oh always lots of drivers

world leaders are divided

to support Eurozone countries in trouble
but it is of course complete nonsense
staggers on we will not have
I think this is important

the right reverend Christopher Hill:
thousands of people
the countdown
the transport plans were in place
but there were areas of concern

Monday then, how hard how deep how
birds flying crying
yeah hardcore

I don't talk of a process derivative
before we go

at Midnight

.

thermarest

warmness isn't your favourite
you think there is a little section between warmness
and coolness that is your favourite
yes
that's nice;it's true as well
fanfare;trumpet, oh cello
yeah
Schubert, I think
maybe they paid him in shoes
I'm not saying anything
you'll write it down

I never went in there, not after the rats
what's the matter?

never got over that either

no because the thing is you can't
do it on purpose

I've said it, though
whose is it?

.

cinquain

the pair
of them were wild
when they got together
dancing like hares in the purple
heather

.

cinquain

it's gone
the way of words
 the fi-e-ry dipthong
so rhyming it with eyrie now
ain't wrong

.

cinquain

he's due
a huge payout
he bet his stash on black
with all that dough I'd bet his wife
comes back

.

cinquain

too much
and not enough
of alcohol and sleep
these stairs have never seemed so long
so steep

.

sign language (for Charlie)

laser beams ever where
smoke and smoke and smoke
bang and
I blundered half-naked
into you

.

really men should be in charge

what of Tarzan and the Nietzsche Nazi thing?

you wouldn't believe it, so no

Hollywood slots us as perverse, evil
though easily thwarted by the all-American guy
our accents attractive but testament to our weakness
our fay weakness, our fay weakness and susceptibility
our fay weakness and pumpkin and wider ear

me out guv.innit.all night one coulda talked of sexism
after ALL.lord and master she says like that there
in the jungool.but you would.when no one else
can understand me when everything I do.com

may you rest all peaceful and ragged
may your hairdo be wild and bombed out
that#s the wonder no he said noxxx like the nozzle
or schnozzle get this they used to collapse

with busted eardrums when those schnorkels
went under imagine it wasn't until the Beaufort
and later US coverage around Iceland did you
hear of that rotten shark would you?really who

do you like best Dönitz or Guderian, the goodwives
of Nazijelly, or eek as Aprille breedeth cruelle
fleurs upoff the dead.those iron casks fulla
beards.O but real may you lay low if necess
may you fly low/high

whatver ths s not ths

.

the sound of a train wheel slicing the body of a cat

a nice little housewife
who'll give me a steady life
and not keep going off the rails
take your hands off me—found poem

when you see me fly away without you
shadow on the things you know—Neil Young

he leaves in a state of profound opposites
all the way home
here are the tracks where something, at night, passed

joy/unjoy/boy [at every moment the language
in collapse in freefall here we squat in the ruined city
unsure how to use the columns the arches
the rain white and wide upon the moor
great wall-builders were these giants]
what do you mean say what you mean mean
or do not mean.each with equal conviction meaning
shone
emptiness like a fire.
say out there who were you
the people who were you
is what I/we mean/do not mean or mean

oneself one's ultimate meaning
POV that sort of pornography
the arc of the f-stop the exploitation Eastern European
heroin addiction forced into that by this
but if just oneself is it still?
looking down? the fall the Fall the all-fall
understanding/standing under
let the LIGHT etc


every day again the child alarm at 15:05
(in wartime the Ministry of Defence issues a request
that all children must gather and surrender
conkers to be cooked into acetone
into cordite into trinitrotoluene that shall indeed
rain down as trollfall that rumbles or guffaws
from yea the Heights)

don't stop just don't stop
it doesn't hurt enough yet
pet/petal/catapetl/catafract/catalypse sips upon sips unzips
another yet another trail of breadcrumbs
leading away from Present Time
oh really just don't
your form is ing ongo/ing Present Continuous
but the Future/as always/the Present
arch and gripped 
with all the shaking Past

bells slow the all night moor.(and) waterloft shrikes

(no one will ever read this poem
not this poem)

.

sink, wane

parties
just ain't my thing
I don't like other folks
all damn night long they try to tell
me jokes

.

cinquain

pupcakes
are my new thing
made from unwanted pets
I buy them soon after Christmas
from vets

.

pantoumbaric cunnilinguosh BLAST

the madbastad bear from the backyabyond

wanders in yeah a little dull hits the bar like

Davey sCrockett yeah upon that tree says set em up

the barkeep a little dull hits the bar from the backyabyond

slides one over a little dull the bar the bear 

the madbastad bear reaches out a little dull but hits

tears off his face the barkeep's face now a little dull

hits the bar like Davey sCrockett at the Alamo

I myself says the madbastad bear am a little dull

and require whisky if you mess with me you 

will die quicker than a advertised fuck on eBear

the moosefaces rush no hasten to supply

filling an feeling that if so there will be a trail

back to madbastadbearland, a trail of spreadcrumbs

of daveysprocketts deepdown oh think what

would you do confronted with only a tree

and a bar werner herzegovina made pictures 

of this of this of this all night the owls scratch

on the tiles the aisle tiles that awready pile

now uttly dulled

Davey raises the steaks
bowie nothing silver Colt

everything
see I told ya
this is what
love
nothing
perfume machinery
sadness
hit
hit
hit
tick
the big bad
blast

.

water

all night the sound
of water tapping
—lost love

.

still life

anxiously checking 

his breath in the little bunk

—still life

.

dead food

this dead food
at 6am
—memories

.

tide

hands like a tide
under the covers
—her swells

.

.

frogs

a surprising frost—
all the young frogs
croaking

.

Beeku

that wild buzz
of controlled fear
—a bee in a glass

.

browsing-room only

take this but not that? no, take this and then that too
what am I or you a series only an assemblage
in potential to be constructed chimera-like
by a passing consumer have you or I laid out
our limbs and traits along the aisles to be passed
or stopped at to be picked up and mused upon

down your throat consumer down my throat
like unwanted anchovies grafted onto delights
this is not conditional

.

limerick

two ladies whose talk was quite risqué 
once sat in a bar near to Biscay 
one said 'though I'd quite like 
to make love on a bike 
perhaps that's too much of a risk, eh?'


