DEN ATELIER LUXEMBOURG:

The shock of an ‘almost’ breakfast at the hotel hits me hard.
Egg-mess so yellow you need sunglasses to eat it, suck it
through a straw, squinty little sausage things, crisped &
flattened potato things, baked beans with carrot slices,
over sugared fruit juices, tiny boxes of processed cereals,
soya milk the colour of puss, warm water loose tea in squat,
stained, chip-spouted pots, a room haunted by the ghosts of
sheepish breakfast staff avoiding eye contact with baffled
guests.
I shake & vibrate back to the room, load up on hot tea & laughs
with the next smiling face that shuffles up the corridor, pack
my bags, slip out onto the street, relax into the first caress
of sunlight heat.

(K)

DAY OFF IN LUXEMBOURG:

Awake on a moving bus at 4:00am, broke sleep through prolonged
road vibrations, human milkshake. Woke up in a lorry park on the
edge of town, throat still a mess, waiting for hotel rooms,
power off, grey light, ribbed in Top Rank rope lights, gentleman’s
club, alone at a rubber topped table, oil lamp, dancing voluptuous
erotics, 1960’s swinging London, the entire contents of my
adolescent longings in one little table lamp, mashed wheat &
rice milk, tea-less.
Scrub teeth, wash face with bottled water, kettle resurrection
delivers black tea happiness, clouds part, shadows sharpen, the
call expected hours away comes early, offers sanctuary, four walls
& a shower, amazing hot water spiritual revival dance amongst clean
white towels, radio 4 on the lap top, kettle’s second brew, body
coming back on line, divine.

(K)



ANCIENT BELGIQUE – BRUSSELS:

My angel has many professions, builder, petrol pump attendant,
postman. Today he’s a bus driver.
“Would you like a bit’ve toast?” he asks, bright-eyed, full of life,
even after hours behind the wheel. I stumble around, toothbrush in
mouth, raise a hand declining. Everyone’s asleep, parked up on a
Brussel’s street, talks about his sons with pride, the truck driver,
the medical insurance salesman, about his love for them, about being
a parent, a partner, a man. This is stuff I need to hear, sitting
across the table, nodding, scooping mashed wheat & rice milk as he
hands me a mug of camomile & honey, unsure if the damage I did to my
throat last night will allow me to sing I shut up & listen, feeding
on his medicine, growing stronger, cleaner, ride with him up front
in his cab, Beethoven Piano concertos underscoring the stone faces
of a Belgian rush hour.

I WANNA TAKE YOU HIGHER

(K)



CASINO DE PARIS: 

IN THE NOISE OF LEARNING TO LET GO AGAIN:

Crucial Systems collapse due to absence of porridge honey shock!
A cacophony of mothers talk too loud too long too over excited
about dust, I’m driven numb. Post school-run snatching time back
from years, exchange, exploding, stories, fevered exhilaration,
mini who-done-it’s, Hitchcock thrillers, the micro detail of A-to-B,
voices if I woke up next to would drive me back to drink, a brutal
pedal-to-the-metal enthusiasm all the way to punch-line.

A substitute of maple syrup, an un-wiped plastic spoon, the first
soothing hit of black tea nectar.

Tiny wind-up kids skitter about the floor, do danger, mouths dipped
in chocolate, animal fingers root for infection, carried on soles,
fresh from streets, the thinly spread pastes of dog-doos & ammonia
splash loos. A jungle of broadcasters without transmitters,
day release for good behaviour, out from solitary,
divided & conquered too long, their whispering-muscles long gone.

(K)

LONDON:

Look around under your hat
A small felt halo
Different to all the others
Your bright white eyes find me
Rolling in time with my motion
Counting the angles of feet rooting strangers to the ground around us
Faces look down
Laugh out loud
Life is too serious
perfumed to conceal its Oder

Hold on tight
The others won’t meet my eye
But you
Whites
Framed in midnight black
Hold connection

Powdered faces
Gold banded diamond  fingers
Pale & perfect lips
ceremonial Preparations
Coffee clutched
Wrapped in paper ribs

Above ground
Feet move fast with purpose
Stone expressions
As shop assistants check their hair & hems before opening
Rare groove pumping breakfast cafes
With exaggerated joy

You’ll find me
In the corner
Featured in the healthy option
Dogboy

(K)

DIAMOND TIME:

Diamonds in the alleys, smoking. White wings, calling.
Deep mystic nails. Men keep stopping me in the street,
asking the time, I must look like a soft touch, a tourist.
I tell them ‘I don’t know’, check my pockets when they’ve gone.

listening to Tanx

(K)

ESSEX BEFORE PARIS:

GATESHEAD SAGE:

Me & the gulls breath clean before the world wakes, the hiss
of traffic crossing bridges, white wing, black wheel, the Nice.
Lone walkers skirt walls, hunched, pocket’s full of fists,
approach me suspicious, black wool pulled low to the eye.
Heavy stone on the other side, Newcastle memories cling to
staunch architecture, the pride of times. River Tyne,
liquid chocolate, stilled by the incoming tide, quite as bath water,
heavy as the industry that built this city, confident tit will
outlast us all, reassuring animal friend slips through the valley.

Cold morning, everybody wrapped & tight. Two lads in geezer-T’s,
unshaven fingers dipped into bags of salties, feed on the move,
images of back end G-strings, black & white across their chests,
stare down a chill wind, let you know exactly what they’re thinking.
Men chase woman. laughing, who collapse into tickled heaps on
pavements screaming, happy, red-faced, sunglass concealed in bottle
hair.

“Oh Jesus!”

Down on Wesley Square, along the re-invented waterfront.

(K)