Thursday 18th December

141218

BUILD A METAL SKELETON:

Walked in wearing tight grey leather -trousers?!
What you look like?! Rub your hands together,
hunch your shoulders, talk like a local – dressed
like that?! Cinnamon transaction with your hair
pulled back to make you go faster. Does it work?
Tiny impatient lips, with digital friends, reading
what’s on the screen aloud – keep moving fast, crashing.

Something hot while you’re waiting for the next call?
Exquisit Tattoo, Paper Bird, Paper Crown. Talking loud,
extravagantly happy, covered in Tight Leopard things.

(Just received ‘Demo Box’ from Motorpsycho, out in Feb 2015)

(K)

Wednesday 17th December

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A TUMBLE OF SPOONS:

Shelter, silent, Bubble-man tree, freaked-out eye-liner Boy.
It’s a good day surprise, put your Head back round your eyes.
I saw autographed plates beneath his picture on the wall,
five orange sliced by a practised knife. All the lost keys
were found, take your coat off, sit down, this is your
Hot Chocolate morning, silence wrapped in plastic Green.

(K)

Monday 15th December

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MISSING A YESTERDAY:

I didn’t allow enough time to write this entry,
so sent the picture in advance & caught a train
to the city. I promised the text would follow,
but got lost in trawling the streets for poetry.
That turned into a series of meetings, music, art,
the wind up/down in the end of year wrinkle.
The journey out, as ever, was the nail in the coffin.
No matter how good a day it’s been (& it was a good one),
energy falls below empty, I’m ‘the Husk’, parchment,
dry as desert bone, playing with some mindless APP
to silence the head noise.
Got home, cooked, slipped into work ’til late
& woke this morning with that,
“I forgot something” sensation.

(K)

Sunday 14th December

141214

PRIVATE PARTY:

Up before the sun, Disney fields encrusted, heavy frost crunch,
singularly satisfying tiny destructions. Sugar coated impressions
of our comedy feet map duck-waddles (thought I was cooler).
A quiet & private world for solitary unwelcome cars
brandishing brash full beams, neutered in velvet black,
their cautious navigation muffled in sub zeros.
I feel safe, remote, detached from the noise of the wrinkle,
the rush of unharvested ambitions swept into piles at the end
of year. Let’s burn them, warm ourselves like chestnuts, get
a tan. The sound of our breath unfamiliar, exhale follow twelve
month after inhale. This time to think, this precious moment
in which I want you, call you, make the air vibrate with the
sound of your voice. We would designate it ‘ART’ & laugh, rub our
faces in the stars & shower in meteorite tails with no one to
witness our delirium.

(K)