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Marcus Slease

 

Marcus Slease was born in Portadown, N. Ireland in 1974. He is the author of Godzenie (Blazevox Books) and This is the Motherfucking Remix (a collaboration with Brian Howe, Scantily Clad Press). He was the editor of a special issue of Past Simple on innovative British and Irish poetry. His poetry in progress, musings, and multimedia projects can be found at his blog here




Covent Garden (Central London)

we’re freakin
growin 
old so why
bother with
the promises
oh my brother
oh sis fluffing
our chariots
for the masses
our ears
good &
torn & 
what
is broken say 
to heat &
torment say
we have not
found the rock
have not yet left
the garden, oh


Manor House (North London)

nor dust 
thou
know where
thou art
to be

in this world

oh hair let down
oh wet head

you cannot go swimming and
look after your
clothes 

let us chill
like children
in great disorder
and much disdain
for chores

this thy didst
in joy whilst
thou wert
living 


Tooting Bec (South London)

what do you think 
oh think about 
a vagina 
who says 
who says
you’re still beautiful 
in yr mini 
Vienna
through any window 
piss 
is raining 
from the sky
sons and daughters 
ninety times 
out of a hundred 
piss 
on the streets 
with knapsacks 
& immigrant mullets
it is easy to put 
a hole in the ground 
and make a great 
piss
what’s seen is 
sucked 
away and what 
remains 
is a big 
train station 
toilet
25p per 
entrance & 
exit 
is this a sad 
romance? 
nothing is really 
uncovered
stories directly 
from the drain
perhaps doing 
that
or this 
& pissing 
it all 
out & 
everything 

 


Notting Hill Gate (West London)

In London 
with a revived slant of light
this city thinks I am real
this city fingers its crotch 
with voyeuristic stories
maybe my consciousness 
is a four fingered fisherman
so uptight oh
I keep getting caught
in the lines
this bond is 
professionally severed
she thundered 
into my unattended face
unabolish my body
my soft wear
there are higher 
drapes in the distance 


Heathrow Terminal 4

fear less than clear
on a flight to Belfast
to bury the dead

and couldn’t find knees

all kinds of physics at work
in the air







copyright © Marcus Slease