licensed to kill time

during the days without beer with no purpose
when the only thing to look forward to
is draining the washing machine which has a leaking valve
so continues to fill up after the final rinse
like some biodegradable attack of A bous de souffelessness
when you’ve given up smoking
and the prospect of masturbation even
after three years without a woman a boy a goat
fills your emptiness like the stainless steel innards
of the knackered washing machine fills with cold water
when anyway there's fuck all to wash
and you’ve already half read all your copies of krishnamurti
the tibetan book of the dead baudelaire and eric morecambe
and you’re no longer kidding yourself
that you’re ever going to learn french
so you can forget the rhymes
and you’ve just spent your last three pounds 96 pence
on a low fat loaf on special offer at 49p
35p for a pint of milk two second class stamps for postcards
to one of your mates in bradford two in colchester
and one @ 65 pence to send a package containing a hairclip
to a beautiful woman
they’re all beautiful according to the karma sutra
even the ones whose breasts and bellie’s smell of fish
but this one’s from the future
she’s the one who you’re dying to fall in love with
plus 2.08 quids worth of petrol
so you can get to reiki in ipswich tomorrow
and maybe zap this trapped energy whiplash
left over from crashing your maroon astra L
complete with the belting little heater that sold you on it
into a tree on your way to a wedding
like marc bolan but not quite
which has given you something to moan about
 and therefore live for for a little while
a few weeks at least already now
and all that monkey spunk on the 12” b+w tv screen
and all that nipple inverting brawl and babble farting on
with various rates of frequency
through the medium wave and on fm
they call it radio necrophilia radio megalomanicure
radio giant ego radio desperation radio top of the twots radio of addiction
radio jonnie die panic radio mass hysteria radio radio please
turn it off
because there’s nothing there but little ripples
jiggling with the brain stem which excuses itself for my mind
adding another layer of illusion to the sunken booty
glinting beneath the waves of narcissus’ puddle
like a georgian penny in a physics experiment
or a triumph bonneville 650 down the flooded quarry
where the boys go knocking off
where the indeterminate tentacles of desire
reach as rich a pile of manure as ever was put in bags
and left beside a farmers gate at seven bob a chuck
there’s always someone looking for a sack of crap
sifting through the radio times gives a prime time example
what’s on next week david jason
robbie coltrane fast show the news paul merton
here’s the first division - football
all new the bill
during the days with no beer and no purpose
don’t know about you
but like it says in the japanese fairy tale
I have to labour I have to suffer I have to love
for I have got a tv license
to kill
wonder what’s on the other side?

about 2001 - suffolk.