Aren’t you going to read my palm?

From moonrise to moonset
The fallen leaves follow me both inside
And I forget where I
First thought I ought to like
You,
Perhaps it was September
But
I do remember
The last time I heard
words slip off your
tongue
And I liked them,
every
one.

Below & Mayhem

Below
The tabbying off tears tattooing the same street spot all peeling from paste is such an overlooked geology. A lot like a slice through the same scenes: the sediments of billboards & posters. It’s when someone rips a one off or doesn’t remove it properly and all of a sudden you can see a pattern of what used to be there, you might remember one or two more recent fragments but you can’t possibly recognize them all. If you scratched a little further just how far would you go?
1973?
How long’s the tradition of just plastering over (it) when it’s freshly irrelevant?
All chronologically cozing around town and just waiting to reveal the year the building [it’s on] was built.

On Excavation:
On the surface-Few scars and a map to the latest place to avoid
Just disguising the organic smiles on
7 anti bombed war rallies because
If you hadn’t had this Grey & Neon Pink you were late
For three gigs ending in
Maybe Stereolab
Missing…
&Wanted (baby, where’s that reward now?)
just ahead of a ‘brand new comedy classic’
less CFC’s
and a copy of Auto Trader
Last Chance
Must Buy
’90,
’89
give blood
eat white bread
…
1st Face
Talking Heads
1976
.


Mayhem
Inspired by the original and criminal meaning of the word.

It was beautiful & when it stopped
I wondered whether someone’d stolen its voice?
(Its limbs?)

Plans

SCENERY: balloons in the pub Doctors

‘I hope those balloons are for Easter. No other pubs celebrate Easter.’
‘No-one celebrates Easter.’
I widen my eyes at him.
‘Except…’
He widens his eyes at me.
‘They might take Easter away, you know. It said on a newspaper in Debenhams. Forbid it.’
‘How can they take it away?’ ..
‘Imagine if they banned ALL eggs.’
‘It would make it difficult to cook them.’
‘Pretty near impossible to cook them, actually. It’s, like, the definition of impossible. Trying to cook eggs that are forbidden.’

#THREE WEEKS#

‘Do you remember my middle name?’
‘Of course. I don’t forget the things you tell me. I’ve been writing them down.’
‘I don’t believe you. Why would anyone write down the stupid things that I make up?’
‘It’s true. Go and look up ‘impossible’ in the dictionary. I’ll prove it.’
‘Should I really?’
‘Yes. Go on, whack the dictionary over; it’s over there on the desk.’
There follows the estimation interlude where a person goes back and forth over the top of the word in question, each time narrowing in on the letters they want. Closer. Close. Found.
At the end of the entry for ‘impossible’ it says ‘cooking eggs when you are not allowed them’ in my wriggly handwriting.
‘Awww. Brilliant. Thanks.’
‘I’ve started slowly editing my dictionary. It’s so, in many years’ time, I can say “Over the last years I’ve been slowly editing the dictionary”.’

#60 YEARS#

One day when I am dead one of my friends with whom I have shared egg proverbs will look up ‘impossible’ in my copy of the dictionary. That’s how I’d like to be remembered.