.

splash of the eager beaver

Thatte mediaeval Bestiary says of the Beaver

that when pursued for his Orchids
he will tear off them (off) with his owne Teeth

then raising a hind-leg to reveal to the Hunter

that nothing is now there (now) to be taken

So, in like wise, it says, good Christians should tear out

alle Sinne in such order that the Devil, when he cometh upon them,

should espy nothing there upon which to affixe his Talons & Claws

In these latter and later Dayes and/or/and indeed alle Dayes

it ith likewise recommended [and as indeed is the common practisse)

thatte these same Goode Christians

should tear away all Semblance of Reason or Independence

against the Possibility that some Scyentyst or other Oaf

might then yet assail them with impious query

whereupon, finding there nothing but only Nonsense
on which to alight,

So confounded, he will, perforce, Turn awaye

to other Prey

The Beaver that Beaver and all his Ilke
so languish in long-lulling Lakes of Sylk

.

losing everyone forever (for Laurie Byro)

on the moors the wind
is a kind of silence
I remember nothing at all
was not there
knew nothing
there is ash all down the coverlets
but Spring blossoms wildly
imagine now such a mouth
all down and not up
we paused at the ancient bridge
how we said how
but by our feet the germander speedwell
the river no more than a beck
overspun by a vast and heaved tongue
of rock
an owl as if to say
alighted on the nearby
look into my yellow eyes
really, so nearly, so it goes
on the moors the wind
is another kind of silence

.

no, it's not

in these wild days I go out in a basque 
what do you mean it's too late? 
imagine that—a gun against your/my head 
I'd say shoot first and ask as the cone forms 
what do you mean tonight? 
oh but between your legs some semblance of 

oh nothing, responsibility, owls that hark there 
some drunken conclave of owls flat-headed 
low-driven, the veins in your arms and breasts 
green as waterfalls 
deep as Derbyshire they struggle 

ungoitred, iodined, not far now from oceans 
but still a rejection, many-breasted 
oh the grand vibration one day I walked into 
Anne Summers, asked for a butt plug 
but imagine it was like riding 
a wild bull the faces of the masks of 
the same day the masks of the faces 

just 
cool rain 
still smoking off the gunmetal roads 

the Rapture people still say 
they are waiting so hard 
but what they want after the Tribulation 
is so materiel 
what difference do they suppose? 
cool are the draughts
slow are the sunlit rides 

look instead at this wind-worn grit 
fashion your hands to it 

out on the moor in the wet lows 
the geese shout nothing nothing nothing 

we suck up the frogweed and turn south
.


.

out of all the orange-copper reservoirs

Lily Cove 1906 falling from that balloon over Haworth Moor
the puff and heave such a day of all summers for the heather

elocution and pneumatica.captain general oh always Lily and her
encarted Billy what do you think when falling a shopping list flashes

by a future TV a space-craft there is a tearing sensation you
want to close your eyes every muscle Reiched up for the zero

down at Kildwick they spat and coughed the witches out out
on the running-moor the Hitching Stone drilled down such

unknowing all along the empty canal that night in wisps they
spoke of it.who there would grow beards?who would any more

punt as though mortal?up came he in new motor cars 1000
years on and still falling still nothing the curl and wave of one's

hair now extreme the falling jut of breasts over the endless moor
how indeed he looked couldn't help himself over the table-land

how high how wide and high how in all this white tumbling space
look now look mama the reservoirs below the quiet below

up from the old East End I have unearthed to here like a owl
a owl with yellow eyes made up on a fence my love down I go

Lily, he cried, deep in his hearth, as she hit deep-broken, living
only for a few minutes her beats and mystery.so hove the Lily Cove

.

pale blue Persephone

why are so many film directors obese? must be the diet
of worms and lost love but you are on this windy clifftop

your wild hair always shrieking your words ripped away
like men on fire at ground level by some magic of cinematic

psychism the camera view ripped away to the far shores
of a solar system not a raptor's eye that homes on garbage

and dead creatures but for a cosmic instant the machine
the robot turns think of rust and cranking and creaking

pieces of ceramic debris fragments of apparatus breaking
away as it turns with a last effort its huge head out there

the pain of it is unimaginable the loss and effort of leaving
it sends back one final transmission of a dying lover rising

out of the underworld caught for an instant in sunlight
that turn that strophe the last act before the endless drift

there is nothing just nothing more to be done

.

now the slow domestication of wolfdogs

Kofee Annan (sp?) says well all this killing in Syria it is unacceptable
I couldn't have put it better but more importantly the role of the horse
has changed profoundly in the last hundred years
from draught to personal leisure
by which one implies no deviancy
but merely indicates the Sunday Riding
or the 'pettification' in American neologism
—anyway yeah yeah with all of that
it seems that horses are getting fat

one knew of course of the deepfried marsbars
and the intravenous dripping
but had not suspected it had crept so far
as the noble charger I myself
in my most equestrian moments feel a little fat
about the haunches but
it would be foolish to distinguish at this tick
of history between dogs and horses
both being fervently and undeniably now

of the same breed and elevation
the largest indeed-dog yet encountered
measuring 19 sure hands from the scuff
to the sahasrara chakra where dogness
fully resides so from this and the further
fifteen fathoms below it can be seen
that a dog is fully compliant to register
as a horse or ambassador if he/she should
so wish meanwhile the artillery but enough of that

Rosebud, no I don't mean that
I mean does Claudia Cardinale ever get that dog-opera bath
back there in Paris 1968?

