Saturday, 30 May 2020


The shiny minded
in this mangled moment
empty smashed packets from
shorts too short for their own pockets.
Even empty bottles have weight
and break and blow where
everything shows and
flows as it's already
quarter past far
too late. 

Monday, 25 May 2020

Hypocrisy Tweet

Gait of bacon stoops the tannoy for the next world guff. In awe he thinks we are. Pat rules screech the nation. We stitch scraps.
He cleans up down stepstools to an unlimited. Jags off, fuckem shouts. 'Lectric window, lobs it out.
A1 kids catch the bag.
This our cat?
Never, lads.

Thursday, 21 May 2020

Tuesday, 19 May 2020


I love the look of fire alarms. 
Wink waiting for the fire
that plastic look of buttoned cheek, 
shall realise that the rich
even this petty peak, 
have stolen

Sunday, 17 May 2020

The Long Walk Home

There was no football today. 
Time is now a prize to be eaten.

Alive, are the curtain twitchers, 
ounting cold coffee cups, bars on

heaters in rhythm with the vidi printer.
I'm lucking past indoors, where I know,

inside feels like winter. A porch. 
She keeps her head down there.

I’m past fixed set frowns. A torch. 
He hides his record in there, where

mat painted post is scared of itself 
and she is simply laying down.

The 'ee!! Iife eh? commonality adverts,
as if life was Coronation St. 

Crumb confinement for solitary some.
There's somehow sick, on this beat. 

A crouching builder Slavic saddened,
a man fills an already full bin.

Magpies on chips and dogs over
three-legged loved cats, fight. 

I chew through garage lands where
Tesco keeps the tree bag flying,

Jason keeps Lambrettas, 
a geezer kept his sleeper, 

until yesterday. His bird will sing.
I'm past bawdy bars, behind boarded bars, 

where they knock, but they don't ring.
No more time, gentlemen please.

We're still 1 up, before 5 minutes of extra
and 5 down, after 1 minute of closing.

Time is tight, round here.



Saturday, 16 May 2020

A Book Title and Other Stuff, Cut-Up #5

Caffeine, was like a strut down
Fear Street. The hunger joy of the

dog volunteer whistling Who songs
was no act, on the way to the

Bosnian verses Blake match. 
Past that old brown statue,

but he wouldn't snoop for
all the pubs in Newcastle. 

Kick him in the Peanuts Me Old Son! 
Grow your own Ball! Good Play! 

- flying down the wing, until felled like a
Corona Stone. On 8 minutes, a booking. 

At half-time: There's Class Lasagne, 
Bird Pies, The Benefits of Charlie,

Hey, You Ate All the Glue! 
The future saw your turn 

with the fixer end the fun. 
It ended one-all and no one won.