one

in the shopping centre a pigeon flapped an uncertain navigation. windows and lamps settings for a permanent noon glare.

a kid looked past the Lego shop.

"Dad Dad the pigeon is stuck"

Fascinated by the miniature plastic zombies.

"It's okay we'll get a block extractor

here"

avatars precipised

Impossibly tall digital towers of blocks

they scrape the sky

scraps(no paper)

scars(on dreams)

PlayStation and Xbox change hands

all currency is fiat

all auctions are Wall St

picked up a falling knife playing Minecraft

html red on the market carpet

despair in the thrown arms makes the body

a dirty plastic bag waiting for a wind

weighted by its chemical toxicity

clap clap clap

in the slightest breeze

end over end

in turbulence of steady traffic almost as if

plastic was now magnetic and points

where the careless are

N is Nowhere

S is Somewhere

The League sing about the streets. The lady has a life in full plastic bags. arms full

E is for Eden

W is for What we did to it

in the morning a cloud is out

misty kitchen off a stainless spout

like a breath from the blown cheek

of a babes cry before the tears leak

emotions rise quieter than St Brigit's seeds

makes stars of the moon chasing the bees

it's the heat and gold of day that lifts

aloft the sky in great white puffs

and morning rises in the kitchen

a stainless day is beginning

wipe the wet into puddles on skin

a flesh blade planes the hills

behind a flush wave is the wake

disturbing a milk pond I land

on the lunar anniversary of spent

Saturns, Artemis and Peanuts

empty cylinders circle circle

in space and wait wait

for recovery

under my feet yesterday's heat

up from the black tar street

I'm Alive is stereo thunder

Alexa alarm doing nothing

Popes Folly

strewn the black sewed cotton

are crumpled testament

tongue of fire Africa sent

neat fold on the bottom

church step

a white duvet another under the bench

fallen clouds the sky's hope absent

sometimes the sleep sees me through

sleep sometimes seizes me in dreams

sometimes the covers are dry and warm

covers sometimes strangle and deprive

what will see us through

eyes dry after empathy

has emptied the ducts

vision will be dirty

all churches are built on hurt

granite steps are pious smooth

and as hard as hell

the thought that so many white clouds

have been dropped like Manna of

somnus

is lie where there lie

clouds cannot be heavy nature's blessed

them with lightness of being

after a night's rain.

they suffocate

suck body heat

hurry the rush to the last alter

under the rainbow a rag drag weave

into ever summer the rain on leaves

heaves away a part of the sky

onto her toffee skin in sleep

as smooth as butter pat

around the eyes alcohol good buy

Ship street smells like shit street

dried piss and vomit kebab

and a rainbow somehow drab

the broken prism is complete

in dishevelment unmeant

when rainbows crash to dirt

flat sole in the flat heat of morning

something of yesterday in the warming

thin cylinder of smoke hunts a bit of sky

the conversation is after alcohol : dry

a bench struts and planks. youth grabs

rails as if he'd sail after his smoked tabs

next him. dealer, regalia, tailor of days

fills in the gaps with another to blaze

park gate swings in many black coats

I pass , his cough, out of my throat

Sun's out sun's out

plastic frog bed is dirty

buses fetch and drop

shoppers always thirsty

bargain buster Hawaiian shirt

strains the buttons once

a lamb

now mutton

hunch in black head Sith covers

hissing curses outside cash converters

empty blanket and plastic frog

body swapped for bursting purses

page by page cloud by cloud

breath by breath

look after look

not repose or affectation

perhaps to clean

fresh barbered

something about down and out in Paris

caste amongst the cast off

in his face feed me

in his place deserted he

in his hands press disgrace

walk by walk

talk by talk

name is no-name

blame is our blame

another page of the red top turns

he burns

rest breathe swallow empty

the sky has washed

the heat away

bustling crowd of sparrows sing chanterelles

along to the beat of tiny green hands

on trees no longer brittle as the sap swells

the fine reaches and hidden aging bands

fighting seagulls wag tongues from grey beaks

a yobbish language a contrast in pink breaches

strut their Burgess Nadsat in pecks and squawks

that must end where roof territory reaches

a passing van is painted to entice

the favours of tourist and the dollar

a repeat distorted call to buy ice

creams and flakes that children follow

like a mob of birds . No discernible words

in this May day operetta a story of buds

bursting with colour and scales heard

from high pitch song to percussion thud

the season is alive it’s spark and ignition

the streets are bursting with springtime frisson

dunes rise and fall . a sea in motion

if watched by rocks

ocean sounds it's pleasure with

the wind

the moon

the sun

the earth's pirouette in space

over the slow sand sea

the waves

send a daring spray

that plays with us

that were rocks

and

silhouettes under waves

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#worldpoetryday

there she stood, a dust,

gardenia in her hair

ash blown in the wind trailing

father wading in the water

away from grit n field

the glints of sun

in the sweat all running

in stands and flowers in her hair

slowly die into perfume

lost to the swamp and air

so thick the birds drink

it in and sink onto

thick verdant bushes

still with the gardenias and belly as full

as petal white clouds just before the rain

spinning spinning daydreams

synthetic web it seems

uses the silk

of warm pockets

to arouse with the obscene

#mpy #micropoetry

gritty little hippy

mirrors

in your skirt

ya run and ya run

it's like gold dust

getting out of yourself

flowers in the trees

don't know they're

missing the dirt

so higher in white dust

ya kiss ya kiss

the dirt with

rings on your toes

can't get enough of yourself

overdose on your health

can't arrest yourself

Babylon has a cell for you

you are a mandolin

and stripes

and a head

and the state of now

is opium soft

in a dirty spoon

the trees cry a way

home

ya can't get enuf

the mirrors in skirts

hurt time

looking into themselves

yourself

ya run and ya run