live like that

I could not live like that

these days any more

buying cars for a hundred

driving them until

they broke down the police stopped me

brakes exhaust engine radiators

died dead as

selling them for scrap at twentyfive

occasionally lucking into a good one

lasting six seven months no fines

walking between rooms suitcase

records paperbacks typer maybe a month

sometimes a season once twice almost a year


for noise no rent money too many visitors

girls women late into the night morning

working here there chasing hours

driving between jobs hovels girls

sleeping in the car after a late night drunk

to be there in time for the early shift

or get fired again again again

oh lord no please not those days

I could not live like that any more

Howard XXXXX is a fornicator


Howard was the head the principal

of the art & design college

I taught remedial maths english at

one end of a long summer term

the kids turned his office into scout camp

complete with wash line glowing fire

artfully artificially constructed of course

as knowing reference that he slept there

nights he never quite made it home

keeping a sleeping bag under his chair

one morning the sixth floor windows

spelt out one letter per panel pane

facing downtown the busiest city street

artfully completed in Baskerville old face font


by one of the design lecturers cuckolded

by his wife & Howard in nights before

we understood he had some feelings about this

& appreciated he’d put effort thought

into the project worthy of his skills

in exile

I wrote to her

the pain of being in exile

just to see if

she thought of coming home

& she wrote back

checking to see if I was ok

did I need her to ‘phone?

what I didn’t know

she was settled where she was

found her new life

got a new man

thinking of babies

buying a new place to live

maybe next time

she might come visit?

& I reassured I was good

all ok

it would be nice to see her

no rush need to ‘phone

then I took a long walk

sometimes a man

just needs to be

with his thoughts


arc of an arrow

the time

when I held the ‘rents

to blame

for everything

then I moved on some

took it all on

my own shoulders

habits good & bad


leanings to & against

whatever you got

& more

& all the time the arrow

was flying

seeking home


for me to finally understand

I am a mixed up volume

of writings

from those before

those I meet along the way

& my own jottings

first in crayon then pen

carved in wood & stone

as my hands got stronger

find new ways

the contemporary artist

must be seen as exciting

thrusting into the new

find new ways

to throw fuck into the equation

shit bollox wanker words

creating no nuance but statement

maybe a cockwomble

a feint towards fey with fucktard

with a knowing wink

we can get down & low

fly high towards the flaming sun

using cuss words as we go

anything to create sense of pace

not aloof but down with the people

a worker with a range of vocabulary

not afraid to be the asshole

if that gets the dirty job done