It's ok to write poems and put them here

Nature Doc on a Loop

I want someone to grip my wrists
and look straight back at me
I want the clock to stop,
so I can take a look and see
that maybe I’ve been wandering
for a while too long,
like a loose broken turnstile,
spinning cleanly, unbound,
though not exactly uninhibited or free.

It’s not a tragedy.
It can be another moment that wasn’t meant to be,
the aftermath becomes the new normal,
the temporary is now the permanent,
a workaround to adjust to the instability,
to help cover up what is still wide open.

Do you see why I need someone to grab hold of my wrists?
Sometimes I need a moment.

It seems like a lot of people want this movie to end,
but I don’t.
The point is moot.
This theater plays films on a loop.
The lead roles shift back and forth
and with time, we all learn each other’s lines.
One of the characters is you.
I don’t remember where our words came from
but as you say them
my lips might move too,
knowing that it can and cannot be true.

I tried to run away from home once
I had internalized their arguments and
believed they were both right.
Missouri without a car is close to impossible
a child walking down a highway with a backpack
knows there is no point
kicks some dust off the shoulder
but isn’t yet ready to be picked up.

Everyone I know is overloaded.
Their clients are falling from the windows
and squeezing back in through the front doors.
Even their ledgers seem to be near their limits.

I feel a kind of total emptiness.
The grass grows back strong when
my weight is lifted off of it.
Turns out the blades are indifferent.

I’m one weird ass bird and you are the trees
Your roots are strong and I’m in the breeze.
I can put my home in your branches
and hide in your leaves.
I have no mouths to feed,
the worms I catch are all for me.

I’m on the tip of a feather, then
I sink heavy, far and deep,
the rush of living distilled into a moment of peace
under your familiar canopy.

I can never be late here.

for some reason i've been writing a lot recently, and i really don't want to have to get a MFA and wait to get to be published in a friend's book before i am credentialed to put a poem in a public space. maybe you feel that way too, so please post yr poems if you want. otherwise i'll just keep posting mine, who fucking cares

Loose Control

Sometimes I try to put myself in a state,
call it Loose Control, for now,
where expressive results are bent into javelined roads,
temporary paths getting all covered up
and forgotten under relentless waves of new stuff.

Imagine automatic writing but more visual,
thin and slivering lines instead of language,
the brush’s residuals replacing the text.

When I Loosely Control my hand starts to move
on its own, independently,
thickened water sloshingly flying
up and around the edges of a bucket
which is swirling in elliptical orbits,
the inverse of my motions,
the effects of my causes becoming
untethered from their origins,
and yet I know that I am part of it all.
It is from me and yet it doesn’t see me back.

A forgotten mark gets scattered up,
reforms as a ladder and tips
toward new directions,
one of many landing strips,
loud movement then stillness,
a flood and then a covenant.

I make my bed and I sleep on top of it.
My heart beats are uninterrupted.
They make me live so I listen,
five liters of blood in a circuit,
all sustained without a rhythm.
I barely understand but I know I’ll wake up.

out of this tape hiss comes some light

i've been dropped off here,
old train running on a fresh sea,
with fingertips all cut up and worn down from
constant use, my newer skin turns rough

I wanted someone to talk to but instead I had a beer or two.
it’s only more water pushing against my barricades.
we build ourselves back up and see each other off at the door.
I wonder who is watching who.
I wonder how long I can keep this up.
I think about what it would be like to see you stop.

I broke your locks but fixed your door sweep.
Your car was fine but I brought it to the shop.
I made your day easier and that was enough.

Tough love, that’s kid stuff.
I’ll clean the dirt off, don’t worry.
Your hands are blistered.
Mine are sweating. My glasses fogged up.
But I still drop them off at school.

Two-step around the room.
The drums and the singing
and I’m feeling warm again.
I’m stretched out and dry.
crushed in, drawn tight
I haven’t touched skin so soft in years,
my knuckles pop like firecrackers,
My hands are stupid bricks.
My WPM is 96.
The words pile up and I keep writing.

There’s a ship that sails back.
I can still see it.
I think about my sense of humanity.
I think I saw my spirit dancing
with the one that brought me,
the thought which took me out on the town and spun me sideways,
our long naps in the evenings,
unwarned,
unearned,
walking on air, enchanted.

a moving checkmark has caught my eye
starkly black on blue tinted gray.
2 birds to the left, 6 to the right
1 at the head
a flying nonet
not at all like a Monet
but beautiful all the same

you had to be there I suppose.

Hey look, we’re right on time.
This place has been designated for our recovery.
It’s sponsored by a local charcuterie.

You know I’m only kidding
and the bit is that there’s nothing to get
(everyone’s least favorite)

What do you know, we’re in another line
This place is dedicated to making money
just like pretty much everywhere else
now that anyone or anything can be a market
our dreams got commodified in the bargain

Remember those glow-in-the-dark ceiling star kits?
Did you ever peel them off,
or did someone else do it without your say?
And what happened to that dog we had, anyway?

Some kids recreate the solar system
at a 36 billion to one ratio
“whaaaah bakkken-mah day”, old man me may say, “o kai,
Pluto was still part of the solar system”
as if it disappeared from existence altogether when it lost its place
as the 9th and furthest planet on the way
to waypoints in other galaxies
it’s still there.
It’s still cold.

Old man me complains a lot, probably
I used to think about him every day,
trying to avoid becoming him.
The more I think of him the closer he gets,
so I drew a line and put myself on one side of it,
turned 180 degrees and went on autopilot
it means smoking in the sunroom and washing down
pizza crust with another beer on the way to the couch.
When I finally turn around I know what to expect.
Old man me’s shadow will be my own before long,
a long-scheduled appointment well met.
I shake his hand and we walk back into our apartment.
He watches the shows and I hit refresh.

That’s a part of our bargain.
It’s about forgiveness.

I have quite a bit to apologize for.
He at least acknowledges that it happened
Then he goes on and on and makes no sense.
I try to listen, but can’t.

That’s when I want to think of something else.

That’s when I think about what I think a home is
What we’ve all been through, and
Where have we gone, and
what my friends have seen, their new families are growing.
It’s aways the right season for fertility,
I see all their children and I think “what if that was me?”
And in every single case, I would be happy.
My friends mean a lot to me. They keep me going.
I think if I fall on my face they’ll love me all the more for it.
That means everything to me.
That lets me remember my inner child,
cartwheeling straight down the street,
sliding, careening, skinning a knee,
getting all bent out of shape
from anyone or anything I might meet
knowing full well I have a place for recovery.
Not my local Schnucks or wise-ass charcuteries
but with my chosen family, the ones who are really there
(and don’t charge an arm and a leg and a fee,

Happy anniversary to 1 of 365.25 people, on average, we might meet
Soon the shops will open with the year’s first work week.
I’m rooting for you, from the margins.
Unemployed by choice, that’s the jargon
I’ve rarely said “beg your pardon?”
I usually say “I’m sorry?” and regret my decision of words immediately
the theater of the absurd grows stale quickly
let’s break bread and dry it out completely.

