OUR

Work

City Home

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

I see and feel

fingertips

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

easy

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

alcohol

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...

#Poetry