.

even turnips have no place here

the funny man climbs up to the window at night
crawls in
kills everyone with a shotgun
their heads all over the walls
this is momentarily intense
but then settles back
he finds the jewels in the safe behind the wardrobe
the waves wash in
he lies there in the four-poster bed
in the spattered blood and oil
adorned with gems
laughing off his bejewelled ass
at the huge TV
showing the wrestling
big guys in underwear
the waves coming up the beach
he sits/lies there slugging the brandy
feeling the sure thing of enlightenment
coming over him
watching the flick of the lights outside
the loudhailers shouting
keep it going until dawn, he thinks
yeah
all of it an earthquake
coming hard on the heels

.

if we speak a sliding of several tissues

cunnilingual mother of us all tongue-sea ling and grey-ling
the ing of fambly your lost glottis frots the wet frottage
bright then the thane-thought of Thetis
the blood-blade the blind
of all suss astrike the sibilant
][your language though strident is awry][ should we
adopt with teenage glee your romantice? Marvel comic you macackle
what science do we have, sentient heart? oh god yes/no
slave-religion regurgitate, confess, out now the swirl
octo-pus that's it all like that

no fuss or muss, face that staunched
with fire the fection a or in or con
the flick keeps up the flick the schnorkel
the men with busted ear-drums the whole shack
shimmies five fathoms down five fathoms more
two minutes past the glass
I fall on my ass
O Saxifrass
river delta
light behind light
veins in the hand of the father
all of you vascular as unwanted erection
my language my language swells in these wells

there's nothing that eyesore

.

everything dead in the next two seconds

walking to unsigned unassigned unassignated musics
though different generations we are as brothers
I was so out of it it was all power games think of pine trees

spreading like vermin down the hillsides
our faces flecked with blood and mucus
but this this ... don't be so scared, trust something
a little anarchy is cool every day
oats and sugar and the representations of all parties
imagine not being scared any more
the scarcity of dialogue this process has no feet or follicles
it all came out of the sky one night nothing nothing
this is religion your self-analysis is equivalent
to an imaginary being who creates frogs who eat foxes
by some miracle of the roadside you came running
to have small wounds tended your hat too tight
your head too big your soul whatever somehow
just bursting from your little Hawaiian shirt

not even slightly scared, not really

.

days out at the reach

overnight the drifts suddenly something
(I had never seen madmen)
I gave her the part right away
Michael got a slot in the paper this year

but he may be too kind
we could have excavated igloos or igloox
as dogs remembering the last Spring
the levers I was born with from a mother's splitting head

armoured and aching drink this chill white/yellow weed
from the dry stones up Station Road but only
if bitterness is no signifier it is a roux a mulch
of pigment in the blood dropper and this

a gutter a thing that guts all dried and glut and thick and stiff
the red and purple the wine-dark the dream and drear
of that returning season/saison/sastrugi carved near dawn
by the corn people from Space

suddenly confronted by the Space Ace
shining from the time machine they leave holes
where he fells them each the birth canal
of a snow tree a post a nested bird of clay and light

did I tell you how I stepped
on a grouse that squirmed briefly beneath my boot
then took flight dripping with rainbows
shining and the wind stiffening the clamour

how how baby, they yammer
through the intakes and royds
lodge as featherflesh
in the walls and voids

"telekinesis involves movement, you dummy"—Unquote

.

ratchet-choking the homoousios (sea-coal)

in a way a way you are the dead
helicopter sweeping light
over the rooftops back there the year 2000
even before everything had happened
now today our six eyes flat out down
the shaft dropping stones through the grill
counting seconds this is you falling this is me

I confuse both of you with who she was
but is no longer
there is nothing down there for us
the seam is worked out and rotten
once a year the sunlight fills the shaft
whose final scrapes shine beneath the moss
as heavy sea that floods the engine room
the drowned men with their fingers wrapped
into the grill where we lay counting heartbeats and years
footfalls into the future a glitter in an old man's eye
but do not dare to think it, the consubstantial
the one flesh, spirit-flesh four now three now one
falling together falling upward at a heart's solstice
our peri-apogee backlit and uplit
our fingers tethered together

to gather in the very last of us

.

in the sinking dead places submarine tube-hats quite the new thing

a man in the torpedo tube breaks oh his kneecap silence

it takes sixteen hours
to find him
[killing at least thirty people[]
I'd have fired him out of there
like a human cipher/cigar/UFO/father/moustache/Guinea
(in some areas it's beginning to look (hard)

as though the tents were never there)
let him breathe briefly though before
the subsummation
when the waves. the recoil, the hammerhead
of underwater love and the incoming Big Wave Face
throw him a thousand feet/foot into the air
in wild shakes of rainbow
what now what now, he cries
I am agape and aloft all my things
are as after a fire in the engine room

falling soft into the surf
oh yeah we say again we say

we look at him broken on the beach
the whole vessel floating adrift
and what we see
and what we hear

a small plume from the V
a scratch when first you stroke
goosebumps and shaving
knocked out its generators

see what we see
hear what we hear

this isn't just death any more

.

anyone anyway?

Marie Colvin parachutes from the sky
she is in the 101st Airborne
she ends up surrounded
but like they say
paratroops are always supposed to be surrounded
she is not a gimp
don't think that
let's respect her
she's not that
she is a burning airship with its radio burning out
just the last crackles
of wartime code
coming down through the screams
looking for her shoes
which for probably cares not she
not like this
whoosh
the endless
the cake of all delight
gone like that
who gets it?

.

the railway tide-swells of inverse foot-fetish

at 03:03 one night a woman sawed off
the feet of her companion in that bed in that place
in that hour and in that love and context and poetry

press it all flat as a train up the valley
just before it starts to snow
........................that plume
press it flat as steam
say it keep saying it
into the future
.............oh his face was now all ashlar-offset
so smooth so white so smooth so

...........and how weird and the rubble
as doorways into ..............rustication
as though someone awoke
at 5am to find both his feet cut off
all the lower bed soaked in blood
the feet and a red saw cast upon the floor
..........................................an open door
..........................................the wind blowing in like that
..........................................blowing things around
a car gone outside only the wind
—instead of calling the cops
he bandages himself up hunkers down until the pain stops
press he thinks press

he writes the long poem of amputation/love

he wonders where his girlfriend went
........................why she never called
........................what went wrong
........................why she hated his feet
why this was the song she wanted when her coin dropped when her bloody saw
when her feet when her dinosaur when her whirling pets her fish her elevation her distinction
of carriage of podia...

these are the things that happen in relationships
he thinks—these are the things that happen

somewhere far off she sucks at his dead feet
........................................watching reality TV
....................................thinking shit
..........................I need more tea than I could ever get down me
.............................................................................to do this job

this ain't fucking China

.

dead frogs haiku

dead white frogs
float in the early melt
—no snooze button


.


.

learning difficulties haiku

a squirrel plays
in snowy pines
—learning difficulties


.

Virginia Woolf's suicide note to her husband.

"Dearest, I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier 'til this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that – everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been. V."


