from ‘TO THE HITCHHIKING DEAD’
waer doz it find yu lost arhat of erazure
can y/ find him in yr 30 yr old hieroglyfh scraps lic a Rorshack moth ingesting a rag
hes dere waiting for th richt tyme, waiting for da rong lyftime, waiting for you to start riting w/ a hand alredy taggd for a Gulag intern, typriter balansed on a ledge
any slip rode in th wind, any moterway in th sun, any moterway from heere to south, from midlans westward, heere to Scotland — I kno I went to Edinburugh that tym I crashd th Frinj — I no Im droppt on th ring rode utside Glasgow, & stood on a giant yland wiv da city in hot murk & full o fear & Gorbals tales, & dere was even an Old Firm match n all.
Ya ariht theer ma wee brown man. Ey Mary lass, com heere thun ya girly, gies a kiss ya littl puff.
A motorway suth east suth west — I got a lift by three hells anjels or goths driving a pickup van, & þey tole me to get in the open bak. & th wind is beating me upsids, I think I tak th ships cap off & hair flayling. & I get an overhwelming funk dese Gothik redneck types ar driving me to my plase of tortchur. & da miles go by I see hem læȝhing thruȝ th bak window, & Im thinking I haf to stop dis truck, I haf to kno…if I nock on da window & ask them to stop…then at lest Ile kno. & th driver looks at me as if Im asking for a hot tub & TV in th bak. & its too late to say, Oh never mind, Ile wait for sume poetri.
How did we get heere. Reeally. Evry tym I was on th Brent Cross sliprode I thocht of yoo my love. My brine eyd fate. Rolling a car into th canal.
A self thats stitcht from fragments. A self dats blank to itself.
Waere ar yu fate – I kno yore bak dere
slowly killing me w/ sleep & wayting to pressgang me into Yr Arms O Lord
Hoo is this?
Evry second missing yr wyf, evri second flaking off her & rolling into dunes of skin under th bed,
everi second missing everi second,
every wyf wedged into a carpet of haire in th hoover then scraped into a plastick bag by th haples huzbond – everi huzbond a broken vacuum clener da wyf cant throw away
Yallah my beti!
Beti mor than beti,
spurnd & spurning heti!
I wish yud had my babiz, da way I had yr babiz.
God, Yu had my babiz? You had all ower babiz? Yu had all owr comings & ower strayings & ower brekfasts & owr lie-ins & owr worn-owt shoos & car battriz
O Raðhu Allahu anhu wa raðu an
O Raðhi morr contented
roll me up into a Godshapt ball of gulabjam
hold me but not too tiht
hold me but not too liht,
hold me Allah lyk yu ment it
hold me lyk yore Ahad
GODDAMMIT GOD I LOV YU!
do y/ want to now wat I did after rioting — do y/ want to now wat I did after th landlord — da won who put my hed thru —
I ran away from yoo to Bangladesh w/ my mom — to ficht off marrige w/ my familie
I heard I gav my cuzins my charity shop shirts —
I ran away from my moðer w/ you
I ran away w/ Samantha from you
she ran away w/ a smackhed from yu
I ran from marrij until it ran from me —
then I ran to marrij till I was cawht
& evry day þeres no escape
ye keep looking in th mirrer but yore stil thare –
doomd to rome an alien landscap whaer evrything is comforting & familier –
a dog a hog a slowboild frog dat keeps turning rownd & rownd its tale hoping to find its plase –
Run run run, beever tootht Pasha
run to yr lost sandles in heafon, to th imprint of a beeche in Yugoslavia a honied licht in Clawde glas, to th beutifull slavs w/ ugly slav hands
I beleev I was impregnated by alienz w/ an imaje of home: an imacculat lizard princess hoo may hav had sex w/ me. I was probably eleven at th tym, & it waz just after going to see Cinderella, & I remember th radiantly fuzzy avatar hovering over me at niht, & drawing owt my life forse. After that no wunder I failed my exams.
Run run run rolling beetel
a litel wooden boy w/ rickets
a litle wooden boy w/ a litle wooden heort
a littel woody pecker
enogh to mak a kitszlich kindling
enogh to leve a splinter in yr crak
drag a carcass of poetrie acros deenatured landscap
flay it of proceedur, reeding, radical cant
no oolipian alibi larded w/ continentel fuckery,
on a leesh of lov leding me to say it say it say
heere w/ my nervs
out ut ut in th pissy sae
take a foot, a slender longitudinal arch w/ monky toez — take won step take another
Im gonna run after th Frend til he lyes down exawsted & I wawk up & speere him — speer YOU sweethart w/ yr eyez th color of clowds rolling bak, saying Do it qwickly!
Im gonna run after God till I lay down hopless, saying Pleeze dont hurt me!