Poetry
like pottery
left me cold
as a pot of tea
in the studio

Shins

Whose thistle-blistered shin is this?
The other one must surely miss
Its criss-crossed country counterpart
If one is one and two are two how many shins am I to lose
To bracken stumbles cuts and grazes, nettle stings and turns of phrases
Sod this for a barrel of laughs
I'd rather use the underpass

Borstal sorcerers

Don't grouse on my greasy undergarments with your oleaginous jeremiads
Metastatic angst in the antechamber of Anthea Turner's tanning atelier
Hock your snot into a truffled fist, you sunny-spayed evangelists
Serve my sirloin on a praxis of half-shined rag-and-iron colliders
Billious squalls from the Gorbals bill tables while we celebrate Clark Gable's nasty garlic nails.
Slop a bucket of hot-steam gas on the coalface of the midnight mass
Sick chicks peck at plastic packaging
Dejected ingestion of a pupper's plaything
Rubber throats on the road start to rollick:
"Hen, you've had your fillet!"
You embattled borstal sorcerers

All mine were written into my phone while deeply hungover

(no match for KM's work of course, which I'm loving)

i'm just a doof in the wind, dog latin

Slow synth waves wash over 2am
It’s 1994 or 2024, doesn’t matter
I didn’t have Nickelodeon
I’m falling asleep
I might be falling again,
By all signs I am
(Each step is a kind of broken forward motion)
According to Laurie Anderson.
We can’t bothered paying too much attention right now
In the midst of the everpresent competition of the senses
with touches and smells and sounds and visions,
And on and on in bottomless provisions
The brooms grow arms and pick up the buckets
and flood their lair in lemminglike motions

It tastes like wine
It tastes like honey

Let’s dim these lights and turn up their hues
a degree or two warmer then cool daylight
The heat’s on 72
I’m sweating, through the sheets
I see you moving,
Do you see me watching
I hope you do.

We could just go.
We could go to the Blue Lagoon.
There’s a free layover at Reykjavik
On the way to Europe
or at least there used to be.
I haven’t really left this town in a week or three.
You sit in the sulfuric water and smell like eggs.
Weird for a minute but plenty-fine in a daze,
3-feet deep water, half crouch
The low-flying clouds of steam out the mouth
Hot stones on your cheeks against the North Atlantic breeze
For us it might be heaven
For others it’s a Tuesday soak
One to take off work and enjoy a float
facedown for as long as their lungs can handle it
Then flip and spread the arms toward all four directions,
The cardinals, the original sin,
Imagine you’re the tail of a lizard
Feeling left and right and centered
As naturally as our hearts beat and lungs breathe,
We’re so lucky to sit at the top of these complicated systems,
We don’t understand but we benefit from them
To live our lives in a way that honors that gift is to
repay back only part of what we’ve been given
To truly enjoy a sliver of the life
Is to be adrift at sea, at home with the upheaval

I was really sick on a small boat the open sea there, near Iceland.
We had paid a small fee to try to see a whale swim.
Now I’m the boy on the big wide cold open ocean for the first time since
his father drowned himself semi-voluntarily,
probably out of ignorance,
Out of a misplaced faith in his voice of intuition,
One voice out of many in conversation,
A form of improvised unpredictable organization,
Sorted starting with numbers a
Before the letters
I opened my eyes and my stomach went sideways,
I almost threw up but sat my way out of it.
I closed my eyes and leaned back my head
Against the cabin and the shapes inside my lids
Watching some puffins landing near a dark cave lit up
by a tourist captain playing an echoing woodwind
An alto saxophone with an unexpected soulful lilt,
A long quiet note held steady with tremolo flicks
Bouncing off the walls and my own index fingers and wrists
Tapping along to the the perfect story, followed by that solo,
the one I just mentioned.
I was haunted, what’s wrong with me, live.

unexpectedly
subtle black cat climbs the fence
leaves night incomplete

Dr. Howl

The moving men just finished
There are two of them, two guys, along with a truck
They’re dancing in the front cabin
and filling it up with vape smoke and laughing
hotboxing at 3pm, done with their shift

One of my neighbors is leaving
but I didn’t see who it was

There’s a beagle next door that I call Dr. Howl
The good doctor documents his agony
When his walker walks off to work
he yooowls to absurd length
caterwauls until no one can stand it

We all struggled with his loneliness
Those of us living within a 200-foot radius, that is
On some mornings it would go on for hours.
He’d clock in early then go back to bed
only to wake up again around 9am
to resume his fit at an even greater volume

I saw the Doctor Howl in his apartment’s side window sometimes
We’d make eye contact while I locked my front door
I loved seeing him in his window frame, looking at me
He single-handedly ruined my sleeping patterns
and I’d give him some more time, I’d give him a treat, if I saw him

Now the truck and the two guys are gone
There’s a large empty space where it was
I haven’t heard a howl all day
now to think of it
I wonder where that sad boy is

I hope he’s running in a big open space
miles away from any other property
barking and huffing and squalling
the doctor in his countryside residence, at peace

That's great

thank you dog latin! what is very strange is that when i finished that yesterday, i posted a video clip of me reading it, and almost the instant i hit send, i heard Dr. Howl going again and was assured that he's still around. I even saw him in the window looking back at me when i went outside later. it was really nice :)

the nice thing is that the poem stands up completely on its own, unaffected by those later facts

thank you aimless! you all should post some that you're working on, if you want. i've revised all the ones i posted above, quite a bit in cases, but i think it's sometimes a nice thing to have a place to post work in progress. i'm working on a decent one right now, i think. i really enjoy using my mornings to write poetry. it fits in really well with the rest of my day and it makes me feel very productive. i've never really organized my writing before, but i think maybe part of that was that i assumed i would be best at doing it at night, which is when my creative outlets are usually sparking. but with writing, i think i am a morning/coffee person. anyway, just rambling, back to the notes :)

and no joke, just as i post, the same two guys and the moving truck just showed up! i think they're moving someone else in? looool. well, i'm sitting here at the same window, on the same couch. unbelievable

The silence of a new apartment
Waving to the one you left behind and closing the door
crying and knees and hands touching the floor
Do I want to be reminded
No, but I wouldn’t want to forget

one more, sorry. this is the one i've been working on the last few days

Mary Lou Retton Skips

Look at him, skipping rope
He skipped up and down the full length of his block’s sidewalk
without a single slip or halt, not a moment of hesitation
If anything he seems to be craving a mistake
Not at all like Mary Lou Retton, you remember
a nation held its breath, it was the 1984 Olympics
the sprint to the vault pushes those watching to the edges of their seats
she launches, flips, soars, and of course sticks the landing
She demanded perfection of herself in a life full of limits
Now she’s waiting to see what the judge’ would think
Then we saw the score and she heard it and said Yes!
and we all said it together, Ten!, watching on our analog televisions
Moments like that certainly capture my attention.
One hundred percent of it, the career-defining performance
The tip of a spear dipping ever so slightly into transcendence
That’s the boy who effortlessly skips, in the moment, in this moment,
at the top of his game, when life seems so easy
His kid sister walks behind him and watches and smiles
now she’s spinning and he’s romping down the block again

(sorry, that's supposed to go into this:)

I don’t want to be disenchanted, as I sometimes am
As we all are bound to be, lost at sea in the knowledge economy
I try to push back against that drift
because I enjoy being enchanted
In fact, it means pretty much everything to me
When it feels like magic I don’t know what I saw
I know what it felt like, I don’t know it all
I know every spell gets broken, I know where I belong
Every day can’t be like this and this might not happen again
That’s why I hold onto this feeling tightly for as long as I can
when I can find it, when I can hear my voice and change it

(and then figuring out if i want to include this or work it into something else i've been working on. it contains many baseball references, which i'm sure will be wonderful for some and horrible for others, haha):

When the bus dropped me off, as a kid, I had a ritual
I would take off my bag and begin the great spin
Wielding my backpack like an Decathlon competitor holds a hammer
Feeling the slack of the Jansport bag’s thin straps tightening
Gaining momentum
A trapper keeper slammed up against polyester lining
Then I’d whip my book bag off into the air as far as I could possibly throw it
Often with a grand arc, as a performance
As the bus pulled off with some kids laughing from the windows
the school day was done, the home was still home

i changed the name to Skip to my Lou, and the last part is now part of something else. also revised a lot of things, after reading it out loud a few times and hearing where things needed to be

