iAmbient 

last night 

i fell in love 

with the aphex twin

and i felt the full emotion

of bleeps

and little squiggle noises

as a chord

i collected all the passion laced 

expired breaths 

tokens 

for the dream archive 

in the cupboard

(keepsakes 

of special shiny things

a pressed dead daisy chain

a button 

a kinder toy

old cinema tickets

the kiss i always wanted

from before we met)

last night i fell in love with

you

as you moved inside me

slowly

so 

exquisitely slow 

to goosebump my 

skin 

when we 

laid down 

with the aphex 

twin

©2008 iDrew

First published by 2010

The Office (s)Kills

We performed scenarios and acted out

role reversals on how to answer the phone,

‘cos apparently now you don’t shout:

“WHAT?”

you must talk clearly, preferably

in a brain dead Home Counties accent: 

“Good Morning, how can I help you?”   

Punctuated by rising inflections 

that overflow with inane happiness.

Then we moved on to not throwing coffee

over computer keyboards, although why

you would want to is still quite a mystery.

With all that knowledge to chew over, lunch,

a well needed break.  Spilt coffee over canteen tables 

chatted to our loved ones on mobile phones:

“yeah the teacher bloke is a right wanker,

and this is such a stupid waste of time.”

After lunch, training, yet another lecture

armed with clipboards and coloured pencils

we made notes on how to pick things up, 

objects that is

we’re not talking anything useful

as in a night-club sense:

keep your knees bent and your back straight 

so as not to do yourself an awful mischief.

Then again you never know,

I’ll certainly keep that in mind

round the back of the Palais

Saturday night.

Afternoon tea, which was liberally sprinkled

around the canteen, then such untold excitement 

to be ushered into another lecture,

this time:

how not to get tangled up in machines,

how not to annoy them, or not tease them

with seductively loose clothing 

as they will mangle your flesh,

maybe tear off a limb, turn you into sandwich

spread, or pâté if you’re posh. 

Then you’re fired 

for damaging the hardware.

Now we’re fully qualified, with certificates

to prove it, so when the phone rang I knew

it was time to initiate that training:

“WHAT?” 

but hit by a rush of information, 

things seemed to have got a little jumbled 

and … well it is just possible … I might have 

… kind of … panicked, 

what with being extra eager to impress.

My mouth dried-up.  

My palms went sweaty.

My heart was pounding, 

which could have been due to stress

or even a psycho-illogical illness:

I chopped off your hands, put them neatly 

in the stationary cupboard, filed your fingers 

under ‘D’ for digits.  Lost your ears 

although they could be in the post,

in which case you should have them back

by next Tuesday,

and put your feet, all tidy, in those empty boxes.

Knees bent back straight, OK I admit it, 

I got flustered: but you didn’t exactly help, 

falling to pieces like that.

©2006 P.A.Levy

First published Snakeskin 2010

                                    

Red Sky

The revolution was to be televised live; 

kick off this afternoon.  Sky had bought the rights.  

We sat all comfy relaxing on the sofa 

scoffing the biscuits Garibaldi baked.  

Turned on, tuned in, 

Molotov mixed the drinks; done the shaky thing.  

Trotsky fetched the ice.

  

But we had forgot to turn the clocks back

in time for October’s winter constitution.  

There was a Marx Brothers film still showing 

and Karl, with the bushy beard,  he was singing 

about the proletariat, telling jokes about 

the sanity clause in social contracts.  

We lapped it up like duck soup; 

laughed so much went opiate dizzy, 

except Mao Tse–Tung who kept going on and on 

about this little red book, so we sent him out 

for a long walk to get chow mien and a chop suey. 

A quick word from the Lenin Vodka sponsors 

and it all began.  General Ludd had the plans 

and the spanners, whilst Captain Swing leapt into action 

with the Tolpuddle posse.  But things didn’t quite go 

as anticipated when some street-fighting man, 

having drunk a little too much lager, spewed-up 

on Airstrip One and it all got very messy.

Power cut - the are lights out.

Burston kids providing chaos like St Trinians

miners or minors striking for their rights again. 

Then came the riot police on the pitch, 

they think it’s all over.  

It is now.  

The pubs are open.

Still, we thought it rather cute, that in England 

Trade Unionist took coloured banners for a little stroll, 

whilst in France, heads would roll.

© 2006  P.A.Levy

first published by No Teeth 2009

                         

iEars

i do still fancy yer

course i do

but at times yer a little

well

weird    

take the other night

when we were cuddled up

in the after glow light

of our own warmth

all snug close

yet you seemed so 

distracted

so i said what’s up honey

hoping you were struggling

to find the words to express

just how irresistibly horny

you find me

although if i’m honest i was ready

to hear the old 

it’s not you it’s me speech

or there’s this girl in my office

routine

you said you had this fantasy

believe me honey i was all ears

not a good thing

considering your desire to see 

Betty Boop and Minnie Mouse 

having girl on girl action

listen guy

it would be girl on mouse action

and that’s just so sick 

and the fact you were getting a hard on

just talking about it

makes me wonder

if i shouldn’t do the old

it’s not you it’s me sketch

but it would be you 

all you

no mistake guy 

you’re a little too

weird

© iDrew  2008

first published by the Gut  2009

                                                  


photograph by @midsummer.in.suffolk

iNaughty

me and freddie had a row in the pub

he stormed off moody in a huff

just ‘cos i was up for ‘aving a good time

all dressed up and ready to play

there was chat of a club

someone had some mdma

and we’d all been necking vodka

for i don’t know how long

i was cloud hopping 

numb to what’s right or wrong

next thing i remember

i’m in this bed toking on a bong 

my clothes on the floor

a caress and i feel fantastic

a tongue and i’m electric

spidery fingers making me wet and slippy  

it’s not that i’m a bad girl

though sure i can be a little bit naughty

i don’t mean nothing by it 

i just get so fucking horny

besides it’s too late now 

there’s no way back …

come daytime

head pounding i feel such a toilet

disgust gurgling in the pit of my stomach

my hair’s a crazy mess

my mouth’s a festering cesspit

i shouldn’t get in a panic 

he’s just a blip 

a stupid mistake

i wanna get home to take a shower

shampoo and scrub last night from existence

charge my phone and guilt ring freddie

tell him i love him (i really do)

suggest we put last night behind us

then this head pops out of the covers

mumbles something about a kettle

this time girl you’ve so fucked up

oh drew

what have you done

i can’t believe it

…  with freddie’s brother 

©2010 iDrew

first published by Naughtygirlx  20/02/10

Johnny Shoehead Accepts All Major Credit Cards

Johnny Shoehead’s ‘mood indicator’

patent invention and fashion accessory:

he wears a loafer when he’s working

a flip-flop when he’s chilling,

a slipper when he’s tired,

a trainer when he’s wired

a sandle when he’s spiritual

a DM boot is angry 

a brogue is for the occasional 

court appearance

a dancing shoe …

no prizes for getting that one right

and sometimes he wears a stiletto heel,

he says this is kinda an antenna feel

so he can make contact as he knows 

there’s a starman waiting in the sky

he’d like to come and meet us

but he thinks he’d blow our minds

Let the children use it

Available in full range of colours

and sizes.

Patent applied for.

© P.A.Levy  2009

first published by Everyday Genius 2010