may 30th

a poem about the theory of approximate physical equality

blocking the pavement
almost as if theyve meant
to offend
a girl snogs her boyfriend

she of below average beauty
though her bum seemed fairly cute (he
was furiously fondling it and
i could barely see it past his hands)
he was similarly visually mediocre
with no obvious redeeming physical feature
i think she could have done better
though it didnt look like he would let her

may 29th

a poem about throwing things away



ive always abhorred it
but the time has come for a memento audit
gaping blackholebinbag gravity
draws things away as heartpangs grab at me
the previously precious so callously discarded
converting treasures to trash no matter how hard its
eems - the me that kept them is not the same as me
and ill never return to being who i used to be

may 28th

a poem about unexpected praise


the unifying factor
of my detractors
you give a ringmasterclass in mocking
so in many ways
your one subtle word of praise
was as meaningful as it was shocking

may 27th

a poem about getting wet



hesitation
my trepidation
about precipitation
is those first transitional seconds
as the torrents convert me from dry to sodden
through the surface tension into the state of being wet and
accepting

may 26th

a poem about tasnim



im a junky for your chunks of meat in bangladeshi gravy
without your amchoor aloo im jonesing and im craving
the tang of tamarind must be laced with something addictive
youre my pusher of peshwari - dealer of the curried fishes
blood more spicy than an iv and when the meal is over
my pulse joins in that tune you play with far too much vocoder

may 25th

a poem about motivation



i get up in a haze
of apathetic rage
i stumble bumble tumble
some way through the days
im not sure whether i ever
had motivation
im not clever and i never
found remuneration
in money worth the effort that i needed just to earn iti
ve got to have a reason - i just wish i could discern it
ive given up on fame - its lame - im too ugly for tv
and i stopped trying to be popular about 1993
its great when i create something almost posessing beauty
but its not enough to live for and i have no sense of duty
i despise the pride and prjudice of a patriotic nation
theres no need to spread my seed throughout the overpopultation
we can survive without a drive for constant procreation
i may be slow but im not slowing
never knowing what keeps me going

but i think its probably you

may 24th

a poem about missing people



you were missing
but im not sure if you were missed
and though its probably ture
we'd notice if you didnt exist
im not sure who cared
that you werent there
though we may not be a quorum
i remain pretty sure im
the only one who remembered
to be missing
the missing -
missing
you

may 23rd

a poem about stupid questions



i know
thats not the an-
swer you were looking for
but its
the an-
swer to
the questions youre asking
come back
when you
know how
to ask for what you want
i cant
cope with
all your
irrelevant interogation

may 22nd

a poem about shallowness



dont try to pretend what youre saying is deep
youd be out of your depth in dawsons creek
or a puddle or a piddle or a dolls house bathroom sink
you have so much to say but so little to think

may 21st

a poem about tunnels



winding a lazy meander
under ground
under the water
narrow tube of traffic
a horizontal edifice
illuminated artificially
and at this time of night
theres less light
at the end

may 20th

a poem about packing boxes


flat
to empty
to full of memories
in less time than it takes
for life to do the same

may 19th

a poem about trying not to watch big brother



i know i say this every year
but this time i am steering clear
of big brother
i know that every other
series i have started with good intent
i certainly never meant
to sit and stare in wonderment
and wonder where the wonder went
we dont care for the spectacular we only want a spectacle
to react reactionarily - to pretend we have a practical
impact on exactly what we're seeing on our tv
its like when childrens bbc replaced jackanory
with ill fated series "whats your story"
a week long weak drama written by phone in commitee
fronted i think by sylvester mccoy who
used to be doctor who

but maybe im wrong or just getting confused
the point is they dont make tv shows like they used to
just set up, point a camera and get out
like an infinite beadles about
and a dull one at that
the box boxes us in like schoedringers cat
if we look we're finished - if we dont we only might be
i can resist for days on end but im captured by the nightly
live feed as im failing flailingly to be dreaming
did somebody fill my veins with coffee with no cream in
my body needs inertia but cant quite fill my brain in
i'm paralysed with "meh" and in need of entertaining
it wont be long til theyre people not just shapes
and then probably merely seconds til theyre objects of my hate
big brother - i'm not bothered, but show something moronic
and i'll soon be addicted to pouring scorn upon it

may 18th

a poem about a test



theres a part of me that wants to be proud
but its not a success
that can separate me from the crowd
who's going to be impressed
that im now officially as good
at what everyone does
as everybody else should
be? but at least ive turned them into us