TRANSCIENCE FICTIONORMATIONS

for AA

Aminotranscience fictionerases catalysed an unexpected
moment of miscience fictionielding on the crease
in the Nottinghamshire town of Manscience fictionield.

Jarscience fictionul of cider consumed before playing
were blamed for the dyscience fictionunctional wicketkeeper's
sudden lurch left at a right swinging miscience fictionire.

The townscience fictionolk were flabbergasted the bowler's
miscience fictionortunate slip of the finger had spilled
satiscience fictionyingly long for a bye for the batters.

Later the club patrescience fictionamilias were fretful
as doctors at Nottingham General transcience fictionused,
triggering biotranscience fictionormations in the suffering flesh.

SPACE INVADERS

for SM

The docile turds that curl from under skirting boards

at night, then labour round the carpets and laminate

like ponderous, fecal figure skaters, are pernicious,

though they seem dumb. I catch them by the fridge,

investigating seals with probing stalk-eyes, hunting

weaknesses in pizza boxes left in slime's reach.
Aliens, that come from Mars to drain the juices

of your fruit and veg, may slither by your genitals

as you sleep. You will know they've been by morning,

when a semen slick is pooled around your thigh

Their vapour trails that start and end at nothing are a threat:

you never saw me coming and will never see me leave.

LAST REFUGE OF THE CRACKPOTS

That tall house on the left, up there,
is where they shut them up; the cracked
and their lolling, jabbering tongues,
talking all the time about their lives,
refusing to perform the simplest routines
like being nice. They shut them up,
with sticky–tape and glue on all the doors
and windows, they couldn't let their thoughts
escape on an unsuspecting public;
the sexually depraved, the rippers and strippers,
the queers, the whippers, jack–booted
women in lumberjack garb, the different, 
the anyones doing anythings to anyothers.
INSERT PENIS HERE! Not just them; the mad,
the almost mad, the angry, the sad,
the disabled, the foreigns, the wogs, the thinkers,
anyone who thought, the drunks. The house was tall
to catch their dreams. At night they had them.
Outside you could hear them shouting
bits of language — Das Kaninchen ist unter
den Fernseher! Die Katze ist auf dem Tisch!
Whackjobs, the lot of them, learning a thing
like that! But, night, it was like the house glowed,
a soft rainbow warming the evening air around it,
spotting celestial bodies through darkness encroaching.
Now they've gone. That tall house on the left,
up there, is where they shut them up.