Another Delirium

Who will wear the turkey crown

for the people coming home for Christmas?

come home


the words written in the dirt

of unwashed winter vehicles

on poorly lit routes

could they show the way?



I have no industrial past

I’m just some kind of penis


grief as mental illness

mental illness as grief


you lost tribe

man your crannogs

woman your canoes

shoulder your loving


hey you damned

get ready for the fever

of your revelation


Find my voice

short films in small dark rooms

former Archive Office

in a castle

that’s never a former castle



they hypnotise

make me think that employment

is a kind of life support

that’s in effect switched off

on receipt of a P45

they hypnotise



I think of the past

imagining the workers disappearing

the rulers search for them

in their hovels

the servants’ quarters

but they can’t be found



who will replace them?

Time in a Box

Not enough hours in my lunch hour

need to understand colours better


drive a fast Celtic chariot

around and around and around

an empty Boxing Day supermarket car park


shout communication over hedges

pile up blankets

adopt a tigress

you’ll never meet

in a country you’ll not return to