I got told to “eat the world”. I’d planned to go to Glasgow, or was it Mexico? or praps I’ll just stay home.
Drowning in lungs, like little pockets of pacific.
City folks come down here wearing country clothes. I’ve got red earth in my teeth holes. It scares me half to death that it’s all here, going on, all at once; Paignton Pier and rain out to sea and people, somewhere, sitting in the sun.
Cold summer breeze through net curtains, knock the horse ornaments off the window sill and I’m well aware I’ve got a skull behind my smile.
My home falls to metal and dust; bricks and cement over-rated.
For no reason they took my bike to the skip while I was out – my flying machine – the world expands, streets open into fields peppered with dog shit and stones that look like bone.
Old idols disappoint, and my long hair, slick with blood, crunches under the scissor blades.
All my drawings are for sale.
I haven’t been anywhere much. I stayed on this cold unloving island with glitter on my finger nails and mud under them. Clouds race like liquid landscapes.
Wrestling with exhaustion. Too tired to wake.
Waiting in car parks, witness to petty crime. Smoking dope and drinking vodka in the potato fields. I saw them all, yellow floating fat on the whites of their eyes.
UHT milk and memories of all the old times gone by, drinking in the pubs and walking in the woods and laughing.
Campsites are the wilderness of this wild far-flung fucking landscape, with mowed edges and recycling bins.
The smell of cow shit can still bring it all back.
They took the farm, where’s there to go?
At least we now get some peace.
