rock-steady eddie

Brits on the street, moon-

landing on T.V. Snipers

bullet lodged in frame.

                                                                     A Fox and hen

sky blue beetle

SKY BLUE BEETLE

 

Painted with gloss household paint.

I took it for a spin to Dublin, pulled

up at the border checkpoint. Held-

The radio was held up by a bullet

Cartridge box. I signed on the dole

in Dublin, Gardiner street.

A dole-hopper I signed North and South 

I was I was Irish/English, taking well-

fare I deserved. After being held for hours, 

the bullet box was torn to shreds. 

On the way back I heard ‘Blue Monday’, 

pulled in as I heard nothing like it, this

Was my sky-blue Monday. Restore-

ation nation a dole-hopper going my way.

A test pot enameled underneath, as New Order 

said, ‘how much do you need’. 

I got what I needed.

 

 

 I said, ‘go fuck off’

into myself since the day

I knew dad a cunt.

Said this sixteen years

kicked back, now got own back

cry now, you bastard.

HAIYOU JIMMY

 Jimmy Simmons said

poems autobiography.

I no chronology. 

Place time don’t matter

rhyme and reason no matter  

slots in hundred years. 

Why are we caught up 

with time and place when we-

can trace birth/death

That stroke in between 

is all that concerns me-

words feeling astound 

 yesterday today 

mean nothing they are all- 

one in my head but 

who am I just an-

other stroke victim, twenty 

years have past since Stroke,

I’m a car-crash of 

human being, where and when 

don’t remember crashing