hamstrung by the ancestors of landlords
beneath the distant barren peaks of a toblerone—
the traumatic trough entrenches resilience.
a slight slide and crunch underfoot on icy steps,
the organism (the leviathan) slips into disequilibrium.
revolted by bolts of thunderous chunder, and a cold sweat
a risky coffee poured into the evacuated gut.
in a feverish daze, i found the courage to ask for help
and was restored—with my problems undiminished
domsing bad, wee butt tender, hungrier than a motherfucker
you let me stop back at your warm, little cove
hollow pegs, bonking, splat on the wall
hula hoops, double drop glucose—i’m back in the winter sun.
a felled tree blocked our path—round we went in the mud
my diary in fact proved a lesson in epistemology
isn’t it always the case that party chat evaporates?
from the overhung underpass on green holds, in one
i had my morning shower mid way round my run was
woke is a post colonial attitude that assuages my white guilt
made in china by terracotta serfs:
we all rely on the good souls who forgive us.
i console myself by thinking humans are but plankton or a moss
coating the globe, turning air from one form to the other
arranging strange loquacious fragments, enjambe—
ment. meant cement, ‘a bag on the heid, revolt and foment
an engaged driver with more issues than the london times
an old flame left my close fire door ajar
on a grey Saturday, and made plans to break plans
in the tempest’s fallout, the provost closed the saunas down
and if you reap the dividends you better keep receipts
(because i do) and i know what’s owed
if your finger’s in the till, be aware the drawer slams closed
in scotland, the scotch pie is simply called “a pie”
love is a feeling, not a decision, surrender to it
every act cast’s a vote for your honour and character
Ya puddin’, ya haggis, yer cheap lousy habits
An address to yer arse and lets make it the last
A southerly wind blew the weather away
and nae cunt’s wearing tartan
the stress of january can lead to bad decisions:
we all rely on the good souls that forgive us

chorus one – january

sweet child, have you tried the toblerone?
it’s very expensive, and different but not nicer
I have a theory that burns is to ayr as ice cube to compton
different, but the same