On the 28th of March 1941, Virginia Woolf filled the pockets of her overcoat with stones and walked into the River Ouse.


.

some monsters with three heads silently applaud the assembly

this is mental illness

the fingers that reach for the keys, the buttons, the zip
have no heads they are mouthing but nothing
he wants to unearth your chest your breasts but has
no equipment which will suffice for this ancient task

all day he has been but only because surely
it is down there somewhere—but that's not nearly
good enough, not as language or anything else

this is language illness

that came suddenly and unexpectedly on the cold moor
and you with your head in a pool of moonlight

the birds silent in their hollow chests

please expect a little turbulence, ladies and gentlemen
for there are monsters in our midst

this is just illness

1
2
3

just stop now, okay
one is all out of everything
and has nothing to give

.

hundreds of men burned alive trapped in cells

this is all somehow

feral and dangerous—that fifteen minutes of appraisal
and the engine running let's go get wasted let's get shitfaced let's
pretty much spill and die I sleep on your rooftop at night dressed
as a bat or rat or other nocturna your roof sags now
from so much anxiousness and she next door with too much

[some sharing occurs—fleurs for after all it is/was/will be a Valentine's Day]

wine and cricket and all of it so filled with mountains and our little sons
repeating what we are /time in excess/ the red/orange the fiery
tip that is the readout the very tickertape-day the growth-point
of all this and not-this

such beginnings such disastrous conclave a ladder only
the man slithers down in some hurt after all I thought it was

a good film any way they recommend it

.

one electric cello senses its other shape

one phantom swell      that gulfs from the deepst
that played or foundered as feld/spa for its innate.exate.rotunda
see whaT I coulda BEEN only was a for this habit see how ex/inquisite

a tiny flower along the path look how
everything has become different
since the quartzes move in

[of a suddenly] /the/why do black people say question
moves in the steepswells of.hack.hack the throat of this
the throat and the culvert the ulvert and verte—the o-vert of like this:

you have no game, Joe, you, you
have no game, not no more that was
your phantom swell like a dipper that went nowhere

that turned bad that cooked down into frass and sea kale
two hares dancing the crepuscule think of that
the other place glimpsed from afar in momentary light


some scattered gorse and a certain quality of grass
can it only be the creation the creature of light and not-light?
these are vistas or vectors the oceanic cow-swells of geology

underlying but putting forth through inflence or subtle influenza
the heft and curdle so deeply sexual all that fur and skin
but for now for now only this—for everything really is intransitive

[as Ruskin sensing a malaria seeping from the industry centres
the sex dead or dying aloft tingeing through tropospheres]

in its deep unconnection.or maybe not not

no, imagine nothing

.

a sad house in lava bubbles

the dead place the voice place
the noises of pigeons scrabbling on the roof chirping
in 1924/a man/from The East/with a curved sword
erupted on Trafalgar Square
his fontanelles re-opened spurting out lava
at passers-by and tourists
the streets sprayed with death
from the dead place the voice place
the tinge of grey that has infected your tissue
now you sit in the kitchen so strange looking at me so strange
the pigeons scampering the hot air balloons coming over
)'ballooooon,' we cry, 'ballooooooon...'(there is no pronouncing of this)(us fucking freaks always unpronounced(
us there forever in the hot kitchen your body surrendering
to insults to the dead place the voice to the lava
that erupts from a man's head
the taxis aflame the buses exploding
the pedestrians walking on fire unconcerned
us together slicing off our vagrant tissue
all full of ash and dead spots
knowing for the first times love
its slow necrosis even afterwards
then a startling moment when a man
you he says you, there in the dead place
I am gonna rip off your ass
this is what he says

[punctuation is direction of how to talk onstage.that's all.oh the other.also.the forest.breaking in]

the crowd goes quiet
while the helicopters descend to pick him up

okay, son, he's one of ours
they say, the helicopters
kind of a firework but one of ours
meanwhile let it spray

dead now all of it dead
from the far eastern tiles to the western outwire

over the sand-fields tonight again
London calling
stifled, dead

.

the wild iron giants of the sea-strewn south and seaweed everywhere we look

this room is on fire

I am something like terrified

it is 3 am

I am nearly dead with cigarettes

I look stupid

I want a fight

it is tomorrow already

I am scampering on someone's roof

I am the very slates of evil

I have fallen I am broken

huddled at your feet

I met someone once who said
that's it just said

I don't know you well enough
for you to get horribly injured
in front of me

it was just Fairy Steps
it was just fairy steps

my abdomen
you wouldn't believe
what my breath
can't do

.

trying to have sex for other reasons

if i could relax in some corner of a foreign field
then only think of me this
my senses my tendrils my filaments
straight to the bone or not bone
my patriotism and not
my shaking when there
my wish to be other
a caribou a pure blue caribou
a hunter-gathered nut factory
oh god there we are all co-opted and sexed
and I am speechless in this
I keep running in from these waves
silent, saying nothing
open-mouthed
all of my eyes shut and filled
with disaster
looking out
you you
have no right
defilation
trenches, the exact opposite

that
that's not what I mean

.

suicide watch and responses

clitoris is always attached now
to circumcision it has creased African matriarchs
approaching with rusty antique knives
not less it is it attached to 6 minutes of dedicated stimulation
as though these were the songs of our age
all day holding it in, laughing, coughing, convulsing
breathing underwater in the slick of facedown thighs
I feel like some worthless heft
on top of you of it all of nothing much but silence and sonar
how dead how deathly imagine how we waded out to the boats
that cold and unjust morning when everything went wrong
our tiny boys hidden under the radiator
as though we didn't have them
the police at the door
over the arches I sang and kept singing
all the way to the suicide watch door of my blood
down the perspex
brow
Bangla Desh flood of blood flower
5am they let me go sober
dreaming of eggplants
what are they?
in the pissing rain
at 5am?

