made of non-poem

80 unwritten lines

, all from different poems

, and none unwritten by me.

heatwave, dread.

parents, stillness, hate, regret.

how to not just be sick of everything.

pumping tyres, rotten clementine, refuse to share.

wand amidst tubers, sun low through noisy windows.

walking, money, waiting, wanting,

laptop, desk, private and confidential, forms read, books not.

what are the sewers saying. no ones listening.

they hide behind their shins

and or contracts.

freeway, headlights, crest.

scissorlift, bars, banners.

what are the servers saying.

cuisine from the furthest reaches of the known world rotting in your fridge.

the known world, precisely the issue, news.

superabundance of poverty, all kinds.

planet paved; good news if wheel or engine, news.

blackening, vapour, scrubbing down, howsoeer.

survive own spells, how, via the nonce and the extra nonce.

lobotomised television curbside, holes in my pockets, collapsing tulips.

typing work, typing play, typing going out, typing staying home, typing health, typing feeling really off, typing earning, typing spending, typing recycling bottles, typing reading, typing watching, typing listening, typing chatting, typing leave me the god damn hell alone.

sweater, another sweater, beer, another beer, notes, other notes, quit.

crying in front of the huge old beige tower pentium, the blue screen, endless cursor, 1999.

nice to meet and draw you, the rest of the stories, going mad, millions of pdfs, very blocked, how to dunno exciting anxious anti-climactic, forgot to evaporate.

updated file, uploaded to the file. ready for updates, upgrade, autoclean, like underground techno, like instant noodles, like fingers crossed.

and then some time to explore yr huge great big wide

overwhelming grief

by abusing an arbitrary task, ludicrous ambition.

how nobody we are, something out of the air, a big book.

cruise, strut, joke, light. reinstall, seized.

cant see anything but these lines

of scurf

, especially when talking around both or neither, equally switch from problem to sense, thanks.

and changing the all-important nonsense smudged together by an agent like the foregoing newspaper.

can’t you tell


all goodness concentrated in the skin, which is then covered in poison before the crop is harvested and sent to market.

am now waiting for my rubber stamp.