Hammersmith to Richmond
The stickers say another world is possible E.T. in Milton Keynes they were eating
something called Pizza Hut he was in the shed and had a glowing red finger
A KFC had just come to town my mum worked in 7-Eleven push and let go
was the way to ride a bike conkers under the tree slippery eyes she laughs
I am not sure it’s me Andrew introduced us to weed in the brownies we lived
in a one person kitchen I’m hungry the door says fire door keep shut
I’m searching for a man named Edwin Denby painting with fewer colours
way out west in Deadwood in Katowice there was a ditch near the mine
black dust framed the windows a fake Egyptian restaurant with three sauces
and small chunks of meat “Do you mind taking the picture” he asked the miner’s daughter we live in a dump and he leaves his pubic hair in the bathtub expert ladies require tailoring 00:16:imi the missionaries played Mormon Hypnotism
Richmond to Hammersmith
In tetherball there is chain and a yellow ball. Don’t mistake the chain for the ball.
Her name was Candy & she loved DURAN! DURAN! STOP whittling before building. As if I were taking notes. My head is caught in the door jamb.
A new lamb for a new life. If we step back a generation. The lion sleeps tonight. Grave authority of the vocal schema. An index of indexes. My feet are cold. I’m on the District Line to Hammersmith and have to pee. Oh Richmond American University. Jeff Hilson in curly locks. The red breasts of Tim Atkins. Peter Jaeger clean & lean. I love his cream jacket. Licking his chops the dog devoured the tennis ball. One thousand wing beats per second. Homecoming versus Prom. Sheep do it longer. Let’s do it real fast without the foreplay
I felt contrived into a musical sitting shotgun in a S.U.V. and aping love after listening to Afterglow we read the Missionary Guide the rancher was watching The Real World in Boise Idaho & Elder Stucky disliked Elder Fizz we shaved
our pubic hair there is heat between my cupped breasts this is a District Line train to Upminster two more stops to Hammersmith
Hammersmith to Wood Green
that Jesus was no longer my friend how did so many grow so strange I almost missed my change
manic Miner on the Commodore 64 a spiral sign like a snail for the way
the television said “these are the days of our lives” this song has been sung many times she stepped out of her body in Vallejo California we lived in a trailer park
I ran up an down trying to learn American football are you ripe like a four star general it’s why they gave me paper open your eyes like your mother Candy refused the Kiss
Luke Skywalker melted on the lightbulb the Storm Troopers were behind the couch. Benny Hill with balloons under his shirt. My father showed me how
to clean my foreskin. The baseball glove was too big for my hand.
now the digestive part of this book. cherry bridges to Oo liza. the secret feeling of an empty mouth. what does the clerk of the stomach say. that it grew tired and stuffy. behind the cow’s head. it isn’t as long as there is enough of garage.
all creatures that fly. the night air is bunk. your muddy soul it fell from you.
and the appendix. children rummage through for a sign.
I sat in a helicopter. this is part the story of Genesis. a human is being collected.
the book of things. the book of bodies. I swim in this pool of childhood chlorine.
a five and dime. the skull of a Frank or the skull of slug. a hairy fat woman gives love while snoring while thinking about America one has to become small with closed eyes one becomes the cat or the toothpick badly one listens to things like stinky toffee pudding or top of the pops or Miss Piggy where the living rubs against the skin the silver button on a plastic box is this the thing that speaks to you? who speaks when you are not speaking? when do you not pretend to speak? who broke yr hyena? ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh near the chirping or rattling of things near the barking that lies too deep a poem about mint ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh we all like it for longest breath in the nearby past these poems have been translated by the poet marcus slease
we needed a new saddle for the horse in Hurricane Utah pronounced HUR RUH KUHN. plus a new dust devil. a new body always on the river. the COSMIC EGG. you can be his but his can never be yours. multi level marketing for water softeners. glassy eyed. between a rock & a hard place. an American Dream. Joseph Smith had special spectacles. they were called the Ur rem and thumb em.
I have spent a lifetime in the desert gathering an educated lisp gathering up a country to face the prayers in the body much like the treeman lost in the jellied air of a handshake and a dry stomach the one with the locust mouth cobbles on small babies we love them like the gray skies of London no longer am I an Egyptian eye so the brittle bones of birds have no alchemy like the green sod in a golden case chastely curled lips of the locust in the smell of crumpled newspapers ahoy cow menstrual who made thee a nest in the vibrating trees tou tou sans proverb what to do with the crowds
Marcus Slease was born in Portadown, N. Ireland in 1974. He is a nomadic poet and has lived in various countries such as South Korea, Poland, Turkey, and various parts of the U.S. His recent books are From Smashing Time (miPOesias Chapbook), Hello Tiny Bird Brain (Knives Forks and Spoons), Balloons (Deadwood Press), and Godzenie (BlazeVOX). Currently, he lives in London and teaches ESL and travel literature at Richmond American University. Blogging happens at Never Mind the Beasts: www.marcusslease.blogspot.co.uk