fortnight of summer

The first two weeks passed by as only the summer can; an endless torpid languor which muddled through hazy-aired mornings and greeted the city as a new indie playground awoken by sunbeams. Fruit and vegetables spilled from shopfronts onto the grubby pavements, opening waves of opportunities for impromptu avocado purchases and picnic treats. It seemed when wandering down the street that just beyond the final tenements and tanning salons, the entire city fell off and tumbled straight into sundrenched fields, where all the day’s promises would stretch out barefooted in the grass and grin great bottomless smiles for all the unfulfilled sleepy possibility. Bus routes aimed straight for hills and quickly passed from the mazes of traffic lights into windy countryside blissfulness which could last forever.

sulk

The afternoon sounds of hyperanimated bruises and explosions from the computergame flatmate. My room is messy, not creative messy-inspiration but dirty socks and pencil sharpenings like eggshells on the carpet. Babies cry outside when you are in a bad mood. You stand on upturned coathangers and spill coffee on the keyboard. Things conspire so even the green man at crossings and free ginsberg compilations can’t make you smile. The computer crashes every second sentence because impatient fingers click too often. The sunshine makes your legs sweat and bras dig into skin, your mouth is cementy and slow. In all likelihood, the computer will break entirely and the words will ping away pinball style, ringing up through the multi-pointed bases of cyberspace and shooting away into obliqueness.

thoughts of rome

After a week on the carpet socks turn white
And crusty around the toes
While red wine steeps in glasses
Turning the bottom into tiny-winey crystals
The smell of caramelised sugar and
Hangovers and
Spaghetti bolognaise
Like silly Italian thoughts of Rome
Or restaurants
In the west end
Which have checked tablecloths to fool you
And accents which grow tired
By the time you reach desert
And which collapse into fitful dreams
Halfway through the coffee course
(wait for the mints with the bill)

curiousity saved the cat

Things make me curious,
and I feel better again.

Wearing morning considerations
like torn alligator dreams,
dragged from a Richard Brautigan novel
to paste upon the afternoon.

kitch blitz

smashed on fashion
plastic sewage tacked to the slip-slip-
slippery surfaces
of today's designer dream.

jackknifing into satin
the riptop slipped off panties
on the bedroom
floor

of the fashionista avant guarde
coke queen
who chops her lines like hems
blunt and quick
slice through the consciousness
like white thighs
under flashbulbs

it's a long way
to
the
top
if you want to rock
and
roll.

unbruised model eyes just don't cut it
and the heroin chic massive digs those
kitty slash arms

you blink in the daylight.
and excel in the exploading diamond roman candle flashes
burning retina afterimage delight
captured on camera film
like a fish gasping through tightening netting
like epileptic strobes pulsating through the brain
burroughing into the eye
flick switches
twiddle frequencies
teeth grinning white gnashing foaming rapid mouths which spack words like absolutions
you smile
serene
face-on-the-cover smiles
picture-perfect glances
and enter