.

all the things about the wrong rug

sixteen degrees of sex that went nowhere
legs all wet but nothing
you don't know
you don't think he is
camels, antelopes, Islamic signals
a voice from above crying
for crying out loud
what do these animals mean?
at the moment
she's forty seven she can do whatever she wants
a phone ringing under water
a torch in the deep
oh look I meant nothing by it
we've had conversations about it
because it's in black and white
I feel a bit under pressure

all along you
and the way of you
if I had a hammer
I would ring it in the morning
as though ringing
was this way
of breaking open
everything
there is a shell somewhere
that has not yet opened
in which is a tiny child with a tiny hammer
waiting to erupt
to leap forth all ready
hammering
everything yes everything
is wrong
but yes, it's a female child
with a female hammer
and her little wild head all ringed with banging clouds
what are you doing with my words
what are you
you doing?

.

The Triggerfish Critical Review

issue 8 is now out and includes three of my poems as well as a whole bunch of excellent stuff by all sorts of exciting and zany people from who knows where. Click on this text to go to the site. Check out the long, long, long discussion of REVEAL CODES by Ed Pavlic. A prize for anyone who manages to read the entire thing without choking and experiencing sensations of mild disgust.

Samboo's Grave at Sunderland Point

creeps of sunlight over the saltmarsh
bells everywhere too what bells such?
nothing left beneath only a tiny skeleta
there in the wind from over without
Barrow and Overton
from here to there
up the Irish Sea the overfalls sing
then all out southward freaks of wind
curving in eastward on the intent, the raptor
look at this in 3D
look again, Samboo
your mother dead on the beaches, the bone-beaches
of the endless western Afrique
far-off the sluff and slough
the gold and the kohl the markets of Cathay and Shendy
for this for this
you here
you here
why here?
all of it, ten thousand years in the marram the cow-heads narrow ring
the tramped fescue of a buried violin singing below
and no homecoming
just this loneliness
just this violation of the co-opting
into everyone's dream
everyone who came here to stamp and steam
like cattle about your little garden of squashes
pumpkin-head boy from the meridian lands
sleeping soft and lonely beneath below and black
and how was it done was it just a wheelbarrow
no gymkhana plumage, no funeral cortege
just the function, the deposition, the sediment
the geology of the placement
of a little black heart
there at the wind's wild edge
where it mattered most and least

trampled a thousand over
Samboo universal Samboo
weeps soft over the haunted bay
whirls thrice through the cockles
lingers a moment like a ghostly Susan
then thinks again
and is gone

here, spirit, here
we have caught your soul and you
are forever
our little semantic boy
all in pieces and scatters underground
squashed and overarching
how little and lost and longing, all of it
how tiny and lost and ferocious
down there
Samboo
down there in the warm and endless cold
where your mother chokes
across all of time
some great universal choke

where is my mind?

.

David Cameron does the acid-pig thing at last for real

I think that even if we were washed up together on a desert island
me and David Cameron
thrown together
only each other to augment and cushion our mutual survival
though he may turn out
to be good at hunting wild pigs
after losing a little weight
which will of course happen naturally
given the scarcity of resources
and their seasonal derangement
even if our tropic nights were long and filled with sincerity
still
even if we took to walking about naked for the heat
and the preservation of our garments
for the projected rescue
and anyway the not-caring
and why should we
if all the other eyes are only those
of little pigs and pineapples?
still
and even if we talked and argued
and shared ourselves
as two men on an island might
still
if I discovered that by some miracle
there in my pocket had somehow survived
two tabs of LSD
he would not take one
even if I explained at length
how this might help with the pigs
by allowing us to contact directly the pig spirit
and reach an arrangement
still
he would not take one

I would feel rejected and belittled by his attitude
and would share no more fucking pigs

he can eat hogweed from now on
he can scavenge down the high-water line for sea potatoes
he will have no more pigs from me
until he relents and gets wild
and does the pig dance all down the beach
with his eyes aflame and his spirit reeling
with gratitude
for the new world of pigs
I have allowed him to enter

yeah
I am righteous in this

.

jumping off backwards in a wild heat

the Zoroastrians got this right
that The Lie was the principle of Evil

after that everything is scattered feathers and coconuts

bouncing forever around the same room

oh, my little broken-up love
what wild things we share

all the way down clutching at
each other

our little faces falling
so agape
.

some critique of fucking zoology, for subsake

[don't get lost in the fascination
of the approach

though your blood races to row the tender onshore
to have strange outcries on the beach]

when the reports come in, this is what we know:
you are unchangeable, uninterested in change,
charitable, open to propaganda and emotives
but hurt so deep that you could kill

emotions escape.next thing we are washing on the new shoreline
dead as drifted wood tumbling a towel scattered can a thing
be scattered...

Robert Anton Wilson wrote communication is only possible


between equals.what is that? he didn't mean it. he meant

something about congruency.something like the fittest.something
like reaching.the rabbits bouncing on the omaha beach.RM Ballantyne
and Darwin.always the sun.MG 42 like a rattlesnake in orgasm
Heckler and Koch MP25 and that time
a man with an Uzi sat there in that bar in Eilat
told me me my girlfriend was ugly
how I responded to that like an Uzi scatter

life is only a billion men running towards a machine gun

everything inside you poisoning the new invaders
but wanting them too
look again:ak/save/preview/close
ever closer/ak.ever closer&mdash:engage

Lune Deep and the circles on the charts
this is not a map it is a chart

Andreas Baader and Ulrike Meinhof
dancing in the captain's tower

after that nothing, just blood washing up

.

a man with a gun as if

the dream slump of this the dream morphology
we are running through strange towns
we are entering a cave a green place
but the heat the new heat
the body-saki the blood runs like an open tap into
the ichor the cold ichor from the eye's core
the god thing the paranormal all day the white rearing
of the deer in the lost garden, the fear and
then not, everything in fast forward as though
someone had a whisk in your head my head their heads
who does not hate Language Poetry?
I am confused and undiagnosed
the father owl on the  mantel
the tunnel into which we cannot travel
the voices and the absence of voices
what sibilants we might make with our names
under our separate broomsticks in the wild rain
a man with a gun
that's all, a man with a gun near the hedge
where the deer
for years
watching in the dark, waiting
unable to move or turn
somewhere somewhere
a morning never comes

a huge child wipes the screen
that's all
everything back to stem cells
but not quite
look again
he's still there near the hedge
where the deer

none of this, worked
even for a moment
but then the startling glare all over
as it runs in

have you ever been butted by a charging beast?

do you know that moment of impact?
no, thought not
somewhere
outside, feral child
drinking late at night by the railway
shuff


