Yeah sometimes

you look up and see colours in the windows of people 

who used to be like you

who used to be human

fire in the chimney

fire in the holes in the wall

flowing water from the broken boiler

and clouds over the scrapyard

and sounds emanating

postulating                   

ingratiating

significance and matter

and singular pluralism

yeah sometimes

you can hear the beating of drums

as the blue liquid seeps from the pipes in the ceiling

yeah sometimes

you can hear foxes dabbling

with mirrors and that

and seeking re-assurance from their ancestors, cling to apple cores

yeah sometimes

there’s a moon overhead and it makes the chains of light dance

but someone is being sick

or you hear

through the door

through the door

a diagnosis

and someone’s car being broken into

and someone’s life savings being nicked

and several swing bands blaring under lamplight

someone demanding a table at the restaurant after one too many

while someone else’s corpse is dragged from the murk

and someone starves in an abandoned abattoir

you can hear a room full of 14 people sobbing simultaneously

yeah sometimes

you can hear the TV and they’re watching a channel

but when you look yourself you can never figure out what the channel was

but blood makes bloody mess so

you can hear kids opposite screaming

because they’ve melted a bit in the heat and have fused with their plastic toys

but the parents don’t wanna call an ambulance

cos the kids love their toys so much

so just let it play out in agonising carnage

just let it play out

and the kids are screaming next door

and now they’ve got a dog to eat their dreams

do you ever

You know it’s a game of survival

with no money

and no job

and three kids

and big debt

for big data

for small soul

in abyssal space

long night of mum in the front room with Uncle Fred

long night of

abyssal sun in slow motion

yeah sometimes

the threads holding up the city

on the back of a white wolf chasing the moon

shudder cos someone twangs em just right

and someone throws a bottle down an alley

and someone cuts a bouncer through the teeth

and someone else is selling teeth

yeah sometimes

I look through someone’s window and see myself standing there

and I think

that’s not right

and hear the waves and it makes wanna break in to check

but the police will come

the police are coming

the police will come

and they’ll crawl up to us

coppers come to chop and chop the block

and birth the instinct and

you tell one to fuck off and they take it

you tell another to fuck off and they threaten to arrest you

cos your friend walked too close to you

like centipedes with human teeth

below the concrete countless jazz clubs shake the pavement

underwater submarines filled with

secret meetings for secret company portfolios

and producers deciding what films they’ll make

and designers deciding what’s hot

because the index for beauty

is a straight line

the chocolate is melting

on paper planes

because there’s a string instrument playing overhead

there’s too much smog

I can’t breathe because of all the crows

All the telephone wires

All the shopping trolleys

All the neon glare

All the masks

All the erections

All the cyanide poisonings

All the meat

All the night sky

All the crows

All the bloody sangria

All the lager

All the smoke

All the powder

All the ale

All the lager

All the sirens

All the bombs

All the machinations

All the spirits

All the black holes

All the dusty currency

All the transactions

All the digital mating calls

All the whistling

All the sewer folk

All the hospitals

All the silver pendants

All the wolves

All the lager

All the crows

All the shipping forecasts

All the somnambulists

All the police

All the police people

All the police people’s families

All the lanterns in the swamp

All the TV presenters

All the out of tune voices

All the kids

All the kids

All the kids

All the kids

All the houses and

All the kids and

All the lights and

All the waves and

All the crows

All the crows

All the time and

All inside me

All the crows next to

All the people having dinner parties in bombed out dining rooms

restaurant critics sit in empty halls eating rats and snarling

theatres put on shows with no light and no audience

people go shopping in airbase hangars for ritual pleasure

people go fishing in the flooded ruins of the suburbs

folk go walking in the fires of the inner city

they rock empty cradles

and feed corpses with bacon

they dig graves for nobody

and pull teeth that aren’t there

they let off fireworks for no reason

and talk about the price of milk when all they drink is muck

they get pissed on Saturday night

as if anyone knows what day it is

they dance together in the red,

Yellow

Orange

Blue lights under neon moon

and electric koi carp winking

they dance together in antique halls falling apart

in rust and cracks and rotting gardens

they dance under a chandelier that has somehow remained intact

in the glow of a frantic twilight

in irradiated dust and clusters of crows

in overgrown carparks and ballrooms infested with spiders

drowning in sour lager

they dance in endless cycles

of concentric circles

unravelling all of reality until the chandelier crashes

and all the lights go out

and the city will be blown away

and they dance

but we have life and we need to preserve that

because doing things for the best is what adults do

and we are the adults

who cook pork and charge batteries

and the world won’t give us nothing

so we have to take it

take it

that’s how it is

that’s how

we’re the ones who make planes

who make airports

who make glass

who create order thrust from primordial woodland

who enlighten

who build churches

who cast shadows on continents

who make banks

and microwaves and

holistic principles

and

dialectics

and

none of that none of that

quantum mechanics

and

Sibelius’ tunes

and

none of that

all the stars

and

all the radiance of the sun

and

ancient insects

and

cures for cancer

cancerous insects

yeah sometimes

you listen next to the door in the house that you grew up in

and you hear a saxophone blaring through the night

and you turn around and see a little boy walking

and you wonder how

how did he

how is he surviving

yeah sometimes

I shake because I need another spoonful

and I shake because I’m into it less but I need a

I think I need a

I need a monolith

I need a monolith

it’s about being blue

cos the police are coming

the bureau are coming

yeah sometimes

sometimes

sometimes

sometimes

I think we should let the whole malignant thing play out to its end.