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02. Featuring: Anonymous!

Josie’s Java


Shutter down six miles from

Midtown when rain falls

seek shelter



Papers In



The coffee was poured with

negative reinforcement


This place named from

gardens the Irish planters

long gone


Lifelong neighbourhood



the shoeshine will never be the same


one day till’ insanity  


living in the here and now

seeing what others cannot see

and I…seeing what they see


                          or not


you and me baby until the wheels fall off

sang the band on TV, a rock-n-roll band

music with a hallucinogenic effect

one day until insanity

or                      better off dead


with no tears or reason to cry

only whispering wind to ease the image

colors from the grave spark

and little lady disappears in a wink

maybe her spirit rests in a sinless color

flying among stars from heaven

circling the moon as crystal thoughts

                         to be remembered


here and now


                         with only one day till’ insanity


you were my crutch  

no title


Liquid large and salty flow, that which divides it

Vast and flimsy ethereal blue, scorched white copper bronze

Division’s a dome done deal,

Dumb none but I,

I am not yet


I wait

Unborn    of a silent scream

Gaped quiver ripple wrinkled flesh

Composite of structured splits

Code coded copied chimera

In high bred hybrid

                   In limbo


Anthracite black awash awake

Polar pulsing plexus

Elected flexing felted frame

Burnt bolted neanderthal nuts

Mine mind mined melted deep

Blast blinded rip

In it am I


Surf cerebellum surface

Four fold folded found

Midst neural chatter

In cogito ergo sum

Processed as process

Proceed as animate

Imitate the primary version


I prefer not to mire too long

This journey’s a mediated mirror move

Thrust upon trust tread light

Still born forms aspire to entice

Wave lengths unfurled

Record intent

in deep gulps


Air as searching fluid seeps

To set a skin

Define a form

Enclosing as a winding sheet

                              A shape

From which a shadow might

Eclipse the searing sun


Ingested entrails newly glow

Grow to lush in hum and hue

In hexagon held

Deep scented colour

Swells vascular drains

Rejuvenate cosmic nod


A solid six, faced to the sun

For unified maximised effect

Tangential tangle in rooted ness

Seed soup shoring home

Wrought icons of the future

Allowing solstice rise

In stilly spheres


Orb of orbital reasoning

Spins thought strands and weaves

A fabrication floss as mist

To cloak the spectre

And muffle dissent

Such is the construct

Perceived as beauty


Grey flecked pink flecked white, cast shadows of players

Who speak with their hands, stroke the construct

Invoke green man to regeneration

Read multiplication

That’s it


No questions

No answers

Soak silence

In oily scum

Rainbow on water

And the scales

Of dead fish



the regulars rent me for seven hours

a day. suzanne finally fucked me. she

was terrible in bed. she said she loved

me and wanted to eat chicken with rice

all during the sex. when i stuck it in her

mouth it was the worst thing i could have

ever done. she even wiped it off with her

pants. she made a scene leaving but she still

comes into the restaurant talking on the

phone and drinking vodka tonics saying hi

and pretending not to be looking at me.

After the Baby Funeral


“I’ve got all the time in the world”

–Mark Sandman, “Radar,” Morphine’s 1995 CD “Yes”


“I don’t care how dead he is, he’s the sexiest man alive”

–overheard in a record shop (referring to Mark Sandman)


It was juice, jazz, joss, jissm we called

on for comfort (gospel of response/recall)

after the little white box


we couldn’t and couldn’t not

look at in the church

was lowered into dirt for the leaching of its linen


Dead babies play at the feet of Jesus

or so the preacher oiled us, but

dead boys played on the stereo


rock-hard while we cooked and fucked

as if we needed meat to replenish the flesh the savage

god exacted




A leaking gas pipe and the front of a modest

terraced home collapsed exposing the interior

of a private space to the world and I, for one,

could not stop looking.


In the living room hung a seascape painted by

an artistic uncle the sea looked frozen and

large waves appeared as snowdrifts. Yet

the painting was overshadowed by light brown

wallpaper with huge sunflowers on.

The same paper was used in the two bedrooms

too except in the bathroom that had yellow

ducks on pink background.


Passers by averted their stare truth can be so

intrusive we don’t really like to know that

much about other people (except their sex life)

workmen came and covered the damage with

tarpaulin, it was my house and I had lost my

last illusion but took comfort in the fact that

it was my wife that had chosen the wallpaper

in the bathroom.