your anger’s like the water in an argos kettle
battering its fists on a cheap lid.
your mouth can’t help it
lets go of anything
not loose lips so much as careless.
they just don’t care.
those socks do you no favours either.
your moaning; it’s professional.
i’d pay good money for someone like you
to moan on my behalf
with your round flat face
like a platter of fried grouch.
there must be good money in that.
you should look into it.
mobile phone youth stabbed to death
stationary body horror in park
mother moved by public response
police rush out appeal for calm
public opinion of police shifts
police move to calm fears
trust in police slides
PM flies back to crisis
trust in everything collapses
newspapers run out of verbs
about six pm
near the end of july
and the hammersmith and city line
the clouds will be perfect
flat bottomed baguettes of
i will be on a train
on my way home to you
at the same time
the clouds start looking dirty
like old fridge ice
that’s discovered it can fly
but i will still be etc. etc.
Racing like sperm for the welcoming bus doors,
old random act of desperate access,
we are somehow united in one aim.
Lost in this unnatural press of strangers
throwing instincts into a gene panic.
Though still we sit in pairs like chromosomes.
The oyster island stare is then deployed,
eyes glazing past the ears of those on board
these barrels of dodgy DNA.
They’re not accepted. Faces draw a blank
against those lists we’ve captured in our heads;
the tallied loved and hated, lost, betrayed.
These passengers could be first class but they
are just untested genes, at least today.
reimagining a lost waltz round a bollard
under the cold scrutiny
of the sky and I.
Now a tango
can joins them
bringing the thought that
everything has a history.
Not so long ago their frocks
were full and waiting strictly like
for the approach.
Now here they are
after a grand adventure
free of baggage by
dint of randomness
and quantum physics.
Dancing. While it lasts.
you are the cheapest crayon in the box
you gaudy, milkblood deadly shitshade
you are the colour of a young girl’s scream
so loud, so piercing of the day
it dies, fades to night
leaving you to bleed across the clouds
you are what one wears
when in mourning for good taste
if they vomited in disney films
this is the colour they would paint it
like rosé for the blind
and the culturally dead.
summer got up late
dozing under cloud’s duvet
missed his first morning
now sun, no warning
squeezing our heads for sweat drops
fat yellow bully
even in the night
the heat thief stalks us stealing
dreams at hot knifepoint
in evening’s relief
redeemed becomes an artist
stripes streets with long gold
your ipod headphones are pants
that leak shit music
plain english training
makes english so plain no one
wants to marry it
the new woman brought
tunisian sweeties in
to bribe us to love
not took away, delivered
they brought the wrong things
god brought us together
so i can explain slowly
that he doesn’t exist
it’s a paradox i know
but the truest things are opposites
they’re strange attractors
believers and the godless
yearn to warp the needles
of the others’ knitting
my money’s on me
to be making the jumper
with the strongest wool
it’s that awkward moment
when you find yourself
on the bus looking at
someone with whom you’ve had shenanigans
two magnet faces
you clutch your respective poles
knowing it was
an attraction which one
or both of you
had been terminated
back to the depot