.

some politics of failing erection

the investigation is still very much—
indeterminate policewoman on BBC Radio 4

American politics is a voodoo village
clustered around a spaceship
they found down there
shiny faces
cult and myths
Davy Crockett fighting a bar
in the barground shadow
it's only the appearance of sense
underneath they are dancing up the wild wind

don't think, don't look
just keep stamping
the rains will come

.

a glowing revenue for the nation's coughers

Read it! This is the last straw! What are we going to do? 
Blistering barnacles, what are we going to do?
—Why Sex is Not Fun, by Captain Overarch Haddock, 1929

fears of a new war between two communities
in the world's newest country
do we care?

life has taken on a lighted character
as though fairies or others had snuck in with tapers
we look and then look again
nothing is easy
in this new light in these times


we drove frantically
I had to be told
rain and dancing lights were everywhere
over there the flat silver line
of Widdop or Gorple—which?
the moors all surrendering to that sharp scrubby grass
the heather leaving for other places
displaced by immigration
a man found headless up here in the peat
the wet old newspaper of fleeting topography

police are treating the killing
(humans can also be affected)

this table this lonely fish
swimming through its reflection forever
what sort of fish is that?
the entire influence of civilisation
from I know these are abstruse extraneous refs
I know I know but the ceiling opens and a fairy reaches in
lighting candles
fairies are huge, not those little things we imagine
they struggle to avoid trampling as they pass by
to their urgent places in the wind
on this occasion all we saw
a vast face that leaned in to light things
before hastening away
leaving our rooms full of gasps

the new infection has been found

at this point
we might need to
(take steps)

.

real bad toothache and maybe love

not until the wind rips the feet
leaves you face down gasping looking
into a tunnel you never knew
not until some volcano
streams down and you have nothing else
but to run madly
I mean not until face to face
eyes like waves of the turning tide
running madly in
not until there is nothing else
but this one thing
not ever
why would anyone?

,

.

Icebergs over Yorkshire

the meaning the involvement there is no meaning or involvement

she does it like the first chapter of a novel

sat there

in the bathroom

flicking through

like we have just arrived in incarnation

still flicking through catalogues

this house

this life

this routine

but this is the lie

she does this only because underneath

she knows

like everyone

that there is a heart pounding

like an insistent drum in the jungle night

leading always to that one

terrifying

inescapable

place

.

if ever again a haunted pavilion

this level of toxicology you feel the pulse
like someone hitting your fingertips with a hammer
all up your arms the little shocks

christmas morning and the room full of paper
the theme to The World at War in your head, yours
I can hear it
do you know that?
Lawrence Olivier?
I apologise
I have mistaken you
for this ghost

who now in the attics moans
the same old stuff
dolls, dust, rafters, stuffing, waking, rearing

wouldn't it be nicer to just get past it
fold each other in
fuck all day
interspersed by sleeps and holds
and deep clutches

the unending ghost-love, the fearful and needing reach
and surround, the endings of flesh

and such soft drinks?

.

84 ways of weird connection

the greatest thing in History
—President Harold Truman (referring to the atomic bomb), 1945
Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart—Marcus Aurelius
And thou wilt give thyself relief—Marcus Aurelius

WTF does that mean?—Madeleine Shine

with my body I thee worship

who now cares that much about
a Duke of Edinburgh?
all production values evaporated
one doesn't mean to be unkind

and if this could be that other world in which
[how would I love thee]

think again of biscuits, perhaps hardtack
perhaps weevils, the semaphore approach ever closer

eating through the colloid-language of the brain
only a mile or so to go in fathoms

one hour's drive in vertical distance
to Space imagine Space and space
it is not surprising then apparently even that if anyway
that influenza after 1918
should become mythic as pollen

did Marx or Engels ever stipulate personality as the centre?
oppression? one nation?
why do you think it has been tried and failed?
think again of the Baka Pygmies and their fishing toxins,
their egalitarian rain

that's a mistake, not a particle collision

the distance, they mean

but again if this were the subjunctive otherworld
in which you were adjustable
how much would I love
to adjust you again
your flesh itself the industry of concern

caper now, caper in the arches of night
she cries all flighty

[and now count the strays, for they are flooded
and under the bridges lurk strolls
for all us flocking antic goats] in so
and count/shriek again look how the eyes
have strolled again/grotesque look it up

you won't know what they mean, not grotesque
but of candles and resonant caverns
cans maybe afterwards/sex of

a vast goat uneatable with such love

,

sixteen sides of everything looking wrong

for a minute there I thought you meant me
how my fingers glide over the keys
how I stand in the schoolyard with my head
a pineapple when all is ice
and ideas
I thought you meant me
holding the hands of our children
running back to the car with moonbeams splitting
our little heads
in an instant the river
sucking whisky like that so shameless at dawn
by the long and outgrown lake the Isley Bros
harboured/harvested up from the winds
I did really think and thin that it was me
s'all in my mind guitar no no no
summer br dunno this verb
everything's not alright
jaz min wait etc you know this heave
swirling diph-fucking-thong well who
summer br dunno this next neural pathway

there was a word I needed to use
to do with cars and fields
but I lost it
Hank Williams came instead

.

Hitchens/nothing

like a bubble
for two seconds

look, if you think you are coming back

if you don't

whose life is worth more
badger, etc

.

.

Barbie hitches North Korea

real concern/any signs of unusual movement/other news/a video—BBC

the entire world is drowned in red wine

despite the whole world's interest
all the world

praises China
the Military is placed upon alert

uncertainty

not to use Violence against protesters
images of a woman being partially stripped by soldiers

calls upon all parties to refrain from violence

how hollow and thin all our warbling
in the trees
at dawn

look around

mist like belief breathes into the river banks
things live down there

a sort of sick politics grows here

I want to use this as a background for my tragedy
my western cult of isolate mere
it lit a fire out there in the woods
strange people rubbing their hands
a stink of new meat
you get a lot of open notes when
you use a capo

all night I listened how

dead things lifted from the gutters and drove away

oh something else happened far off
the eye-healer
the miracle-worker
became a keyboard
in particular

the occult personality demands a new instrument

it creates the eyeboard

by the river
lay the blanket on the ground

.

