30 May 2017



I met my morning with a lithium flush

the crew preferred the traditional libations

we stood unfurled in our own skins

before an unscheduled eclipse

and stumbled blindly in the dark

our confusion fuelled by hard liquor

and assorted oriental confections

I tried for the great indoors

but my inside was out

as my doors had been confiscated

during the last epic iconoclast

doors are bourgeois affectations

and privacy has been banished

here in the electric society

we are mere avatars for the combine

we do our shit and eat our bread

then watch the highlights on TV

that’s where we’re at now

nothing is real unless it’s been on TV

the tube has seared our minds

so we turn to moonshine and jimson weed

to enhance our perverse new benedictions

consequently many have been struck down

with the dread psycho reflux

but no-one cares for the stricken

no-one feeds their beasts or tills their soil

while they are lost to the great no no

for a man must make his own meat

to earn his fraction from the combine


29 May 2017



That rat faced fucker is slicker than deer guts on a door knob. They say he’s making decent money pimping refugees and extorting pennies from the homeless. From what I know of him he’d steal his grandma’s teeth if she had any. I’m told he has a sentimental side and is good to his dear old mum, but so was Harold Shipman and that turned out well.

I knew Richard back when he was steaming a living from other people’s envelopes. Being a congenital idiot he was soon caught and they sentenced him to hard knocks for fucking with the mail. They tried to rehabilitate him, but he came out of jail even more devious than when he went in. The new Richard had no moral boundaries and an avaricious hunger that would never be satisfied.

Looking back it’s hard to see how anybody could be taken in by his patter, but he seemed a plausible cunt and many were. I used to lay him on deals which we’d settle on a weekly basis. Everything went swimmingly until he ticked a weight from me and did not return. I had to go fishing for him and he was a slippery fucker to catch. We settled up eventually, but then we parted company. I have no time for thieves – they see everyone else as chumps and you’d be a fool to trust one twice.

Richard formed a habit that’s hard to beat. They say he has a jones that costs him a grand a week. That’s a lot of corn to filch and one fuck off greedy monkey to be feeding. He’ll never dig himself out from under that; that’s a life sentence with no chance of parole.

I saw him the other day there and he dingied me. Maybe he thinks he still owes me money. He was a hundred years old and his rodent features were even more pronounced. It seems form follows function and you become what you do through time. The vagaries of intent are both capricious and complex and we seldom get what we want; but sometimes we get what we deserve. Everything has its price and those dues will be paid. So while greed might fill your wallet one day, it could cost you dear the next.


28 May 2017



I seen them on my spectrum analyser. Those cats who vary their accounts with worn tongues and righteous jowls. I never fixed a device to sift their broken promises. I just rode the punches and waited my turn. I’m told that liars never prosper and that goodness is its own reward, but I’ll cash my chips in now please – I have no faith in karmic law.

Justice broke her ankle on her way to my tribunal. I was out of town recouping my losses, so they hanged me in absentia for crimes that don’t exist. I still bear the scars invisible from that faulty jurisprudence. When rumour becomes evidence the truth dies a grisly death. That first stone cast is as lethal as the last. Only your friends could hone their instruments with such precision and it’s their judgements that draw the most blood. Who cares for the pronouncements of strangers? It’s those you love who deliver the killer blows.

I’m satisfied with the life I’ve led and I’m convinced that my sins are no more grievous than the next man’s. Whatever crimes I actually committed are a matter for my conscience to resolve and not some court of popular opinion. I opt for the mantle of any free man - to learn from my mistakes free from the judgement of my peers.


27 May 2017



She gave me a semi

with just a wink

and a smile

that’s the most action

I’ve had in years

There was little chance I know

of her reciprocation

but I deployed my flirtation devices

in the slender hope of fornication

she had those curvaceous regions

that made me want to stand

I’d lick the crumbs

from underneath her table

I’d lay it on and stretch it out

just to prove that I’m still able

I’d squeeze her sweet spot endlessly

accept titbits from her hand

I’d minister to her tenderly

and beg and drool at her command


25 May 2017

Square Peg


It takes one

to know one

they say

and brother I know you

you’re the perpetual outsider

another square peg

stuffed into the wrong shoe

you’ve ascertained the facts

but still don’t have a clue

the universe is crammed

with the things you never knew

you once had lofty ambitions

they filled your prime time slot

you became a little smaller

when those dreams came to naught


6 May 2017



It wasn’t the overdose

It was the vomit

that killed him

Drowning in vomit

No way

for the beautiful

to go

And he was beautiful

in so many ways

So when I think of him

As I often do

I smile

And say a wee prayer

for Lesley


3 May 2017



I know the stuff is poison, but I neck it anyway. It’s a psychic shield against the vicissitudes of strife. What a happy delusion to carry around in my head. A soft and fuzzy lie I like to bathe in. Get me to my bed where I can adopt my cloak of dreams. I don’t care what shape the world is in – I don’t want it banging on my door 24/7. There’s a place I lay my head where I get the peace that grants me immunity from the combine.

What’s in a man’s blood that he offers himself for a slave? Is it some pernicious form of anaemia which thins him out and bleeds him sallow? Is it the herbivore instinct of curtain twitching quislings who endure a life of vicarious pleasures and shared disappointments? I’ve had to turn my back on the gut churning spectacle. The whole scene and its protagonists sicken me to my bones. I’m happy on the outside of that shit – even if the isolation sometimes drags me down. The undertow is strong in these latitudes and men have been known to drown in sentimentality. I have a cup for such occasions and it brims with heavy liquor.