Skip to my Lou

Look at that kid, skipping rope
He skipped up and down the full length of this block’s sidewalk
without a single misstep, no miscues, no reservations
If anything he seemed to be craving a mistake
One to break the winning streak so he could move on to something else

Not at all like Mary Lou Retton, you remember
a nation held its breath, it’s the 1984 Olympics
Her sprint to the vault pushes those watching to the edges of their seats
she launches, flips, soars, and of course sticks the landing
She demanded perfection of herself in a world of limits
Now it all comes down to what the judges should think
She walks past the NBC cameras and we see
the pressure of theater on the brink of the rink
no one blinks, I think, no one breathes
Then we saw the score and she heard it and said Yes!
and we all shouted the number together, Ten!
the announcer, the audience
everyone at home watching on our analog televisions

Moments like that certainly capture my attention.
One hundred percent of it, the career-defining performance
The tip of a spear dipping ever so slightly into transcendence
That’s the boy who skips, seemingly, without effort
in the moment, in this moment
at the top of his game, when life seems so easy
His kid sister walks behind him and watches and smiles
now she’s spinning and he’s romping down the block again
His streak is still going
He can’t retire while he’s still on top because
he hasn’t worked a job
I hope he doesn’t have to for as long as he can

I don’t want to be disenchanted, as I sometimes am
As we are all bound to be, lost at sea
in the knowledge economy or whatever it is that we call this
I try to push back against that kind of heavy drift
because I enjoy being enchanted
In fact, it means everything to me
When I feel magical I don’t know what I saw
I know what it felt like, I don’t know it all
I know every spell gets broken, I know where I don’t belong
I know most days aren’t like this
That’s why I hold onto this feeling so tightly for as long as I can
when I think about my voice and who is changing it

god, things can never be done.

last stanza now starts like this:

I don’t want to be disenchanted, as I sometimes am
As we’re all bound to be, emptied into the sea
in the knowledge economy or whatever it is that we call this
every droplet of water makes its own slow way to the ocean

That Dr Howl one is pure late Bukowski, not a bad thing, I love late Bukowski.

Is this thread really for "works in progress"? Cus your standard and workrate is intimidating, and personally my brain doesn't work between October and like March or summat, so when I had a Big Day opening mail/taking a walk/reading the bible I wrote this down in full awareness I will not be fixing the meter and such until the sun hits my corpse:

I love my auntie's handwriting
It is genuinely illegible, but
It swoops and it soars
Long curves, that (to me)
Illustrate: birds in flight
Messi shots at goal
and paths never took
On walks in the forest
IN THE HILLS

Turf Hill
Scare Hill
Boy's Hill
Burnieshag, Gaerlie
These are high points in my life
(geddit?
never mind...)

Bellhangie
Shoolbraid
Bogton (fucken BOGTON)
These are apparently individual "woods"
But really
(come bosie up and I'll tell you a secret):
It's actually all one big forest
(also my life is one big forest)

But my auntie's handwriting was NOT ALWAYS THIS WAY
I know
Because of my grandfather's bible
His wife put it in my hands when he died, and
Inside
I found a slip of paper
No more than like 3/4 inch square
With a verse from Luke
Bland, rote, capital letters
I would have never known who wrote it
If it wasn't signed
Hilary White

I just wanted to get for my own records before I forgot 1) my Auntie's baffling handwriting 2) The names I googled of where I was walking, I thought it was just "up the forestry", turns out I traversed multitudes 3) the tiny piece of paper I found in the Bible.

Oh also when I woke up today I found this written "chase yirsel son, finish up your compendium of left-handed bassists", I AM COMPILING NO SUCH COMPENDIUM so my only guess is that is meant for song lyrics or poetry

wearing a t-shirt says "emo-adjacent", that's also a scribbling I need to put in something

i really enjoyed reading that! "also my life is one big forest" is something i will remember, hahaha

as far as workrate goes, i'm in a weird temporary thing right now for the next year or two where i don't have a job and i spend my time doing whatever the fuck i want, all the time. it's incredibly self-indulgent and i've only getting to do it by obliterating every dollar i've ever put in any location

for example, i have a list of TO DOs that are getting more urgent - your payments are failing, your prescription is ending, your insurance hasn't started, etc. but instead i'm going to spend the rest of this morning drinking my coffee and working on my baseball poem, because fuck you only live once

also j h m i appreciate your use of capital letters and you sense of parenthetics (in this thread it is ok and good to make up words)

gonna do a quick test to see if this works, using the formatting...

Jonah was tossed overboard
    and Jesus walked upon a sea
            of expectations and Kurt Vonnegut’s reminding me
            so it goes, it’s overflowing, the need for emptiness
            to continue on as your body craves activity
            blood vessels carrying oxygen and nutrients

A Dead Armed Pitcher is Not Yet a Man

The path of a pitched baseball 
can be curv    or sl
           ing      urv
                       ing
          t
narrow or a  
          l
          l
cutt        n
    ing or k u                    arc's
              ckl              the      f
                 ing      bends         a
                 the wind               l
                                        l
slid
    ing or drop
               p
                ing 
    like a sick stomach
    having just reached the top
    of a rollercoaster ride that screams like a rocket until the bottom falls out of it and comes to the most sudden
                                                                                                                stop

Instead of throwing the ball like any of that
I throw it right down the middle
as hard as I can
My ass is handed to me in front of an audience

I grunt when I throw because they asked me to
because if I don’t they’ll ask why I didn’t
because they thought it would add a couple miles per hour
to my cartoonishly slow and extremely hittable deliveries
The other kid grunts back as he slaps a loud smack
The crowd roars because our team is away and they are safe at home
We’re 13 years old, I sucked
I got roughed up on the usual
but our team had no reliable bullpen
so they left me in to soak up the remaining innings
until the 10-run rule arrived, the rule of mercy

Pool

Movies on black and white tvs in barrooms
Fred Astaire smiles and a man plays a flute
I was watching him dance in a musical on mute

When a coquette with a curly q
sticks three quarters into a table which removes
a stop inside of it and prompts sixteen balls to click
together as they roll down a slope to her waiting hands

If I’ve seen it twenty times here, I’ll see it again
but I’ve never anything resembling this
she takes the 6 ball and puts it in one coat pocket
the 4 ball is flipped up in the air as the 9 ball is
touching the floor and now it seems like everyone’s staring at her

Cue ball in her left hand, 8 ball in her right
the green felt under the hanging billiard light
tinted with oranges and yellows and grime

She wound up like a pitcher in the bottom of the 9th
like an old-timey pitcher with the long-winded wind-up
We all saw where she was aiming and where this was going

He started running toward the door
when she finally launched it
where his body had been only a second before
the mirror exploded and the shattered glass scattered quick
as his shadow was seen down the corridor
She grabbed the coat he left behind and walked outside
with a flick of a cigarette

Later that night as the owner cleaned up
and grumbled about the cost of pool ball replacements
there was something that caught my eye
a clear view to the sky, ripped through the ceiling
the size of a cue ball, when did she make that happen
what else does she make happen
i’ll take a manhattan
she paid less than a dollar to make things plain
that’s a good deal in most centuries

You lads <3

Oh you're "on the spectrum"?
We're all on the "spectrum" that's what makes it a spectrum
But some of us use it as a synonym
For "I Act The Dick On The Internet"

Some of us get pennies threwed at our head
In those horrific high school corridors
But (bosie up, I'll give you a callback)
You can feed your family off the subsequent coins

No, we don't use that term
It's ugly, pointed, dismal and tawdry
Don't listen to me, a Doctor will tell you
But that doesn't appear on your 5 year plan

It's like Peel said
on first play of New Puritan
IF YOU THINK IT'S ABOUT YOU... IT'S ABOUT YOU
Let's just go back to bed

6 years into my 5 year plan, and I'm not where I said I'd be
So I live my life in Comic Sans, a forced attempt at levity

3 years on this sofa and still haven't got no sleep
But I live my life in Papyrus, cus I'm ~mystical and deep~

Had my eyes closed when you wrote that note, but I took a sneaky peek
Try to live my life in Futura, up to date and somewhat sleek

So next time you need to move your shit just give me a shout
I'm whatever font but Sans Serif, nae fucking about

Sorry, that one is pretty bad, closer to a party game than a poem, but this is a safe space, right?

