Yippee Calloo Callay!

You have reached the foot hill of the mountains.
You are most welcome
More than worthy

Sunday, 17 February 2013

Bastard Brag.

Bastard Brag

what am i doing in this god forsaken place where they say grace before eating their evening meals.  Getting covered in cow and pig shit to help them make and sell cheese.  Just so i can eat and sleep.  I should be in the city making naked dreams with you instead of running round on my own.  Loose.  A screw without a home.  Im down on luck.  Im down on dough.  Im down on life.  Down in dead end tee pee valley.  Someplace somewhere i got find me something other than myself to call my own.
Better start making waves blue eyed kid.  Surf the stream to pop the edge.  Easy listening aint talking.  Speak easy kid.  The streets of the ghetto give birth to you.  Follow the lamps follow the fox.  New age plastic for the white rabbit.  Sew them on and sell them rice.  Get you through the door.  Of the pink invisible squirrel club.  Where the old lady says,
"theres only way way to skin a cat"
And you know exactly what to say Mac.
One quick wink is five times as good as a knock.
Put your point on the map and drive drive it all the way. Live young & Die Hard.
You havent long to go.

Sunday, 10 February 2013



Theres a dog looking at me with puppy eyes
baby bedroom eyes
begging me to give to the blind
theres a bar maid baby
a tattooed bar maid baby
laughing hard
who i just ignore shade
and otherwise
i wouldnt ignore
id push the blinds up
on top of my head
engage her with a smile
and slide over a hand written note
ink seeping into the soft pillow of a napkin
spreading dots and lines
a hunter s thompson
back yard baby
baby spanky baby
begging me baby
to give to the blind
i ignore her
and picture us
lighting sandwiches
with a zippo lighter
let the light burn baby
until one foot is on top of the other
squirming in frustration
this bitch isnt used to being ignored
shes a portrait in the gallery
where i write
id rather have a coke with you
so sexy nymphettareetis legs get tight
they press together
with Zeus's touch all over her hand
the punters dont see
shes getting flushed bar room baby
but we do we sniff varnish and fold
the smell of sex
bursting from the pour
ride on time
we blow the joint
as her flop explodes
i flick my sandwich like a movie
archwheeling to a puddle full of gasoline
you flick a coin
like its the moon sailing backwards over your shoulder
into the slot of the fruit machine
three cherrys in a row

Thursday, 7 February 2013

Tea Leaf.

Tea Leaf

the beads of light
that you wear as a chain
are made from dreams

where lines you read
arnt make believe

the girl in red
a dress for you

every word that you type
is a leaf from the tree

i dove right through
after mixing the drinks
to find the seed

i gambled away
the day and night
playing cards
till i fell asleep

the slops of our potion
mixed on the floor
they made a puddle
and in the puddle
was a moving city

i went back in time
and saw the seed
fall from the table
it didnt float
like a grain of rice
a white boat
it went right through
didnt stop at the floor
till it was gone
from one world
to the next

i dove right through
to the land of Om
didnt know id meet him
or what would i find

this world was my dream

the seed
the seed
the seed
of the tree of life

He was a puddle maker, he carried a bamboo stick, he made puddles from the rain.  His name was Um because no-one knew his name.

Monday, 4 February 2013

Stir fry.

Stir fry

Buddy dropped into my life like a long last lover falling from the stars
i caught him on the sand
bare foot and scraggly
this is me at my most ugly
making mothers behind the window shops of Edinburgh
look in disgust as i pass
and remark what could a women have done
to deserve such a creature for a son
i catch my reflection and am ashamed
to see my face and body have become the picture of Dorian Gray

I can only think of the glass
i see it flying through the air
and breaking into pieces
as it smashes on the pavement

This is my body

I can only think of the glass
i see globules of it dropping
onto two parallel screws
it travels as they rotate
and turns into a sphere
as it cools


I can only think of the glass
as the wind sends a dustbin lid flying
like a piece of wood with an apple on top
attacked with the wax of a melting gamble
to cymbalise gum stuck to the pavement
gum from a gun shooting up at the bus stop
dirty filthy bust up

Take it

I can only think of the glass
inside my
Whored out body
my prostituted mind
its sick boy sick
rent boy rent
payed it hard
this life all slanted like the rain
loser man a loser man

I can only think of the glass
a jerry clutching flip flops
on top of the  lighting storm
redemption in the monson
falling squirrel to laughing duck mountian
the rain falling
hot oil in a pan
invisible birds chirp
were on the  ball
and the loud chopped onions

Whyd you do that? or You don't have to write over Bitburg.

Whyd you do that? or You don't have to write over Bitburg

Ive been building sandcastles to smash inside my head
i dont think youve ever understood a single word ive said
you got to pick at the pieces pick at the pieces