morning tv




Gabcast! performed 'poetry' #4 - morning tv

Written fast, recorded fast, don't know what it's all about. Doesn't matter.





Don’t want to be the lover mentor muse of teenage poets special friend of single mums or know what happens next. My tv radio NYE internet party so oversubscribed that I can’t get back in I’m singing my skin off dehydrated on the museum steps just put on your chemo hat and go I don’t want to hear you talk. Your silk dress feels nice but it doesn’t really suit me and I don’t want to be that close to you better call a lawyer making noises. Dear Insurer dressed like death I don’t know what that is your fingers bent so far back dystonia or speed it seems like you can’t sign your name. The weather’s calm it smells like smoke there’s nobody around things are broken changed and moved I don’t know where I am. The grate bangs as cars and buses drive across if i wasn’t so damn lazy I’m sure that I’d be dead. 50 Palliative Poems for the Dying and their Families except maybe you need a massage and a pizza. And that’s all the explanation you’re going to get it doesn’t even have a title yet I might call it Apple Pie Matt Dalby’s 115th Dream or something else again. Now shut up and listen there’s a perfect logic here. George Fox was stoned on the streets of Lancaster he’d come home and we’d say ‘George did you get stoned again?’ I got stoned in a Cardiff flat hasn’t been put on a t-shirt yet. I’ve never met George Davies but he might have met George Fox I think they used to work at Burger King. All the bars round here are themed on the Protestant Reformation huge iconic woodcuts of Martin Luther John Calvin and the 1520s Peasant Revolt German proto-socialists. I get nervous when there’s theology on the optics. They click their tongues on Echo Street The Vision Centre down the road I wish they wouldn’t walk so slow. An old man in a Beatles wig and clothes that don’t match anything goes from the station to the new hotel. My ears exploding from the cold but still I couldn’t rest it was then the holy spirit came and I spent three days on the roof giving all my fingers names.

Comments

nice poem, good frantic recording. This is excellent, breathless work. Is the photo out of focus on purpose?
Matt Dalby said…
Out of focus, not composed, or framed or anything. One of the 251 photos I took without stopping in less than 2 hours walking round Manchester. I've got an even shakier version of this.

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