I wrote a poem about my REDACTED but then it seemed too TW-ish to post so I replaced every use of the word REDACTED with REDACTED and now it seems creepily sexual? But in a humorous way so here yis go:

There is no honour in this town
But there are a lot of REDACTED
mostly plastic, yellow and black
how can I respect you with that toy in your hand?

My REDACTED was my father's REDACTED
Maybe his father's REDACTED before?
I dunno, we don't speak
The REDACTED is my father now

Stanley 99E, for whatever that's worth
One side half decayed, but then increasingly shiny
At the top end, rubbed by my fingers
As I grasp it in my pocket

The other side, only the tip is burnished
Where my thumb resides
The knife hides secretly as I listen to your tiresome anecdote
Waiting for the bigoted punchline

My brother visited my mother
Whipped out his REDACTED, to prove he's a big man
I just stood back, smirked
Knowing I had the superior REDACTED

And when I sleep tonight
I shall hold the cat against my chest
But the REDACTED will be in reach
Just in case

It resides on the other side of the bed
Vacant, except for the REDACTED
But the REDACTED's presence reassures me
Because I live in REDACTEDTOWN

Fuck I missed one

Better:

There is no honour in this town
But there are a lot of REDACTED
mostly plastic, yellow and black
how can I respect you with that toy in your hand?

My REDACTED was my father's REDACTED
Maybe his father's REDACTED before?
I dunno, we don't speak
The REDACTED is my father now

Stanley 99E, for whatever that's worth
One side half decayed, but then increasingly shiny
At the top end, rubbed by my fingers
As I grasp it in my pocket

The other side, only the tip is burnished
Where my thumb resides
The REDACTED hides secretly as I listen to your tiresome anecdote
Waiting for the bigoted punchline

My brother visited my mother
Whipped out his REDACTED, to prove he's a big man
I just stood back, smirked
Knowing I had the superior REDACTED
And when I sleep tonight
I shall hold the cat against my chest
But the REDACTED will be in reach
Just in case

It resides on the other side of the bed
Vacant, except for the REDACTED
But the REDACTED's presence reassures me
Because I live in REDACTEDTOWN

And that time somehow I deleted a verse break, but I'm not pasting it thirdwise

I’m out of milk, out of butter, and eggs
But I don’t think I’ll be headed to the supermarket today
I‘ve eaten and smoked, I’m partly dressed
I haven’t washed the dishes yet
I’ll be broke soon if I can’t sell something
and I just broke another french press
it fell with a cracking splash into the sink
as I closed a kitchen cabinet
My pointy elbows poked it off the ledge
I’ve been making a lot of clumsy accidents
and it all started after I started wearing glasses
now I have three plastic plungers and zero carafes

Not all messages are displayed: show all messages (371 of them)
Can someone tell Batman why not?!?
Reply to: pers-164487✧✧✧@craigsl✧✧✧.o✧✧
Date: 2006-05-25, 8:25AM EDT

can someone tell Batman why not?!?

Why he can't luv Batgurl? Why can't he luv Batgurl? What's wrong with luving Batgurl?

Thanks! kisst plus kisses for Batgurl

* this is in or around manhattan
* yes -- it's ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

164487171

There was a quiet family in a crooked land
and a series of bad hands which came to surround them
They lived within a kind of bewilderment
but thought they were outside of it
One day the heavy fog fell on their porch at dusk

They were watching the oranges and blues
and noting the range of lavender hues on view
but mostly they were listening
to cicada waves piling up on each other
picking up the patterns in their rhythms and
getting their whole story and then some
the decayed phrases phasing and fading in and out
papering over the seams of the loop
so there are no beginnings and
no endings

only an old dog’s tail which keeps wagging
every which way smelling like wet grass shavings
Come and get it while it’s still hot
A person that never really was
Their family lives on the corner of a block
You might find near the end of the book
as a form of epilogue
when the rising tension has been resolved
when the plot no longer thickens
They see their friends and warmly thank them
It’s as cold as the dickens out there, isn’t it
I guess some things never change, do they
These are the ones we come home to
the ones who have been missing us
That’s the story we like to tell ourselves
not how it really was

The quiet part has been said quite loudly
Can we roll the credits now?
Can we hear an old favorite in a new arrangement?
We know something’s wrong
but we don’t have the same explanation for it
but do we have to have the same explanation?
I remember when we did
Do we at least agree that the sun has gone down
Nobody says anything
We could all use a breather

When we step outside the shadows are detached
from the objects they used to represent
they fill the valleys with a sense of dread
and grow strongest where there is no light at all
I think they’re leading us to the bottom of a well
and I’m strangely compelled to go along with their plan
to put a lid on me
to be covered up and let it sink in
that I don’t have the faintest sense of what I’m dealing with
the window is closing
Purple and black and darker still until
the chill of my breath is the only thing that’s moving
Something small to take full account of

I’ll speak to you in the morning
the rustling wind under your door, whispering
that something inevitable is approaching

King’s Highway

I saw a dog at a bus stop
but she wasn’t waiting and neither was anyone else
she ran through the repair shop’s lot
and everyone was moving away or staring
She worked her way a bit down the block
And was soon back in the traffic
all the tires squeaked but no one honked
she weaved through the cars like
water through a sieve and
wound up west of the King’s Highway

I watched all of this in horror from the driver’s seat of my car
from the very center of the same King’s Highway
traffic rushing toward me from the left and away from the right
trapped from all sides in a left hand turn lane, waiting, having to wait,
how long could it stay green
she was running out in front of my wheels

some of the cars began to come to a stop
I looked for anyone who was running toward the dog
and found someone holding a leash
her hands were in the air, frozen like me it seemed

The dog was back out in the street
tire squeaks and still no honking
I put on my right-turn signal
and felt the seat belt sting against my neck
as my right hand gripped the passenger headrest

like thin rice noodles squeezing through a colander
I couldn’t believe I made it through
the moving automobile lines and off of it
to a taco bell parking spot
and immediately leapt out of my car like a fool
who still remembers to lock the door with a
remote key while scanning the periphery

I ran down the street to the person with the leash
Are you the owner
Yes, her name’s Nala
Which way did she go
I knew the answer before she answered
I saw it
Nala had turned off the King’s Highway down an alley

My black jacket made rapid plastic swishing noises
I was wearing gray mesh allbirds shoes
with gray pants and a gray shirt
my hair was lavender and yellow and orange and brown
I’m a complete mess, I know it
I took off, completely

She was looking at me, she kept looking back at me
while still barreling down the alley
I turned the corner and ran like the T-1000
that I used to be, for about a minute
probably closer to thirty seconds
it was a longer sprint then I can remember
since the pandemic
BC AD BCE CE
before and after
when meeting people was easy
Nala was on a leash and now we can’t find her
but I’m on her tracks, the only one with the sensor

I couldn’t catch my breath, I was panting
I went over the fence and through the back gate
there are no woods
the alley was grass, then dirt, then concrete
Nala stands at a pass and looks both ways
She instinctively manuevers t-bones at top speed

