I waiting
warm, wrapped
brightening cold
a boy waiting
warm
cold bright
a shining
shimmering glass &
chess board floor
a coat & bustling
all warmth
Reach-truck spun
tonnes of
steel & a
pressed body
echoing sweat
blaring hysterical
giggling
imaginatively
popped like a
bloody balloon &
spraying under
hard white lighting
a hairsbreadth
seeming from
the darkness
Huddling in geological blanket strata &
layers of breathing warming
just stone cold
confined air
night and day clothes
rattling glass
vital blue-black stain creeping
across pinned up wood-chip ceiling paper
Mystery of monkey-puzzle trees
a whispering
walk towards the park entrance
a mystery of hippy danger
hand in hand through chords of sunlight
Finger-drawing internal ice
Hard and lacerating brick surfaces under
hot sun and a metal tank grey and metal and
cool and smooth under fingers under haptic vision and
water turning to thick ice in winter and
dead
fish
under an experimentally rainbowing fly-spray surface
under hot sun and a smell of straw
A scent of damp they can smell it
infects them & their fingertips
a consciousness of thick wool in his hands
providing a negative charge to determination that's
disregarding trepidation and sleeping children and a thin carpet
infected with damp and an inconclusive desire
a tv on with the sound down
it's all about convenience and it's like a job
but open tumescent and trembling with an expectant
mistaken future
Tensing legs and filling with acid energy as they jump
and run
after a flinging of earth balls and with
a shouting of coppers coppers
park toilets muck polka-dotted
under a howling weight of sky
They're both crying at the ersatz death of Robert Powell
no but
that's facetious and a bit mean
but tears are running down all their cheeks
and it's disturbing
one day you'll understand
the gas fire reddening child's skin
Pearl light at a rattling sash window
cutting
inside
his forehead through
a memory of speechless breathless dark
ridges of a fraying bedspread under thighs
a dark storm attempting to drag him through black glass
There's a slipping of some kind and an
impact a broken wooden rim is very clear
cold and deep-red-brown kitchen tiles in
boxy blue air
a deep cupboard of curious broken treasures
a sharpening numbness
they're all present and gathered
seeming expectant
blood and - pause - screaming
and a gathering then to a large & bustling
all-warmth & comfort
Itching of
anxious dread
after-school
boneheads
flecking idiocy
hating haircuts
you secretly confuse 'pubic' and 'public' &
shifting sidelong wary
attempting to trace a line out from
abusive threats
thick electric breath &
real danger of harm
chosen with a choice of subculture
It's all feeling as though it's already coming down
four
or five
running along dim corridors
vibrating nostalgically in a thin
blue-green glaze & beams of dust
A bollocking at tedious length this hideous
insult
the buzzing
infantilising
fucked
dying eyes
dragging bowels
nailed in place by need
Pffff
Seeing a stretch of cold
blue infinity
a 3 o'clock summer light
and running for it
Transparent lethal yellow plastic disorientation
stretching through the air way up to the corrugated roof
waves of corrugated steel heat running down across
everything rising from a packed mud floor
Shining fat-necked bottles of milk
medical eye-patch asthma
red brick whooping cough
A black Bakelite phone in cold thin light
Tonnes of mobile steel in scraped red and white
honking with foul breath and nastier
poisoned gut stenches
She is filling with a feeling that sings
through the skin across her shoulder blades
clear & touching the sun as her eyes
drink the instantaneous lives of children
As for the roaring in the country sky
it is an unbalancing
replacing a rock
with lovely wet laughter
Cutting and infecting
inside the skin, she
knows and is briefly
expressing the injustice &
the slavery of a cup of tea
Dim and lead-lamp lit deep red stench
inside dark sharp repetitions
dragging and stretching and pinning
a conscious surface out
Terror & madness
just in
being alive specific singular
in all
this
Along a path between raised beds
repeatedly and smelling already
this repeated journey hand in hand
shifting and flickering light and matter
Echoing against grey-green wood
and inside the sound of a sea
an experiment of senses and imagination
flashing across strips of darkness and light
And in weekly uphill retreat with habitual waving
from a fading dream of non existent super 8
hand again in hand & a scent of cold coat wool
dissolving smiles loving & fixed
eternal
imperishable
past