.

the sign whose wording is forgotten

there is the bell
a growling in the lonely house
steam trains along the river
some filament stretches
from here to here from here to there
who can count these days?
this part is all machine and this vegetal
here is a slow warbling
something is up
be it words or seas or the mere
announcement of consciousness and re-entering
docking, penetration, engagement, embrace
the erectile dissonance it is as though
the integument had been stripped and left
still pulsing on a wharf amongst
the old ropes and iron cleats
from here one day in 1947 the pontoons
drifted out burning into the serious parts
of the Mersey those undead places
that stir strangely at night and subside again
at daybreak when the phantom
of the One-O-clock-gun somehow shifted
deranged in time and not-time in the hours
the other silenced-strikes, fires, charges
dips, engages, penetrates the wet powder
or poudre of near-history there I was anyway
after midnight challenged and assayed
in the under-standing in the belief at least
standing under what is unknown but imagistic
of the dousing that attends awakening
as though cognition was the entering of some
spirit-fall or water-fall if spirit and activity
were waters and the turbulence out there
in the river's night from which things
could be brought back, clutched close
captured, painted if not in hues then in hachures
and contours but in almost every case
dead at the door, dead at the instant before penetration
and quite a weight from which to squirm out
from under think of it as a battle in which
you know the routine of dead men caught
beneath the body-weight of animals

with such feeble instruments
I can measure nothing

.

cinquain

the pair
of them were wild
when they got together
dancing like hares in the purple
heather

.

cinquain

her ass
carried Jesus
to the holy city
he used hers as it was just so
pretty

.

vampires in self-help therapy

oh lordy

saw the next door neighbour a thin woman

made all overtures but she fixedly stared elsewhere

perhaps at some vision

of the Undead walking my doctor says you are a monster

by which she means me

you are unwholesome, she says

you will predate upon us regardless of the damage

you may do

yes I say thinking about it, I guess

but we are bad for each other

and have only humans as possible mates

so how about it? me and you, Doc?

I won't bite too hard and then

you will be cursed too

suddenly the clouds will seem nearer

the Sun brighter

the green more vivid

and the shades more intense

sex will improve

you will ache all day to get home

but the deep beneath will grow deeper

you will understand with a wolf-fervour

everything you look at

take this, she says, once a day

for three months

is it I ask a prescription for blood capsules?

no she says, take it anyway

we'll come back to this later

later indeed

me and her watch TV in bed sucking on little Arabian lollipops

both of us mad with desire for air and blood

stroking each other's furry legs and laughing

at the funny humans up there

thin neighbour strangely never etc

.

internetted by adipose

even to believe even to project

those flickers upon that wall

was fancy as the fine fancies

of French fancies that fairied

till their heads went so it has been

with us and our fay icing all

the spray and cloisters and weft

even there some organs lifted

as though the outset of film

and suddenly a great animal

that leapt into the room, then

cried, startlingly, no I am just

joking, well then so are we all

.

great mouths that come at you and keep coming

the keyboard in its own desire that

shoves a new shape before the sitter

and sender the subject and pig

in acts of slow love the woman

puts the gun in the mouth of the sleeping man

collapsed by the memory foam bed

blows it off down his throat

out his ass through the bed

through the floor

through the head

of the old lady in the room downstairs

who doesn't miss a beat

lower still into the sack of shit

she been wanting to remove forever

but never has

petrol can in there explodes house burns down

etc screams, mostly silence

shit she didn't mean

but hey

.

threeways at least in the sewers of philosophy

he's male, she says

so must be prurient

all night must have visions of women

fucking pigs being raped stripping whirling

opening themselves to the dead gynaecology

of dead males only knowing a dead love

dying themselves down in the arms

of that imagined dead goddess

who quacked through the bars

of their cots

without her, she says

he would die

yeah but

she says males need genetic modification by females

yeah but in everything you are

you been doing that for a million years

this is what you chose

this half-fledged warrior unsocialised and someways dead

yearning to come home

now so far away so unwelcome

.

.

beard

grown a beard

looks way too weird

gonna get sheared

.

three and sixteen odes to a forgotten entonox

unedited<333>fragment:have you yet come to kill me

...

filled with uncertain resentment/her demeanour

shifts to new obsession

world now world upon which

way-should-it-happen

to be true that in the heart

of spurted dankness we find only the disease

that this gas and liquid will kill you quicker

than God or what?you have to come now

I'm not he's down here somewhere.shades the best

that could be done.you'll be okay.each day the tendrils

the filaments grow

wings and limbs soon a monster a chimera.the old man

with pipes in the hospital bed rousing the whole ward

with his piping

this surely is what we are in for.incarceration its own

definition and desperate things scurrying deep

dying on TV in the final reality show

before some unspeaking breakfast in bed

now, Ibrahim, say nothing.it is near dawn

my love my love so silent and inedible

such cries now aghast in the upper air

while all night I have been unpacking

this, the same parrot

over and moreover

.

as suddenly an ironbird flew out

the day driving over those books maybe

those passes of wild smoke over the hills

these things were irreplaceable

when that man stepped out and we knocked him down

we entered first the negative always history

the feelings then of such bespoke cake

what now is the name of that house

but the new thing of hardship

only ever again a wandering wild thing

that came from the woods in flames

all down the hillside of Honister Pass we rejoiced

in the flames of games now our very clothes speaking

of your new obsessions one can say nothing

just the earthly endless bells of dead lead

which do not knell well

if at all

in the bridewell

.

on the pale wind of moving house

if it could be said if at all

that some Odd Men had come amongst the deer

one must venture that they had found their way there

and were now enamoured of the fleeting white bottoms

of this selfsame family of ungulates or perhaps

cone-eaters or fish-heads as the movement

of crates or plates in the Earth

there is a haunting thing here.boots stamp above.

at night one sits alone and hears boots on floorboards

where no boots etc. one considers it ill

but heeds to the greater silence that grows

outside and regardeth it not much

only, though, an owl with two heads

at the back of it all

an owl such an eek of a wild owl

tap he goes there or is it squirrel?

some creature beyond name

that would be in, in

fairy maybe, scrabbling up the wet wall

looking close for fractures and cold food

.