Somehow I’m at the main street,
the person holding the leash
says to me, Her name’s Nala
I’m Emma
She won’t come to me
She knows we’re putting her away
A postal worker overhears us
and is filled with disgust
We are one of the obstacles in her day
and I see the leashholder’s face is filled with bruised spots
Emma, she’s laughing and her eyes are empty
Nala’s running toward the trainyard
I keep chasing

the same landscape, again and again
the gas station, the restaurant, the intersection
the tire change chain, the telephone lines hanging over
the cars, everywhere cars, starting the cars
starting the story in a car, gradually exiting a car
everyone else is in a car, or otherwise waiting for something
This is a Thursday afternoon, this is a thousand places
this is a hero with a thousand faces
sitting in a car

I almost caught her
I was out of breath
she was down the block
about 200 feet off and I called
Nala! Nala, please!
The same words from before but with a different texture
now I was down and Nala was the young pup
more than ready to run for another hour
Nala, please, Nala
and she came to me with her leash dragging
on the ground behind her
I could see the whites of her eyes
in the prime of her prime of her prime
and no discipline
she came within 5 feet and I jumped the gun
with no discipline, I missed

I reached for the leash but it was beyond my capabilities
and I saw it disappear down another alley
there was a girl watching and she asked
is that your dog?
and i said it’s not my pooch but I’m helping
and felt so silly and I sprinted again, off

I never did find her
I was eight blocks away from my car
I walked back. to my car.
the car, the car.

I ordered 2 cheesy bean burritos
I was out of breath and
forgot to wear my mask
and the man at the window hated me
I think
I never found her, I ran out of breath

The street is cold the dawn is gray my heart says no but my head says stay

What a mess.
What a horrible mess.

The rest of it, shortly to follow.

Where to begin?

The ending started as a walk
with talk of the “immediate future”.

It started in the garden of Eden.
Adam dreamed of an Eve
and was relieved of some of his burdens.
He needed help and they felt no shame.

Dead end street.

The people in the steeple are dying to meet
the one-winged angel with mangy hair and sores on his feet
to be blinded, to be brought to their knees
once and then twice again.

Dead end street.
Dead end street.

People are dying here on Dead End Street.

Here is the rest:

It’s a mess and we’re out of time.
An archeologist digging through our wreck
might be disappointed with what they find.

They won’t find these words
long since windswept
the way we were
the way you are
cannot be captured
I wonder what I have left
and when to leave

I am starting to believe in some things
that didn’t make much sense before

I love your poems Ztbd

How is it when I walked around Brickfield
Everyone thought I was Doogie?
Teenage girls on the street: "HEY DOOGIE!"
Shouts from high windows: "WHERE YE HEADED DOOGIE?"
I asked Fiona, who lived nextdoor
She said "no joke, you're a deadringer for Doogie"
So apparently I have a doppelganger
Never crossed his path

Malin moved, Fiona died, I stopped walking those streets
But I still think of the people I met
That middle-aged guy dressed up for karate
I paused on the pavement, bowed for him, a mental gong hit
There was no one there to confirm my comedic skills
Except the child who asked me if a had a fag
I said "yes, thanks", and showed him, ALSO HILARIOUS
I was wasted on that estate

Fasetiousness
Come take a piece of this
Come teach me how to spell
Pretend you're doing well

I like your wobble, sometimes subtly encourage it
Nextdoor blatantly cheers on the shimmy
Curtis frequently tussles with his one true best friend
I love them both, but maybe one more than the other

DON'T. MAKE. ME. CHOOSE.

In a flip between heating and eating, I chose drinking
Seemed like the best of both worlds at the time
It's good that your siblings are increasingly politicised
But your mother needs to not be on facebook

Yon Kid smirked, said I only write of "knives and mothers"
Not true, I frequently mention you too
But next time he retunes my guitar to some weird shit
I'll stab his maw with a knife, then maybe write about it...

This poem is called QUAGLIARELLA, for Reasons
Come here
Sit on my sofa
And try to talk me out of it

Dusty pockets, bottle rockets
Doublecheck what's on the docket
Female, about 9 years too young, she needs to not apologise
Count her cats, ignore Twitch chat
Hallucinate more vampire bats
Six steps from the stairway is the best place to hypothesize
N-n-n-nineteen is somewhat green
But she's been on the café scene
Squinted at her wrists, clean of slashes and/or needlemarks
A litany of past mistakes
And Gochugaru chili flakes
Reverberate throughout but I knocked it out the park

(the answer to your first question: my little brother)

Sorry about when I threatened Kid's mother
It was a joke
I would NEVER
NEVER, I SAY!
In fact I'll name my next-but-one cat Kid's government name
Cus, y'know...
I love him
Y'know?
(also his mother)

(in anticipation of your next question: KOSTAS)

V.'s getting pissed off at the words that I send her
"Why don't you just MARRY HER then?"
Cus she left like THREE YEARS AGO!
She's prolly in London, most everyone is
Not everything I write is contemporary
I thought that's how poetry works
What do I know?
But if you see her, tell her I miss her
Her name starts with an A
First time I went to that shithole alone I slept on a sofa myself
In the room of a guy whose name started with B
I jokedly grumbled "I was told these streets were paved with gold..."
Maybe I'll call him, I've still got his details
Tell him to look out for a girl who's name starts with an A
Otherwise
Just tell the penguins me and my sister said hi

(...ictoria. NO MORE QUESTIONS!)

Try to clear my mind
But the puns return again
Honkin’ on bobo

All eyes turn to me when the mediator asks me what I think
I just tip my head back to get the last dregs of the drink
That's the only reason I notice the stains on the ceiling
They somehow give me power to explain just how I'm feeling

You've met my father, eh? Well tell me what route to follow
You're Lobby McCuntface, and I claim ALL THE AMERICAN DOLLARS
Come summer and Gala week I'll lay it all down on some duck
But if that boy's on the bridge again I guess we'll be shit out of luck

Pop Quiz Hotshot! What comes in flurries? Snow, and... blows?
What else could I expect today? Who knows
Small mercies, at least there's ice for the swelling
And sledging later, and exaggerated stories for the telling

Brandy/Coke in plastic bottles, a natural chillbox on the ground
Kid takes one big swig and promptly sprays it all around
Can't be a spit-take, I've been assured I'm not that funny
Maybe he's just sharing the wealth, like his maw does with my money

Cops down the close today, chapped front and back and peered in windows
Then walked back out slowly, questioning the biddies
Young Laura was far too excited, leaned out the window, followed it like Love Island
Or Wagatha Christie or whatever, all I know is that cushion will need cleaning
"Boy stays there is dead" she said, maybe, or wanted for something
I spent the afternoon trying to recall if the tenant had changed
Cus all I recall of that house is the dog who tried to repeatedly kill my cat
Chased him back home and jumped at the window, snarling and drooling
Each time eventually his owner came down the lane to drag him home
A cheerful "sorry!", like oh deary me, it's happened again
Like as if he'd dropped crumbs on my carpet
As opposed to try to murder my best friend

Whatever's going on in there it'd take numerous bodies
To jump into the top 3 village dramas
1. pub explosion 2. impaled cyclist 3. "gun siege"
Actually I take it back, fuck that last one

That time some cars got keyed in some domestic shandybang?
More dramatic than "gun siege"
When the councillor didn't turn up to judge the dog show?
More dramatic than "gun siege"
When I spilt Swedish meatballs out that amazingly tasty wrap, and they bounced right down the front of my second best Busan Giants baseball shirt?
More dramatic than "gun siege"
If that boy has fell asleep and just isn't answering the door?
Eh, prolly statistically exactly the same drama as "gun siege"

The worst thing about "gun siege" to me
(not that girl who missed her birthday party, no one was turning up anyway, cus she stunk of piss, and her house stunk of dog)
But the daughter of the perpetrator, crying next day in school
Cus the elder girls were giving her grief

That was fucked up
I can't pass her in the street now without that flashing through my head

But point is, if that dog owner still lives in that house down the close
I've wished death on that boy repeatedly
Sicced the minature demons with their deathrays on him (never worked)
So if it is the same boy, and he is dead in there...

