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milesblog
Monday, 25 December 2006

Know what else I want?
I want a world wothout inter-familial suspicion
A world wothout 'Who the FUCK are YOU'.
I don't know what all that is.
God knows I made an effort.
I even flattered DA POETRY
But to no ee Fect
as my american cousins say
so fuck
will the boulder remain?
How can I travel to greet?
Was it reall about the cat?
Urrr?

Welcome to my Christmas
I have come to jingle your bells.

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 12:53 AM GMT
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Know what else I want?
I want a world wothout inter-familial suspicion
A world wothout 'Who the FUCK are YOU'.
I don't know what all that is.
God knows I made an effort.
I even flattered DA POETRY
But to no ee Fect
as my american cousins say
so fuck
will the boulder remain?
How can I travel to greet?
Was it reall about the cat?
Urrr?

Welcome to my Christmas
I have come to jingle your bells.

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 12:52 AM GMT
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Sunday, 24 December 2006

Know what i want?
a return to a country
or I suppose I mean a possible entry
to a place some place
where victory doesn't mean
the courage to meet someone's eye in the street
where it doesn't mean unmutual fucking
in the workplace or wherever
where it's a simple occurence
recognised and shared
and in the end it is felt to be everyday
or normal if I can say that

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 12:05 AM GMT
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Tuesday, 23 May 2006

all things open or closed
warm and open or grey and closed
people just letting each other pass through
gently by in the street,
a gentle kindness we thought,
a letting of saplings,
not a bending of wills.
Children passing just like that through us.
Expectant, I supposed.
Their dull odours,
boys indistinguishable from one another
in printed image or rugby tops
heading for beers
or to look at girls
to shout, sniff out girls
til they go back to where they all seem to live
smelling together in takeaway boxes
til they shuffle off alone
tamed
to marry a mother.

You weren't listening to the trams,
Tending as you did toward vision.
I have come to let you sing.

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 1:39 PM BST
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Monday, 22 May 2006

Inspiration crawls for some
Those I suppose who just work hard
And not at being someone else Be
Good you say Don't
Do anything I Wouldn't
Do
But I don't know what you would do I say So
Let's meet up and discuss Just
What you Would and Wouldn't do.
Then simplicity will fall to be ours
Hours will curl at their edges
Time too will bleed its last tiny breath
And the whole block will reel.

You were lurching to the edge of your plank again,
Paying no heed to the heed being paid you.

I have come to teach the mice to speak.

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 1:00 AM BST
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Saturday, 20 May 2006

Transcripts of your personal settings are currently being sent to your house
Your liver inflated this morning like pre-school fungus
Toads electronic and fawning
Withered morning car eyes
School days all rolled out
Too many memories
Present all at once
Showering in them
Rolling in them fascinated
Lilac
Around the eyes
Under the Bed
Never
like that again!

You were telling me about your mental pains,
Slipping on the unfixed fixtures.
I have come to reign-in.

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 1:51 PM BST
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Thursday, 18 May 2006

Somebody somebody outside
this house was rolling a drum
while today i was
accused of being
a Cylon Robot.
What is a Cylon Robot?
I was given options
both horrendous
and chose both on that old principle.

You were lurching again by the stove,
Muttering about a poverty you will never know.
I have come to wipe you out.

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 7:36 PM BST
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Thursday, 20 April 2006

You Left Your Camcorder At My House
was playing on a radio next door
I drank another whisky before falling asleep
with the lights on so that when I awoke
it was perched on my bedpost
regarding me with a lacklustre vulture's eye.

When you spoke into the machine
Dad's eyedrops changed colour and a ripple ran through me.
I have come, I suppose, to clean up.

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 6:50 PM BST
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Do you ever get that
My Dad's Dying Of Stomach Cancer
vibe from a guy you're dating?
So she said as she passed me another radish
and an ale as I handed her a ten
and so and so it went on
you see It Wasn't
Marie Curie on that ten.
It was Mary Slesser.
She was famous as being the most androgynous
Missionary In Uganda.
And Marie Curie invented
I suppose
Cancer.

You were slipping off with him
Like a raccoon you slipped in there
I heard you slide the wardrobe up against the door.
I have come to say that I won't come in.

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 6:46 PM BST
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Monday, 27 March 2006

It's too late for much now
I travelled to the middle of the country
the other country
to find someone special
someone who has nothing to say
and who is saying it with blank deliberation.

You were braining yourself by the textured windows,
Close to losing focus through gaining too much at once.
I have come to suggest fresh air.

Posted by poetry/mileslang at 10:31 PM GMT
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