the poem below was written last night at The Windmill pub in Brixton, South London. It is mostly a collage of the flyer listing all the indie bands that played at the venue. There are some observatory sentences and some overheard sentences from the folks in the pub. We stayed after hours and met the owners and had lots of free drinks. Only problem is . . . I’m still hurting. It will be part of the stations section of Alien Memory Machine (when I revise it of course). Each poem in the stations section is written around (or near or in) a tube station in London.
The Windmill (Brixton, South London)
We are blessed with a ramshackle bohemian outpost. The crib of klaxtons. Thunderclap families with so so modern sounds. Art brute. From dusk till dawn without the vampires. The owner Seamus came from Ireland in the 70’s to dig ditches. His wife kathryn liked to dance. Met the dog Lassie. They ate post-punk rice cakes and drank Red Stripe lager. A new utopia of howling wombats piped through the ceiling. A toothless woman sd I’ve been looking at your through my rum. A disco valentine. This is my friend’s song. Alle alle vixen free. Dada chuku dada chuku dada dada dada chuku. Free passes for local residents. Past the funeral shop and you are there. Champions of the crystal stilt. They wrestled their classic education in a zen arcade. Magic numbers with a frightened rabbit. Above toilet: I’m watching you pee. I’m gonna lick yr neurons. It’s good to be lost in the city. A British Icarus. What price Wonderland?