Good.

"SPINELESS"?!? Fuck you I'm all spine, it's just painfully crooked
i came in fourth that one time, why is that still relevant?
OK I don't "own" a baby, but I held one once
It worked out FINE, why is your pinched brain attitude entranching on my territory?

Summatsummat bout yerma, let's try this: SSSSSHHHHHH!
I recall you waltzing with me round this (yes) pretty small room
Did you actually grow multiple inches in your twenties?
Also, when did the Irish learn to speak Italian?

Swirlyswirly, it's (hmmm) possible we'll both get out alive
Are we picking corners now? I only brought one bucket
But when you're pegging it down that street, remember to thank me
Just stop, catch your breath, think of me, and whisper "thanks..."

I like your poems, Jonathan

Your socks are RED and PIRATE, so double lucky
I put "DARE TO DREAM!" in the groupchat, but that was pure posture
It was for the benefit of the youngers, whose brains are still mushy and impressionable
I think it's important to leave some fingerprints on there

Really tho, you heard which song was playing when you walked through the front door
"I Think It's Going To Rain Today"
You tried to distract me with talk of various versions
But c'mon, in this household it's Judy Collins, for now and til eternity

I'm not good with facial expressions, we've discussed this before
The cheatsheets from Jigsaw were less than useless
But that's concern, right? I've seen it a lot recently
Last time from youknowwho, followed with a verbal "are you alright?"

No the Ragdolls don't need a website, the whole folderol's 79% (plus/minus) imaginary
And 3/5 of us can't even spell our name
But while you're buying domains, can I have Timothytherockband.com?
Seriously, you don't get that reference?

You're really far too young for me to be associating with
Do you even remember a period when your arm was an arm?
Take a lap round the estate
(with a lighter that actually works, I'm not a monster)

I remember when vaping was a different concept
Every fucker had that same wooden thing
With that same shitty platitude wrote on the back
Mines prolly in that drawer there, I'll leave it you in my will

Sorry, can I append the following to the preceding:

That girl you brung in? Sat on my sofa saying nothing?
I'm afraid to ask her age
But the way she holds her hand over exactly half her face
Seems like an important statement, if I can only decipher it

IN MEDIAS RES: I'm crouched on the lino
My stomach retches two or three more times
Nothing comes out except... I think it's bile?
Bright yellow like egg yolk, mind them funcy eggs?

Slowly raise up, check my legs are still working
Carefully place a single square of paper down
Rinse my mouth with... VODKA? Fuck has my life come to?
Make sure everyone sees my teeth as I walk back in

Crouch by the records, as an excuse to crouch
Pretend to scan the spines, as if I don't know them by heart
"Inspector Norse again?" comes the cry from the cheap seats
"No" I lie, pulling literally whatever's where my finger landed

It was a Numero comp of gospel music
We all sat there in silence til both sides played out
It was really cool, but that night I imagined everyone lying in bed
Pondering exactly why I picked that specific record

Frankly Kid, I disagree
We've reached the point in the year when I need to go visit your auntie
Sit in her backyard, smoke a few cigarettes, unload everything onto the slabs
I know she'll not hug me, just hesitate then pat my head

That's all I ask for

I deliberately won't preannounce my arrival
Cus I feel bad when she lays out the big spread
2 pots of coffee and an ashtray, I'm set
Find sneaky banknotes in my jacket pocket after I've left

That's not necessary
She's no more well off than me

The wind hits my face as I turn down the lane to the harbour
Detour past the Bamse statue, tip my hat, if I'm wearing one
Inhale the chinese fumes as I scuttle through the tunnel
Oh they've got a sign now, good for them

Never going in there again
They will ask me about Someone Dead, that's too upsetting
Also their menu is far too lengthy for my feeble mind

Fucking 2 decades younger than me, apparentley 2 decades smarter than me
Like, mimicked my groan, mimicked my body language
The same two fingers pointed at the same screen
Tbh, she's prolly fucking hilarious on a day-to-day basis

HOW MANY CHILDREN HAVE WE LEFT OUTSIDE?
I didn't care til she bust out that singsong voice
Fuckit, let's feed EVERY SINGLE ONE of them
You gunna make tempura batter?

OH WOW, SHIT, I'M EXPECTED TO DO THIS?
YES I'M AWARE I'M BETTER AT IT THAN YOU!
No problem, I just want it documented in a book:
"Timothy Fed The Children."
"Jennifer just stood and watched."

Oh yeah this morning, when my mother walked in
My dick was in your hand, we immediately broke apart
I somehow developed a deep interest in that stack of boardgames there
You were suddenly making coffee, which I know you're shit at
You sighed three times while she was sat on my sofa
She smoked 4 of my cigarettes, she better fucking pay me back
You sighed a final time as she walked out the door
Then just giggled, I caught Curtis as he walked past, we all just giggled
This afternoon, that time spent on the carpet, the three of us giggling
I forgot the reason, Curtis never knew the reason, we still carried on
Giggled til my chest hurt, Curtis eventually got bored and left
Me and you never spoke a word to each other, but eventually we were just gazing in each others eyes
Just smirking at this point, but you never looked cuter

One of the cousins visiting from Australia, WOW!
Give me some football snark, I have some genuine upper ground
I fed you fish pie, AT MY MOTHER'S HOUSE!
Like, I genuinelly cooked a fish pie from what was available AT MY MOTHER'S HOUSE!
It got late, you whipped out the whisky
Cus apparently you'd been on the west coast
I forget what distillery, but I just called it "pleaseantly peaty"
"not peaty at all", you said
Ah fuck off ye smug fuck
Just cus me & Mark can't afford these bottles
But then when drinks were taken it all gets political

I said "so yeah, seems better now in Australia, from what I've followed?"
"Albanese, better than Scomo?" "NO!"
"They're all EVIL!" "yeah I guess I agree..."
It got quite cool when you called for "REVOLUTION!"
Less cool when followed up with "...or Demagogue..."
I deliberately went out to smoke, missed the end of your sentence
On reentrance: "what Trump got right..." I had multiple pairs of eyes looking at me
It was only that one hand on my chest, I got it, maybe sit this one out
When he started some shit about immigrants
My mother joined in, "both sides" yeah whatever
I brought up the Tasmanian genocide, he started fucking fuming at me
I lit a fag, walked up the street, sat on my sofa, petted cat, wrote this

btw SORRY KM, THESE WEDDING FOOTBALL COUSINS TURNED OUT TO BE APPARENTELY MASSIVELY RASCIST! someone bring me hard drugs right now

i hate when that happens! but not your fault.

So I sat on a sofa, in a weed house
I was half (eh prolly three quarters) cut when I arrived
And IT WAS LOVELY! Lots of positive vibes
UNTIL! (yeah obv there's an UNTIL!)
This kid (NOT Kid, another kid) who (I think?) lived there said something like...
Like...
(forgive my poor memory, I was half-cut, at least)
"It's just words, words can't harm anyone..."

