See, see such a plumy sky
Marvel at its carpy slime depths.
Tell me Kevin tell me Kevin tell me Kevin do you
Wonder why the distressed child also ignores you?
Why its foobly stare
makes you feel feebly tadpole.
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I'd been sleeping poorly what with my agonies
needed an early morning nap but
at a ratatatat on the front door I jerked awake and
obediently open up, a respectable couple not
this time trying to get me to switch my energy supplier or
join the young communists but
'We're from The Sun'
asking me if I had any thoughts on the 'Love Island House'
Excuse me what
She mentioned a house number and I blearily
glanced across the road at
the house recently painted in blue and pink
mumbling, I really don't care about it
'Could we use your name'
but I'm not deranged enough to give them that, and
It turns out it wasn't the house opposite but further along
beyond my eyeline,
I'd seen it tarted up with lights
seems it's been called out by a disgruntled neighbour
"The house is lit up like a building from Las Vegas"
and The Sun was frothing at the thought
of a Love Island related story and bothered me
Lee Holloway Towers in his fretful slumbers
Not my problem baby and
I will never sleep again
there was a lot I liked yes there was a lot I liked
the familiar and popular attributes
Z said we were mirror imaged, like twins
we could have been related back in the old country
but then there was her term for the locals which was quite frankly unacceptable
the long story about how she'd meant to end up in america but got stuck in this hole for 20 years
the time she spent in soho hanging out with [pop star #1]
the time she told the nobel prize winner he was a fake
the time we went to see a film in leicester square and she saw a couple she knew but didn't introduce or even acknowledge my presence, as I stood right beside her
I mean, come on!
we did it yes we did it but kissing was not encouraged
I didn't ask but she read me some of her poetry and I quite liked it - "it's biological!"
she played a lot of Massive Attack and explained how every song had the most meaning
she brought out 'the puff' and laughed 'you no good at this!'
while she was cooking I set fire to her curtain
she didn't notice and this isn't relevant
'I hoped tomorrow we go for 5 mile run
but now we drink two bottles wine and puff so maybe not
since you choose to stay'
when was 5 mile run on the agenda
and was I not invited to stay?
I was out of my depth and I liked it/ didn't like it
Sitting in the cold back room on
Christmas visits, claiming there's a film
on BBC2 or Channel 4 I'd like to see
ok watch it in the back room
there's some turkey and salad in the fridge
Often there was no vital film, do you
get the picture, I just needed my space
and also let's face it somewhere I could top up
the vodka from my personal supply,
while they snoozed in the hot front room
All those seasons all those years
felt like they'd last forever and they did
the leftovers, vodka top-ups, making calls
on the hands free set or whatever we called it before
mobiles and the internet
if you can even remember that far
back which you can't
Plans which came to nothing, vast
oceans of wastefulness and regret while
some random film played in the back room
Free Willy or E.T.*
neither of which I had any desire to see but
then E.T. got me tearful and I felt disgusted
and why is always so cold back here
Walked past the old house recently, 25 years since
I was last in that front or back room and I'd give
anything to watch Thelma and Louise or Airplane! there again
pouring Smirnoff into a can of Coke
making my sad phone calls
to scattered friends, just checking in before
heading upstairs frazzled and listening to
the Festive Fifty
* Yes, it's E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial
'Oi mate,' the new arrival says to the young man opposite. 'Are you gay?' 'Excuse me?' replies the pale and elegant young man. 'Are you gay. You know, a queer?' The two girls with the new arrival fail to stifle their nervous laughter. Their bodies convulse as the boy's head bobs about. The older woman with the young man turns her head to the youths. 'What gives you the - ' but the young man holds his hand up to silence her. 'It's an interesting question isn't it. Why would you ask me that?' he asks. He has an assured and languid voice, more mature than his appearance suggests.
'Cos you just look it yeah.'
'How can you tell whether someone's gay or not by the way they look?'
'You just can. So are you a queer then or not?'
The woman tuts and turns her head again.
'Why would it matter to you if I was gay?' he says, seemingly amused rather than annoyed by the aggressive questioning.
'If you fancied me it would. You'd be after me. You better not be after me mate.'
'I can assure you I'm not.'
'Do you like girls then? What kind of girls do you fancy?
You like big tits yeah?'
'Personality and style is more important than looks.'
'Yeah, I got a personality. I got bare style, you feel me? I like to smoke and drink.
Oh yeah, and I like to ... fuck.'
He savours the word as if he's trying it out for the first time.
The girls collapse in giggles again.
'I see. But that isn't evidence of a personality, those are just habits. You need to have substance as a person.'
'Yeah well I can do a lot of things. I know a lot of people.'
'I'm sure you do.'
'What's with your shirt anyway?'
'I made it myself. Do you like it?'
'No, it's got holes in it. Did you make that hat as well, that's a shit hat.'
'I found it in a vintage shop.'
'What?'
'Second hand.'
'It's well bent. Don't you have any money for new gear then?'
'I prefer to create my own individual style.
Perhaps that's why my look confuses you.'
Finally, one of the girls peeps up.
'I know! He's an emo. Are you an emo though?'
'No, I -'
'We got some at school but they wear black,
that's why I didn't spot you was one.'
'I'm certainly not an emo.'
'But you are wearing make up,' says the boy. 'That's why you're gay!'
'Oh really!' says the woman, exasperated.
'Is she your mum then?'
'No, we're... friends.'
'Are you a couple?'
'When you get a bit more mature, you'll come to realise that people don't fit into simple categories. It's very restrictive to label people according to their sexuality or the way they dress. Look at you, for example...'
'Me?'
'All of you. Only twenty years ago, a boy wearing pink would be considered gay.'
'It's a polo shirt. And I wasn't even born twenty years ago so I can't be gay.'
'A hundred years ago, a girl wearing trousers would have been considered a transvestite.'
'It's salmon actually.'
'And girls wearing that much make up would have been
looked upon as whores. But times change, you see,
and now you look perfectly normal wearing pink.'
'He's got you there.' 'Got you too, whores!'
Beneath the crumpled paper stars, the ζ©ι€
Froth of winds, an echo, zigzags in rouge
Flames of distant pianos,
Fizzing in the midnight lacuna,
Sangre drips, ignites the coral,
Stagnant dreams and chaotique murmurs.
Luz! A flare—cactus blooms in sepia,
Riding the frayed edges of cosmos,
Dancing through carpintero shadows,
Murmur in silence,
La lluvia henceforth stale,
Spaghetti tendrils, sea of metaphor.
Cloaked in the neon sleep of tiαΊΏng,
Crickets harvest the storm’s concerto,
An unhinged mariposa flutter,
In the riptide of tiempo—nonexistent,
Adamantine echoes weave through lavender herbs,
Resonating the fragile, the fierce.
Footfalls, under ice, ιΌδΈ°ι£
Excrescence to laughter, a foreign raindrop,
CafΓ© con leche heart, irregular beat,
Ephemeral, the lush dervish blooms,
A kaleidoscope unspooling sound,
Languidly tangled in vocabulary's mire.
