Harvest

Watch this here

When I go

and it won’t be for a long time yet, I hope, but

when I go

Harvest everything.

I won’t be

in a better place, or anywhere at all. It’s done

I won’t be

Here so harvest it all.

Eyes, lips, thighs, hips

anything that’s useful

Feet, balls, fingertips:

if someone needs it, that’s cool.

I don’t need

a coffin full of decomposing meat. Nor do you.

I don’t need

A burnt skeleton. Who does?

And I know

there’ll be a ceremony to say goodbye. Of course.

Yeah, I know

So fill your boots.

Play some great music

And some of my own, maybe.

Get the tunes on, the ones

that shout about vibrancy.

Cry a bit,

I’m sure some will. And that’s OK.

Don’t make it

sadder than it needs to be on the day.

Mark the passing

but mark the living more. I mean

I don’t like fuss

so chill out for a bit.

Sell what I’ve got

if it makes sense.

Or give it to charity

and recycle the rest.

When (eventually) I go

I don’t want a drawn-out death with pain:

Please don’t keep me going

beyond reasonable return.

I won’t be

mad or angry. Let me go in peace

And let me

have said everything I wanted to say,

some things like:

Just be as happy as you can.

Don’t be scared of yourself.

Money’s alright, but don’t chase it

Cause you’ll never have enough.

It’s a tool not a destination,

And it can’t stand in for love.

Don’t settle for a half-life,

Don’t waste time treading water.

Don’t work a job you hate.

Don’t think tomorrow’s better.

Today’s a rainy day.

Well, yesterday was wetter.

Ignore the loudest shouters.

They’ve got fuck all to say.

Don’t let the feeble doubters

Put shit in your way.

So do the things that matter:

Being happy is OK.

If when I go

I’ve lived my words as best I could,

then that which I have sown

I will have harvested, myself.

Falling, Foul

I

I

am falling foul again

be sure to wave and smile

as I crash by

I

I

sputter mad vapour trail

damnation devastates

tumbling sky

no more dread

no more time

beloved

diminished mind

Government Scum

When you have no faith

you relinquish the ability

to be mad at a God

This is not helpful.

When you have faith

it requires the ineffability

of the Almighty

This is equally unhelpful.

I refuse to be angry

at a fairytale. There is

no Big Bad Wolf.

I don’t find this helps either.

I’m pissed off at

fellow humans and

this is the saddest of all.

We should help each other.

No Lost Tapes

There are no ‘lost tapes’.

How far would you really go for a good cup of coffee?

Are my nails growing quicker than they did before? 

I swear I can feel them.

Cock

is the funniest word in the English language.

Manchasm: a novelty doorbell/vibrator

Vegas in robots

a weevil fertile twist

set phasers to S-T-R-U-T.

Jonny Madrid

Vole Man and Hamster Lady

The Mooch

Licking vagaries off of a helicopter,

urchin.

The Tuning is a fabled computer game which ends in a remote camera

two fighting magic and all is cybertastic.

The man slipped on a patch of ice, sending limbs akimbo, and he shaped a swastika for a moment

before mashing up a knee on a carelessly static concrete bollard.

Put on the brakes, blue man.

Singleton Dalia

Ossifying mundanity

All your favourite bands are shit

and the boy you like is a fucking prick

Half bent in the head 

Looking for household highs

A jerky spider.

(Another raw unedited list of fragments)

Capeniks, B Not

Dance through work

resoundingly plangent

or pungent

a jazz group so radical

they use other people

to play the instruments,

haughty as a seagull in reduced circumstances.

Fatuously brave,

the king’s ambition

was to smooth out the country

to form a perfect sphere.

To build the highest school ever opened.

B-rated

I am afraid I am beyond your distraction,

airplay drained

zone debt

spewlicker.

A corrupted attach

brown black sweet sludge

language is a bludgeon or a ballet:

religion by ballot box.

Special fruit star

wait, pisscake

a foul mess of jokes

a hamburger flair

when ingenuity failed,

mostly cramp.

Capeniks, b not yet infill.

This is my funeral song:

don’t set your nose proud

to the order of Independent Knowledge;

The angry

iconoclast not nihilist

upbeat puddles

pigmata

pork waddler;

The treacle past

Risley sand

a lesion agaric of weepy shadows

rowdy drunk nights and delicate days

abolish terror

One day we’ll be dehydrated

all this navel gazing will be shown up for what it is:

a cast iron first class waste of effort

a clamouring oafishness.

In the end it wasn’t quite Hope,

but her younger brother

Wishing.

(Fragments from an ancient bedside pad that I just found.)

So Much Waiting

Nobody told me that there’d be so much

w a ii t ii n gg

Please hold

your call is important to us

you are in a queue

you are number 17

all our advisors are busy right now

Take this number

and wait for your turn

to see the doctor

to complain

for your KFC order

Your documents

are in the system being processed

we will be in touch via

email or text or phone or letter

which do you prefer

Your delivery

will be between the hours

of midnight and

February 2025

your driver will text

when they are on their way

Every holiday

bookended by

rush to airport

for your parking slot

wait for the bus

queue here to

check in

queue here for

baggage check-in

queue here for

security

now wait

Red-eyed, exhausted

and trying to hold it together

whilst around you everyone else

is doing the same. Some badly.

Some with kids biting at their heads.

Some way to start a relaxing break.

Some way to end it.

This thing about your life flashing before your eyes when you snuff it – most of it’s going to be fucking boring as shit. Time wasted waiting.

W a ii t ii nnn ggg.

I’m fucked if I can find any poetry in it.