So I went into a rant, can't recall the specifics
(cus, well yeah)
But it definitely involved the Rwandan genocide
And multiple references to the use of the word "cockroaches"
And machetes, far too many machetes
Possibly the holocaust, I forget
but definitely Ricky Gervais, "Gamergate", JK Rowling and spitTwitter
(blehblehbleh, wash your mouth with another tin)

The one thing I remember, the old guy who was the actual tenant
(I know he'll be 70 this year, cus he's the same age as My Mother)
(I know cus his daughter told me so, fuck is this another tangent? Kill it at birth)
(just this one time we were talking about the Rolling Stones in Hyde Park after Brian Jones died and they both NO! NOT RELEVANT!)
This guy who was silent all evening
Applauded me at the end of my spiel
His son sat there, I could see his cheeks burning
I stood up, made some flamboyant gesture and left

Last night I overheard my mother talking to a cousin, in the kitchen
On my way back from the upstairs toilet
Apologising for me, said "he only sees things in black and white"
"it's because of his disabilty"
I gritted my teeth, went back to the party room
Poured the wine I acquired from eh long story
Pondered on that statement tho, even when I got home, yknow she's probably right
BUT I WILL NEVER APOLOGISE

Fuck the Queen, Fuck the Pope
Also fuck the fucks who write "Fuck the Pope"
Fuck the children who throw rocks at Curtis
In fact, fuck everyone who isn't Curtis

He maybe has longer legs than me
But is eternally the Little Spoon
Singing Kettle in the village tomorrow
Some family going, me and Curtis said FUCK NO thank you

That cousin had an objection about Qatar
No, not the basic slavery deaths
But apparently one referee is from Rwanda and female SHOCK HORROR!
Imma shut up now, maybe die in my sleep

Rubbish cups, squint the buttons look like tinnies
Curtis can't keep eyes open, Áine either
I chucked the Lucky Pirate Socks, worth sum total of fuckall
"beacons" yeahnaw, we might burn down your house tho?

(6'1", apparently. pffft...)

Sample and hold? Story of my life
Just happy to have a younger riding the filter knob
We walk in Pub, That One Lady shouts "IT'S HARD BEING JOHNNY MUMBLE!"
I was trying to gauge the sarcasm level before I decided how much offence to take

Some Jacamo Fuck thinks he can criticise my physical being?
I caught the eye of my eh Secret Sexual Partner
He blinked something to me in code, I didn't catch it
But then started fluttering his lashes to the beat of the jukebox

Threw in the occasional cheeky syncopation
It was the cutest thing I've ever seen

In Silence
they’re still waiting

to unlock the gate
to the theme park we made
and turn on the rollercoasters
just for us

The machines would whir to life
in the dead of night
the time they prefer to work
when our bodies are on autopilot
when our conversation dries up for a while

Our midnight passes indicate
we are visitors from the mind
We shave our hair in the parking lot
and float into the park like holograms

Our dim shades look just right under
drooping strands of pale christmas lights
tracing the paths of old waiting lines

winding toward the biggest rides
waiting in this emptiness
walking among the dead
and what was left for it

you and me, passing between our dreams
and my stomach is somewhere back there in a ceiling

I played JUKES in the panto, he had Megadeth lyrics on his sword
(personal choice), never helped my backstory
You shaved my trousers, I guess I'll think on my feet
The bottoms were blown off by FUCKEN CANNONBALL!

North Wales is the land of my forefathers
But the Mearns is the land of three of my four fathers
Black Bart has like a million glossary references
My Mother has apparently one, hid her face when the notebook crowd asked

Operating on one eye now
Why? WHY? Ask yer cousin's Plus One
Jilly John is now mouthing off
Anyone understand French please expain it

MY HOUSE. MY RULES.
One of them is DON'T BE BRINGING DEAD ANIMALS IN HERE
Try to bog me down in semantics about the contents of my fridge
Whatever, but you're not entering holding THAT
Oh OK, you're just gunna sit there on my lawn
Scaring away... wait... who am I expecting?

I cut every Fascist and Bigot out of my life
All I'm left with now is Creeps and Bullies
Everyone decent scarpered to London
Everyone half decent scarpered to Glasgow
Out of those left, anyone with a driver's licence
Just fucken DROVE, I guess til they fell in the sea

I've spent time in London, I've spent time in Glasgow
Those times were filled with Fascists and Bigots and Creeps and Bullies
So I guess I don't understand the Exodus
If I try harder to be better, could you please come back?
Yeah YOU individual, I don't care about the rest
Show me the list again, I'm ready this time

I mean it.

"Deal with it!"
Pure distraction, point then flit
The main problem with your brother's coin game
Is the constant crossing the road

Moue, "who, me?"
Barrel of bunting sat there for free
Pass the Duchy left until it falls in the sea
And pray nightly it drowns

In high school when asked my solution for our situation
I proposed swordfights for the tallest hills
Everyone laughed, I was King For A Day
But now I'm 42 and googling "swords buy uk"

Don't come to me with your teenage bullshit
Maybe cut off your ear, that will surely impress her
Paint her a picture of some random shit
Just don't go out in the fields, they all look like DEATH

I used to see Angels, like full-on actual beings
Lurking at bus stops, or memorial fountains
Fuzzy shapes, they made my eyes water
If I looked at them too long

I mean, I called them angels, to give them a name
I am now fully aware that was the onset of mental illness
And in my wiser years I know not to point such things out publicly
Doesn't matter, I don't see them anymore

These days it's all about the Black Cats
Constantly lurking in my peripheries
A comforting presence, if I don't think too hard
Force ghosts of my favourite boys

Face North: DEATH.
Face East: DEATH.
Face West: give me one good reason
(I will never face South)

You walked in the room muttering to yourself
I heard "(somethingsomething), only one left now"
But I have no idea what that could be a reference to
Certainly nothing related to HERE or ME

"What were you up to last night?" I forget, let's check...
Oh, arguing on the internet
With Some [alt-right adjacent] boys, they got no respect
For me or my loved ones

I remember writing those verses for (I assume) you
but I don't remember exactly what I wrote
I remember signing some shit for your crew cus they asked me to
but I never knew exactly what I was signing

I'm sure we'll find out eventually

My position was shaky right from the get-go
Ever met anyone in real life who says "potatto"?
Ah fuck it, cut the child in half
I'll take the part flipped the bird as it bled out

Shouting numbers out loud while I'm trying to Deal With Shit
You think it's hilarious, me less so
But that 4/4 THUMP THUMP constant beat
Hides the fact you only really use one meter

Hides the fact you only really have one master

And a multitude of your other sins

Yeah I'm comfy here, please stop asking
This window points the same direction as mines
OK true, I live at a higher elevation
So mibbe keep an eye out for THE FLOOD

Yeah I've warned of THE FLOOD, I'll stop going on now
"Is it a metaphor?" Who even knows at this point?
But every morning I catch Curtis squinting warily at the sky
And he knows a thing or two more than you or me

I'll be fine for this evening, hot and cold drinks both welcome
If I stand and turn I can recognise windmills
But answer me one thing (phones allowed for this question):
When is this rain due to stop?

