City Home

October 11, 2019

My heart is inside something. Or around everything or not separated from the shadows.


I see and feel




Too sensitive to feel through the traffic and the


Buzz hum of the


trains rolling over or around the kitchen workers saying


"OW"   "OW!!!"


It's Saturday the city Cutlery trays never stop People


Need entertainments


Gush Gush crash crash Sick Gush


Lying across a torn sheet


Was I sticky in the forth floor of a building


City trucks escalator of waves


Roll by this cellar room


Why would I write on command?


i came here to forget about not knowing where you are but


then you messaged me this morning After I was so furious scared you might be dead or Smacked Up on the streets


don't know which part of London


Did you meet a girl? why not I met a man he was texting after me


i told him that I’m  OUT OT TOWN


You can lie in the city it's




The city’s so big


You can lie to avoid a man you like even though he was promising and you shared the


night out playing guitars in the Bars his mate fancied you he was strange he cut you


off but you were so rude to him


It felt he was probing you down the Camden Parkway he was asking you about



a past


He confessed his past too quickly for comfort that he hasn't had a girlfriend in fifteen years because


his sweetheart was mad, heartless, a psychopath now can he take you out?


Home is the place where you


dance with my pink fluffy bag and you laugh at me


take me in your arms


lead me to the bar,


make me pay


spin me round,


Walk real fast


We meet on a boat on the Thames


the water is Shocking


So high as the sea I see


Slices of grey thick


waves slosh against the windows


Under the Vauxhall Haul of Lumbar bones


Fucking aching boats


You lumbering your heavy trolley with your amplifier


Amplifying my voice


Jesus SHUT ME UP Darling


Make me stop Make me stop


Jesus poets are precocious No wonder Sylvia Got it in the head


And Burroughs with his magic pen did over his


girlfriend / with a gun / no breaks


Where’s the breaks on this thing?


Home is where the premonitions have stopped


and you wake me up


"Thank You!"


Where avocado and butterflies lampshades and flapper girls meet in the crevice in my

torn bed at two thirty a.m.


I awoke last night and got up.


The city is quieter at night sometimes I walk the streets to the All night MacDonalds


on Kensington High Street


You always meet somebody you might save them, they might save you, they might propose and follow you home you might


take in an old lady you might try to get her papers to stay in the country, you might

put her in your own bedroom.


Home is the place whereall of this is okay


where it is brilliant where reserve and criticism and disgust are blasted out of the equation


and coldness has had its day and Red Teapots Shine


And warmth and error beats sensitivity as sensitivity becomes an Attribute and not a 

dis ease.


Home is letting go a joke a pick me up


A fold me down


An astral aimless austin \Martin where YOU fix up the radio and WE coastthrough dreams and as many girls or animals or children or lovers or hangers on can put themselves


up on the roof.


Even my father drove us through Italy so many times...


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