The glitch in my father

 The glitch in the father
He stood there rollerdoor open
He stands there taking in the ray of sunlight
Then the sky becomes overcast

He shifts into twin existance
Two of him overlapping himself
like an outside aura
All the shapes and color of the father

The air is a concrete color
the breathing in and out
feels like wool
He looks out to his parked car

Goes back through his story
His face giving evidence
As he travels through memory
Him and his double

Which part of him is real
soon the courier will arrive
Some boxes will leave
He will just stare through his spectacles

stuck in the memories
transported by them
Made vague there in the factory corridor
Concrete and neutral

Vanity and the slug brain

 The gym is inside outside
push yourself its intimate
In the pink
glass walls
Transparency
The other gyms nearby
looked into each other

People looking on
Gossiping and eavesdropping
You are exposed
every attempt amusing
Trying hard
falling short
delusion frolics

The brain is not sexy
The flesh and muscles are
The brain is a slug
leaving trail of goo
The gym keeps us dry
Soaks up the slime
Then you sweat

eyes fall on your skin
from inside the gym
through the glass
you think it's progress
But it's desperation
Like I said
Delusion frolic
Your oen legs dance
To the rhythm it creates

It turns into a rally

 On the hill above the squabbling crowds
giving their ridiculous opinions
Their political bias spewed out
the way they hold each other up

Hateful words irrigating the mob
Rhetoric both abrasive and poisonous
Yet the swarms gobble it down immune
Or worse sustain their outrage on it

Eyes fill with rage and survey the surroundings
Like the audience was checking itself for outsiders
The words slipped from the box
Up out of the throat falling through the air

Like young people flying out of a water slide
Straight into the anticipating ears of the multitude

Meals on the mar

 She's a luncheon maiden 

working on the cruise defused

All spikey and wacky

A voyeur far from shore

Unhinged but adored

uncertain of her charm

Undressed and unsure

duvet open

leg lotion

just a special luncheon

and a table cloth around her waist

Down the wrong alley

 Get out of the car.
swing out and gasp
exhausted
street haze at night

Moonless and starless night
pavement apathetic
bordering on criminal
scavengers get pulled in

Door swings opens
creaks
Driver in trance
mouth open

1970's datsun
a dead vulture
still flapping its wings under tyre
just nerves though

A muted scream
lips trigger mouth
all open now
terrorfied eyes

Alley way narrow
trash can open and full
smell of terror
Datsun one meter

A rat looks up
jailed youth in its eyes
mold on its furr
scarpers now

The young man is still gobsmacked
Numbskulled and bamboozled
The abyss has looked into him
The brick wall blurrs

The last flap of vulture's wings\
shadows spring from the filth
sprinting toward the derelict shelters
To conjure nightmares

Am I the rock?

 My passion drives me forward

 I fall and make mistakes

 Among the chaos I find the pieces

 I need to rearrange the puzzle

in the form i need

You look doubtful and the tide never comes in
But I know deep down the missing piece in you

Broken pieces reveals nothing to the world, ha  but I see

I was never meant to see, but i do

I fit them together, into each of my eyes, one by one

Until scattered pieces become you

Thus i see signs of the sea lapping margins
Then I trust the tide will obey the moon and move inward

Forced against its will, driven forward

In its waves crashing

And am I the rocks you ask

For not at all am I the rocks

You look doubtful at me as if I am tiny and I am
For I sit here on this beach as the sand

waiting for you to come over

Stupid little plans

 Fingers pick the clothes edges
arms raise with that sense of rhythm and repetition
The free hand opens the peg
it closes over the material and clings

Shoulders go from shrug to extension
she gets lost out there in the wind
The cardigan flies as the breeze lifts it
The line is full 

Another week of clothing hangs
moistureless day collaborate
rustle and blow the material
Until it is ready to put away

To wear over ourselves
for our agreed pretend
Shoulders go from reach to extension
you have no clue

There's this long line
her smalls and my bigs
in a wind that parches
that knows somehow

The secret that I keep
the peg box is empty
The imagination full
Bending and picking up the next wet shirt

Another space full
Another illusion bought and paid for
Another yearning fool
Dreaming of worlds so far off

Failing in the practical house hold jobs
Tightening the line
What's left over 
rides away on the clothes horse

There her shoulders are
Making their way out of her dress
Lifting and falling like the days
Smiling at me when she has her back turned

The free hands hold an edge
There's no peg to hold it
Nothing to secure a fixed life
You just thought it would be set in stone

But the wind blows those stupid rags right off
They get scattered into the neighbors yard
Right out onto the road
stupid little plans, broken little hearts