the unknowable transforming point 416/ 420

433 little poems
fictive autobiographical gazing
through the piano looking glass

You can if you like

Two elbows leave to resonate and pluck the bottom D
let ring modulator take the rest
and quickly shoot off the pedal chink there and then
some finger work with arm width cascades and chords
and we have an inter10 red
never mind loosing my voice stuff
sniffing back the tears grief and ficfucs
trying to navigate rejection
sing abandonable snow men
and don’t look down the glass lift
as it supermiles it up to the top floor high anxiety
it was the bechstein needed tuning
all go moths in the felts
and smooth talker under takes to make me an offer
like the drop of a hat
head of tails win lose win
just about lost in the veering contours of hill climb
and now the steady vista suns itself
as the tranquil faraday cages of surrounding visions
measure the how long it took to get here statistics
and nod as the no going back became prescriptive reality
the pianos all go
if they could only play themselves
rewire the silent 4’33’ constricture
and ficfuc it to a van allen belt near you
sounds made from instruments
you can speak if you like
you can sing if you like
you can shout if you like
you can cry if you like
you can hum if you like
you can whistle if you like
but up there on that mountain
looking over to the far islands and coasts
no one will believe you if your not telling the truth
contort the stone of superiority at me
like a gaze temporarily out of film stock
and feed it to the incalculable risk
knitting emotion for arachnid lunch
out of flies today how come
moths got blasted by a freezing spray
then she started with the bach busoni chaconne
and that was the end of that
but the beginning of several happy coincidences

The long last light

Now after several changes of tram
round the north circular of a european town
the practise room with nice black piano got grimmed
some rock band curly hair and moody playing louder
and how could I hear my beethoven even a bit
this was a time when the wee hand of the fob watch
kept falling off
even after paying a lot to get it fixed and fixed again
after that just left it in a box
and that must be where it is now
she was calling several people at once
phone programmes who answers gets the gig
how come
lets do some improvs and play we not the old faithfuls
but eventually it was unsustainable inconclusive
mar the sound copter fly over resonate deep overhead
and still acoustic leans in the picture window
in the bright light the view becomes overgrown
and fluctuating rhythms of return copter
then off into the hills quartet
let us see how the clock dock unwinds it’s life away
as temperature rises in the neon forest
and the long shadows of the long last light
of several interested parties
wrings it’s hands in exasperation
where is why and the good invention
guess who came to see me
several arrows pointing in different directions
till you get to the theatre
not an easy find if you’re not used to navigating your way
through a georgian town at 4.30 to 5 on a winter’s night
in the pouring effluvia dripping speculatively off
ficfuc and into the incandesence of strong light

Another wooly mess

And less is more of something
what the hell am I doing here
there’s not even a piano in this place
go go my eyes blinded by migraine insanity
got to get home before the left eye
and lie flat breath deep hot water bottle
and soft soup till it’s all better
where’s my piano
this is no piano room
not as I know it
but let’s not beat into several other people’s bushes at no 2
with her lilly of the valley
and her hand pushed mower quiet whirr
and a piano that has not been tuned for 30 years
here we are at the beginning of another wooly mess in other words
it’s not over till the fat lady sings at her piano
she’s lost her voice
and who’s the fat lady
there was one once
with piano duet intensity sit tight in there
with all you could eat from 10 dollars
she was trying to light a cigarette with mrs caligari’s lighter
but she didn’t know it yet
for electric violin and spooky electro chords
another one bites the dusty starling
and other annoying wingeds
there’s only one thing for it
the wolf at the throat looking guardedly into my peripheral vision
needs to buy some buckets
to collect all the tear oceans flooding simultaneously
from the eyes on both heads
reflecting some interpersonal memory travelling through doors
needs to be kept under control this wolf
this up sway
ask her nicely to give me some warning
and ask her in a nice way why are you doing this to me
after all said
or is there anybody out there
is there a fifty third dimension
and answer my question
or can we speak plain piano
unfix my dreaming head the one with the piano inside
if that’s ok with you
leave it to the mantelpiece and excessively decorated interior
there used to be other dreaming heads to hide in
but not now it’s just me and the pianos
and the wolf at the door
better to tip toe tip fingerly off ficfuc
and leave it to the laundromat

Tricky dream yeah

The chink has to stay open whatever it takes
it follows the train of thought on to different continents
thundering past the end of the garden
steam dream tricky dream yeah
you with the squinty eyes
as she cut off the scratchy labels
from her new punk cardigan
you never get this with prada dear
let’s say it’s all not ovary till the fat lad has lost her voice
so dining car in the vast picture window
the professor’s fast type
with coffee and cake perched precariously north
the scene is setting and although you can here the tapping
tipping pen to paper and word process
think it would outrageously rude at this particular
to make any assumptions
cast any aspersions knowing that it’s thursday night
and not the usual friday
and who the hell was nat tate anyway
artistic favola wing it
sun deep shine into the next door off side window
greeny light shadow patterns
and furniture back to the window
slat blinds little top window airy open
and blue blue electric blue
can we have some allergic peace please
in time to copters rotors aqua whining off into the equidistance
crows slam doors squidge of rubber on pavement
cars cars two of them one up one down
weeds everywhere
remember its’ best just to spit it out
not leave stuff lying around
and climb every mountain alpine or not
could be a stac like stac pollaidh
that’s the way
now you feel better
everyone’s left speechless
so may cars
so many miffed ends unresolved
and cycling down a cycle path near you
costs hundreds and thousands
to keep it in good nick
the bicycle the path the river
and busy drift traffic hum
and incontrovertible hustle
matters of opinion
and cantilever action in crowds
and got to stay on top of it all
whither in the piano room or not
and this is a new chapter anyway
the piano room has changed a bit
big picture window now overlooking the glens
and leafy river bed
anything can happen
more in time real real time

Pollen soup

Light on the tower left window next door across
and full moon pale and lucent
behind the tower moving slow sway
the picture window 2 pianos
one old one
one not so old
and 2 pianists tail to tail on
the 2 times pianist picture window
to the right of one on the left of the other
held in full moon translucence sitting silent
professor at the back of the large room
between the two small windows
at blank screen watching the moon dot slowly travelling
soft valise in his hands containing documents
files of importance
across the road to the right
the old lay who worked in east berlin
the wide view of surrounding hills
and turbines still in the summery pollen soup plain song
arrest this image frozen on an eye
art of europe of art eye
on frozen image this arrest
it’s almost disappearing now
behind the tower turret roof
around the back lane of the picture window
glow soon to become brighter as dark grey gives to dark
the owl on the verandah hoot reflect
bounce over the river valley
where excavations foundations roman bric a brac
in recent moratorium
no more bunking off in the woods now
new schools efficient digital surveillance changes
moon on the other side of the turret now
and in between it and the tree the radiance taciturn
a huge rainbow over the house next door down
in a shady sky heat and light summer rain
pollen drifty last songs more intensity
as sun beams it arches still
dog bark and fading street voices
car sirens and lost it’s nearly gone now
talking in hush tones in the street
slightly disappearing into grey blue dusty sky
lighter grey now
plane overhead start engine
the chink has it’s opening
but energy rushed through from the other side
and everyone changes
don’t let them thru
they have to stay where they are
otherwise you’ll lose all the yourself pinned together
leave them where they are
you don’t have to do this
that’s why your in the land of diffused boundaries
let em wait
let em think about their own part
their own reference motives
no use starting again with the same only different
ooh- nearly went back up the primoridal tunnel
the dark lane
this is my chink
I found it
it’s mine
inner light hair unravelling
no two way play space


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