THE NAUSEA OF CONSTANT ROTATION
Oh God, don't blame me.
I'm a miser & mean to stay one,
trading puns & glances;
many have their eyes on
teetering piles of triumph in
this quarter of certain diseases,
its watches set by passing coughs,
low groans & charges to the bogs.
Local band 'the dandruff dandies' live this Sat...
(who can read this shit).
Each summer a festival of starters
piquant relief Ð volunteers needed Ð the judging?
Individuals best packed in upwards of 20:
anon in residence, arrival unannounced.
We trawl the menus local gastropubs offer
best chance look for the white wine or
vinegar face Ð here she comes, about
fucking time Ð no fine thanks,
not a problem Ð
very good actually Ð oh he's
something there's not right.
Hrmph, MittelEuropean, LithuaLatviEstoMoravoBulgar;
check the bruises Ð boyfriend or punter Ð sick thoughts, now
she's bringing the starters? Focus on the
business in hand.
I'm facing oblivion not damnation,
trembling always, gin to tempers, swirls into orifices,
larry lugholes hears the chatter Ð
office tripe and fanny batter...
(it's true, that exact expression).
Beyond a certain age, humans resemble food consumed
more than pets or ancestors, hence meal times in gloom,
furtively the obese slinking from door to door,
begging for unemptied plates to clear Ð frankly they are a great help with fortnightly collections
Ð I flip open my brown bin
and the chap opposite has it emptied in ten minutes Ð lawn cuttings included. A regular at one
of those £8.99 oriental buffets Ð food churned into giant troughs Ð business
types tuck ties into shirts:
chowdown msg rictus grin dehydration Ð sips from the cooler Ð hear the
pebble-dashing (fear the results) - Pleze remember, some us has to clean dis
MEMORIAL TO TIMES UNFILMED
A surveillance job seemed an obvious choice,
somewhere to log on, click the footage,
linger between pixels. All imagination
long gone west, any narrative could do, just
be continuous you threads of disappearance,
in strict dialectic of image and effect,
blurring to extremes, this time in digital is
passing seconds as undone then one comes Ð
through gurning hoods & sudden jumps Ð
Wayward is here! I'm watching, do it now.
Still the dawn chorus sounds, who knows,
wakening the half sleepers fit for tumbling,
this street unwatched with cats and black sacks,
a dash and sudden movement scaring the birds,
catching the peepers all unawares,
oh lordy how it feels
turning the key and scraping away,
what a caper, besmirching the faker,
I'll catch the miasma
and miss her for sure.
I know some who
crave capture, moan
for the spy on the corner,
even better, anguished documentary
makers of binge drinkers
in A & E resultant colours
snapping the prelude, blood levels
non-linear, their units increase
to shadow heat then coupled.
This won't be believed.
I moved in and found
an ancient laptop hidden
by brambles and a shed,
anyway, one day I tried
and it's booted up Ð
jpeg files on the drive
and a screensaver of
rectangled alleys, gutters,
cobbles and no litter.
Set on slideshow.
Nothing to start, wherein
ragamuffins, street arabs & urchins,
some bloke in a cape, ripperseque;
if only they'd watched then Ð
it was always so obvious Ð
who was he? I printed
pictures and contacted
Crimewatch: the 18th Duke of
climate change and car stereos.
So obvious. I shook as I realised
my life would be images
crawling the ducts with a torch
through architectures of nuance
many an opening in modern plan offices,
my reading limited to hot afternoons
taken on decking in suburban gardens;
The cover to 'Hangover Square':
so sullen Ð is she tubercular
or just winded by her cigarette?
I'm minded to elaborate but
every book is encrypted
the readers Amazonians
online reviews as useful
as recipes for boiling water
& tips for running baths.
I aim to meet them all or
at least make shaking contact;
there are literature festivals still Ð
I believe Ð though time is short.
Here's where they mine
the trapped polar blue,
of molecular oxygen.
I slept with my head in a vice
dreaming of arctic bird flight,
smashing it from the deep ice
for tiny bathrooms in the new gateway
houses of the Thames and Medway,
icebergs dragged south for millionaires
now the water's run out,
my secret consumption,
when the air's clear
and trees thrash alone.
I plan an instillation
of the tide racing in
a concrete cube,
to be hurried through when
the gallery's emptying.
Walk back to the car,
all my life I remember
a small telescope as the
orange glow strengthens,
now to know its depth in time.
Our guide explaining that the mines
work through the winter, the blue
emerging to frantic shouts, taken
by boats for the journey south.
What a dream,
waiting to be hanged
the warders rigging up cables
to watch the World Cup as I'm
led to the cell; a letter on the bed
from Saddam Ð apologising! Anything
I want to make me more comfortable Ð maybe
a shower? I remember contemplating,
then taking a last look in the mirror
WHITE FLIGHT VALEDICTORY OF THE LIBERAL INTELLIGENSIA
Worries of social cohesion
no longer effective to
smear doubters racist
the woods are gone
B-roads arched in twilight
tumble slap-dashery of Ventnor
pastel the undercliffe:
soft is summer fading.
Mowgli creature I crawl
forget my privilege
dfes black face
title lower case
ten words of Sanskrit origin?
Your insularity is comical Ð
I divert attention, risk
cocks of carved tusk.
I always hated the workers for
not revolting (they are so).
Weasel youths wait for badgers
wraiths flicker across the lawn
twitch like serfs scavenging coal.
© Paul Sutton