounds below by the gilded horn of Torricelli’s trumpet from its jut out of the clouds above on behalf of the cherubim.
But suddenly, what’s that?!
a shuddering crack of light and sound and a fade into the ever-exfoliating whiteness of the void