Hello Glasgow Folk
I travelled south to get here
Thank you for the pavements firm beneath my feet
Thank you for the bushes in the park that I will sleep in tonight

Thank you for the secret vodka in the secret shop
The one the they give you when you ask for "the cheap one"
Thank You specifically, the one of youse taught me that magic trick
I wouldn't have made it without you

Maybe that would've been better
Til these questions started I thought flounder was a fish
You say you never hounded anyone out of anything
You're hounding pretty heavy right now

You should have some respect for the OCD masses
Put a double N in your made-up word
You're speaking aloud, how do I know that you didn't?
I can tell

I CAN TELL

Gird Up Thy Loins! Don't give me that shit
Short shorts then big shirts is how I grew up
Still working on that coal to diamond process
I was shaving in a pub cellar (until it blew up)

Long story short, I deboned fourteen chicken thighs
Muttered "fail better", cus I couldn't fail worse
I walked in the side door, saw your hand on treble twenty
Biro cheat codes on your forearm, bleeding through your shirt

I hit on a random til they brung up the flute shit
Then whipped medallions out, flashed the broken teeth
Your partner's from "Melbin", ask them say "Embra"
Then punch them in the face, shout WELCOME TO LEITH

Medication scarcity is fucking up our day-to-day
Your auntie's youngest still available to me
Eyeball the youngling whilst ignoring that one thing
We're both flipping coins, I bet we die on the same day

Keep up now son, you genuflect, but I genuinelly just checked
You're exactly (to the day) ten years younger than me
Proselytize but tell no lies (I see your father in your eyes)
Comparing tattoos (whisper) I got mine for free

Exhalation, procrastination, sceptical of fashy-nation
You have more towels than maneki neko... but it's close
Lying on the lino fucked on amaro and vino
I've done a survey, we have more scurvy than most

Sorry, that was terrible

Lino doesn't rhyme with vino, for a start

When you briefly stepped away
(to the fridge? to the toilet?)
I took a sneaky peek at your notation
Written on graph paper, three colours and so much geometry
I heard you coming back and rapidlike took my spot again
But I got it
These days I want you to to know, I got it
I don't understand it, but I got it then and I get it now
Fuck, I could show my (SCIENTIFIC) guitar solo chart
Or my double-sided chord progression wheel
(but not before I patent it)

One side major, one side minor

I mind all them righteous rocks you threw
I mind when you claimed every word was true
I mind when that guitar was shiny and new
Most importantly, I mind YOU
You had a different name then
But the same offbeat nod
The same involunantary twitches
The same way you'd glance sideways
Raise your right eyebrow
Whatever goes down
I'm still Team You

(ok, I woke up to that drunkenshit unsent in the text box, I kinda hate it all, especially the misspelling of involuntary, for once that's not deliberate)

I had started on At Last! A Poem About My Cat! but now I'm in a mood and deleted the whole thing. Also had some note about how discussing the opposite of onomatapeia is NOIOSO, it was very clever but I couldn't figure it out

The savage youngers close in on my lawn
I stay silent, interlock my fingers, drop to my knees
Yeah I threatened to kill him
But I added "in Roblox" so I'm legally sound

I'll be walking high street by like latest tomorrow eve
Smirk across the pub at the chud fucken narc
Wave a knife at him through two kitchen windows, that's legal, right?
Rope the kids into a Busby Berkeley routine on the tarmac, find a specific charge for that

Pick it up like some Ramsey, drop it like it's Franco
I've got more fingers than my Granda, sitting pretty pretty
If you didn't go full tankie in Disco Elysium
I can't even look at you

You've been spielling now for dunno hours, the shadow hit my foot and I stopped listening
I still don't believe Darth Vader killed Martin Luther King
Save your platitudes, I'm Christopher Walken here
Look outside, flash count, 11 enemies and one chainsaw

Eleven faces, twentysummat eyeballs tracking me
Scarper to the hall, you'll miss me kickflip off the wall
Yeah that happened. I have a witness! Oh, she passed out
When she wakes up youse pair can debate the length of my dick

I took a walk round the estate, re-entered to the same Batshit
Checked the running time, fuck you're only halfway through!
Knives don't require charging, what was I up to?
Don't ask, winkyface...

Just checking with tu padre, che é vero, che non é vero
How rapid is your brother rotating right now?
Same old sammiches, same old quotes from the same old books
If you continually stand in my room I'll continually raise whatever eyebrows I have left

Cheapish chinos, she wiped the blade on them with a finger to her lips
Then we both plastered on the grin, Simultaneous "HELLO!" as you entered
Checked the fridge, not giving you that, hell, definitely not THAT
Brew you black coffee, this is a dairy-free house, you heard!

Ned Raggett once said:
"I don't believe that radical subjectivity obliberates the platforms
so much as creates a series of dispruptions within axioms as chosen"
Now, ask me how I recall that word for word?
DECADES LATER! I didn't look it up, I swear
That shit is tattooed on my heart...

Dammit I realise I fucked up the literal one sentence that I wasn't meant to fuck up. "to be tested within limits as chosen", I thnk the end was

Is it time for a redemption arc?
Let's me and you talk a walk down the park
I can tell who's at the window without turning round
(different bells have different sounds)

Drummie Games, an annual tradition
Just keep the shades on, no one knows who I am
After a point stop explaining to Canadians
"Heavy Stone Throwing" is an actual event

I'm holding right til the end of the level
I'm holding this baby til her mammy returns
I'm "Holden Caulfield"? fuck you, am I fuck
I'm holding nothing, forget it, I fold

Still better than A Child's Christmas In Wales
That horse skull still haunts me in my sleep

Debate hitboxes with the scurvy kids
Try to not look impressed at the scorpion kicks
The Good Witch blessed me whilst I was lurking on the left wing
Pearly curl, but in return, never talk to those people again

"finish your thought" sounds more aggressive each time she says it
Each time an extra word gets an exclamation mark
I can take it, I know she's got my back
When the Nardise close in she's taping a torch to her shotgun

(metaphorically I mean)

"sounds unlikely" I said whilst smirking
The cops left but that one boy still lurking
Imma carve a swastika into his forehead
Then get off on mental incapacity

Or whatever...

First off: that's an exaggeration
Second off: it was entirely justified
Third off: ok, it wasn't an exaggeration, every word is true
Now I've said it out loud can you please remove the handcuffs?

Why are the neighbours contacting the other neighbours who contact My Mother when I'm away from my house for like four hours?
I mean, I know that particular wifey is a KIDNAPPER
The cat can sit outside, it's particulary clement wether
Flick a fag-end in her back garden as a sign I'm home

Day One (yeah I know say that every day)
My Mother owns no pearls to clutch
We play "The Xabi Song", it's not called that but we all in unison mutter his name over that other name
And when youse all leave I will raise a glass to his memory

But pour nothing out
C'mon, that's wasteful
Curtis just stumbled and acccidentally hit a certain piano chord
It was the sound of DOOM

Last one is called "Nothing Is On Fire", or "The Dangers Of Playing With Knives", or possibly just "Autism"

So I'm working on a new language, it's kinda latin based mixed with scandi but then transcribed phonetically by a computer, this is what we'll be speaking in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, imagine this coming to you from some RPG NPC:

Noonky partson ventry dakky
Dammy undro kwalky sommy si?
Yaya, "kee", canfar ulty zaza ney
Tosi "dungbanny" nen farfaran nenty

Ba septi mes darnar

Undre, drakko, trick, fan
tis sorly frakken de ney
Mik prolly mik bond
Kapshi, tempy venty?

(your clues are the the last line is "did you know, the storm is coming?" and you can see the counting to four line. Work from there)

This is tough going, trying to write poetry in a foreign language + still keep the flow + also establish new words as needed which must follow the etymological formula. Kansky = maybe. Framty = future. Cordy = remember. I've retranslated "undre" to "preem" as new details emerged. I've wrote 4 lines in 6 hours. I need like 8 more whiteboards and a gofundme.

Foory sol kansky nunky de foory
Voo framty mig, forfanny da hey
Jully preem, sunnerary por preemy
Neme cordy tally por "bank"

So I spent all morning trying to translate "numerical midfield superiority" and eventually came up with "siffry park vint", and now I've forgot why that was important. The other thing I got today is "dalto" means "sum", in case that comes up.

I eat poop for breakfast
I eat poop for lunch
and when it's time for dinner
on poop I munch
I love the texture
I love the crunch
and when I'm feeling fancy
I eat poop for brunch

what were you thinking
what were you drinking
when you signed
on that line

they appeared in your video
you name dropped them
on the radio
right on time

how can we trust you
seems that you will do
anything for
money

product placement
paid for your basement
rumpus room