Monday, 25 March 2019

and also miniature birds

on weekends and occasional long summer evenings i drive out to the country and practice my hobby

the sewer got given. Not the water but the metal pipes inside and out. I became soil, red clay and took photos of it and also miniature birds.


my cock is a perfect sunset

the world ended today at four thirty after a secret organisation outlawed the word umami
a soft wind rustles a soft patch of grass
a child’s ball rolls down an empty suburban street
that kind of thing

every youtube chef self combusted creating a chain effect that resembled the great fire of rome
nero looses his ear plugs
his sculpted beard melts
his vintage polyester tracksuit and matching air jordans

i scratch myself in a quiet room
i look around to see if anyone saw me do it
i feel self conscious
i put some music on


the fruit runs
head on into a socket
it’s all your fault

promise of sun 
in violence a city comes of age

modern lover
between the road and sky
bigfoot dies

wet bastard 
the sound of his heart

Saturday, 23 March 2019

the way i say grass

the worst thing about fat people is the way i say grass

i am six foot tall
i have watched a lot of football
i dream of being a golf ball
i stopped worshiping the devil so i could get a good nights rest

my browser is outdated
and all the vacant emojis do is break my heart

my jumper has a whole in the left sleeve
i think it is edgy
i have a gut that i haven’t named yet
my gut is a combination of bad posture and not watching what i eat
i am not pregnant
my gut is hairy and full of shit

it’s ok because i’m quite handsome
and i catch rare large aquatic mammals with my right eye

i am a car with balloon doors
on an honest day i prefer country music to indie lit
i am a gold bar with a willy drawn on it
i am a car with balloon doors


limber fingers
from the glovebox
producing a lime


a violet bobs in the breeze the antiquity of spaghettiOs

Wednesday, 20 March 2019

being thought

being thought

sam picks the peppers off his pizza
his eyes fixed low
he doesn’t want anyone to see him doing this
and think why he didn’t just order something without peppers

he becomes aware of the unnaturalness of the position of his head and eyes
he imagines his head going through the table
the table is salmon pink with a teal square in the middle
he raises his head slightly forcing eye contact with the condiments 
he imagines the other tables around the salt and pepper
and the universe around the napkins

he thinks to himself he should have ordered something without peppers 
he finds himself being thought
he starts to eat the pizza quietly


beginnings of metaphysics the back wall covered in moss


summer storm the bullet finds a new diction


distant vomit a boy becomes a hill


water lords
in the underpass
a dragonfly


violet sunset
the farmhouse
as allegory

Tuesday, 19 March 2019

a soft current of albumen

city of pies

puberty is the onset of spider legs covering your face, bitch
the moon says nothing back
i watch a big fucking yacht appear in the sky and say that is a big fucking yacht
i have nothing to say about the stars

today is national napping day
i buy a frozen pizza

there is a lorikeet in the tree and i have no idea how it survived winter

reciting the name of every british tree followed by ‘you know’ in the voice of tupac 

alder - ‘you know’

you get the idea


insert horror

jellied jowls 
a table white from the light and its tabelness
to be born of age six million miles below salt water
a soft current of albumen
lost dreams of sallow autumn and arctic tundras
wishing to feel another type of cold
wishing towards another god
spineless horned beasts
this dead fish that rattles in lungs

six million years before man
curious as birch that becomes a white table
dread looking back at itself
prodding the egg with black plastic knife
the sports result’s eyes
longing to turn away and back into eggs
banal flickered and wooed
preston two plymouth argyle six

[to insert your own horror turn to page x
to be born a new crimson dandy turn to page y]


not knowing a clock beyond its hands

there are exactly possibly six grains of oats left in the bowl
I ask the spoon about shawland’s arcade
‘cops have really nice colons’
‘they eat a lot of porridge’ 

loosing the recipe for stuffed peppers the wind changes direction

‘some men have more than one nipple’
oh. he shows me a picture
the picture is that of a man crying
the point of the picture is that the man is crying
it is sad - it is supposed to be sad
but all i can think about is his bad hair cut
‘nice picture’

Sunday, 10 March 2019

quaalude vandal

binary code
the cherry tree
in winter


quaalude vandal

end of summer sale

a blind owl

the storm

shoots Rome

putting pretty colours in the sky

Friday, 1 March 2019

tracing herodotus

my soul

the border town

now a plural

a swordfish

fresh lilies

becoming thunder


full moon
the love songs

half beat behind 
the blackbird

dark side of the sun
walking on an abacus
the moon

a tramp’s doll 
tracing herodotus


mute militia

and then...

becoming a mango

into another green

the roadhouse

a landscape