thug

now based

in a wary

vulnerability of being 

literally

a mash-up 

of mainstream popular culture,

tourist videos and self-made 

social media celebrities 

a fragmented world view through the eyes

running through a track listing 

from the outside, to observing

tutorials on the how to

live

cursor move across tastes, 

ideas and thought processes,

the instability in your life

and all the useless things you buy

the missing reasons to suffer

what home

is to be seen

try and punish

the all-in-one

on your knees 

fake dior (daddy)

I cling too,

nailed together

brought 

them upwards where

you most want 

to bang 

thought’s

throat 

all night

shorthand

has negligible

readerships 

you say
fake daddy

the type to buy money

in the white bronco 

the parents are safely dead 

of generous evenings

when you hit the cold air at its 

youth, this is perhaps a day

humming: ‘these enigmas will never

be resolved at the level of narrative coherence.’

just use this speed ball against realism 

like your formal order, your empiricism meets

the non-sequiturs 

the cigar smoke 

in the day-lite,

 streamed from houses 

unloved in

Poncho Emergency (3/3) (unfinished/draft)

You're on the balcony

with those model dream hands

running out the petrol smells

are those future

kidney transplants

your children need

Poncho Emergency (2/3) (unfinished/draft)

you tell me authorised personnel

only

the white metropolis

spills the rooted male line

inhibitors as by

tying or wrapping

to touch this

stock with

speculum brand

the blurred caloric engine

is a poncho emergency

on the perimeter of quarantine

or homelands

Poncho Emergency (1/3) (unfinished/draft)

of a smart new tent

or in a state of localised impunity

push on the fence line watching you birdie

billet a wind

 like wild

grow the balcony

where we start

to count

three, two, one

sniffing courses

of the festive line

looking for the close-ups

want to watch

them eat a testicle

we are told smells of sausage

returning

to watch them on the fences

you pot that mad

dead adult 

near perfect child

impress the bunker

makes you feel that bypass

over cleared checkpoints

door re-opens

says

now this is a tracking shot