ruptures that just go on

well bless your piece of self-control

the dinosaur-mouthed wife with a bag says

to the anger that even now the wild fruit

a shapely thing as of disaster and romance

what huge clouds what an evening and thinning

stark island costs from the shop mind you

it never makes a sound

everyone wild as coots what just leapt

such things

between you and me what fancies of falling

all day the erstwhile gunshots

.

the discovery of many broken Victorian ornaments in a lake

the child strikes another child in the playground

the caretaker fetches a spanner and opens his head

the teacher is taken to discuss things

with a child psychologist

the sun zooms in

a goat leaps over the fence, runs wild butting

the boys on the basketball yard

suddenly squirrels stare down evilly

from surrounding trees

the bigger boys, some as old as eight

gather together, angry but resourceful

then in a huge wave they attack the squirrels

all over the playground boys kick squirrels

no one knows now what the Law says about any of this

some music.a half turn.a bust of an ancient local dignitary

at the last an aged master runs forth with a viola

smites the under-manager of the gauleiter

janitor inquisitor servitor breaks it into atoms but

atoms by def cannot the wild diet and song

the under-manager sees alternatives now

he gathers the boys, issues them with Glocks

the squirrels fall back in a skirmish line

throwing explosive cones

.

everything that couldn't be

a man in black clothes billows by the telegraph

tell me something

I don't know

deer out the window

eyes closing/there is a radio

that shuts and starts and starts

that brings messages from far-off Russia

saying you out there do you hear

are you dancing tonight westerners?

are you making love?

everything even the fridge has stopped

the night the cold the river

draw breath

as a single hedgehog steps into the garden

all of us poised like that

cracking slowly into the bushes

.

hounds of the fearful red spanics

her head is tourmaline maybe montelimar

her ass is a scaffolded oak tree covered in chains

her belly is all of Bellona and the rushing

the gods of ash gather here like downpours

are you stupid? white heat.mama.in this low rain

the king of Spain. it confuses everyone

the entire idea of transparent ashtrays. they are low

low.dirty things bang bang.the eleophant and ciastle.

so lucky so beautiful. that sliding slow.god appears

as a platypus.many folks in dun drink from him.

back in the library a wild hound

,

mental illness in these frequent lights

you are running down a forest ride

then it's all choked with debris

nowhere to turn

just no way forward

your strategies have run out

for this moment you are nowhere

it stretches

where you gonna go, baby?

outside the drums the singing

the cars revving up

ready to take you

drop your guns

and hear the News

sliding off the edge

eggs hitting the floor from hens

that didn't care too much

rats running in licking everything

witch children licking butter pats

ennervating traffic light blue-orange

the book fever low as gravedigs

lamplight and headlight sweated in the grass

the black moist

sliding in

looking down from this aghast collapse

at the gate of the Messiah

shit let's walk out long the river

throw in a body

see what gives

what rises

nothing like this for romance

I waylay at the leastest we look

.

in glimpses in small hours of the marsh mallow

living there like that with no head

and everyone looking through the trees

you'd have to ask

you'd want to know

if the flame that walks alongside

had the appearance of a marsh fire

a Saint Elmo thing that plays at night

around his main and mizzen

or super-mizzen as of a yawl or caterwaul

imagine that, squat there in the rising fog

and silence as little balls of light

that appeared over the slough at just before midnight

hung there a while then vanished

dead cells he thought dead cells that ignited

with inner mystic rotational fire something anyway

of lower orders not godly or angelic merely fire

catalysed up from some disaster of the personal tissue

some dream thing some downthrowing of the state

in metaphor or cataphor as of a marsh wight

or marsh mallow as is now seldom seen

a willow or wisp that strikes upon one's eyes

then vanishes wholly away in sight-echoes

whereupon he squats harder, more brooding

in the consciousness of those unreeling years

only again, only

.

some things I meant to mention

in the trees near the river a duck with no bill

thwarted forever by a morsel of bread with which it would fill

a hit or more hits suddenly the Hyper-Lamarckian Moment [the HLM]

held up its duckmirror and gasped aloud

such a gasp as would disturb to its eyeteeth

every duck along that stretch like an electric bolt that crackled blue and purple

yea unto that duck stood aloud upward it did

some jumped off at the shock and some in the nearfield teeter

see one smaller duck bad of attitude and uncurled inside

into places came creeping quiet but frosted all over like dicing

alighted then and there at the door the deposits the shale

you baby he says you, baby—you baby

without a bill with you

I could live forever

the screen closes in it is all of frost and metasquawk

there's nothing you can't do with no bill

not now not out here

in the wider duckland

.

failing to deliver

there would be little to say on this subject
were it not for the nonsense that has been talked about it
-- Lewis Namier

the keys

have been lost

let us look for the keys in the dark

internally displaced

we seek the keys

the police were building up

suddenly the lights came on

backed up by the satellite pictures

the keys lit up

down there in a hole by the door

in response to the latest allegations

the reported allegations

the latest evidence

a fairly substantial

vehicle on the ground

a viable device

a track record

killings of civilians

one reaches down for the keys

lifts them

inserts one

opens the door

you are listening to the News

from the BBC

right on Lake Ontario

right across the US

right in the middle of a campus

right of their belief

right, besides absolutely the bigger picture, what next?

Syracuse, Rochester

in these areas plucked incredibly

during the worst

we advise never to full-time/a few hours at night

just they can survive on your radar

he said buffalo he said buffalo

to live

one month's rent

I need you to find a priest

you're not asking too much

at last I can find some peace

a little guy

I could never forget

a lost boy

yes he did

a little face appeared

speaking to the world today

she and so many others

when they go back home

about survival

from the South

when you look back

does it seem like another life?

study something

biology I was hoping

get some engineer, water

I go to school

if you go back from America

what will it take?

a long time? knowledge the knowledge

is a terrible thing also joining us

in the programme in the headlines

in the presence in the region

two foreign aid workers

even now it is coming up to 4:30 GMT

good morning this is the shipping bulletin

warnings of whales in south-east riceland viking hard

immoderate

or good?

Germans bite Thames over-

fair 3 or 4 very poor

occasionally

Fitzroy increasing 5

Lundy

Lundy

fast net

shannon, sharon

occasionally poor

pharaohs

at times

from coastal stations

falling more slowly

automatic

light vessel.mist.channelling drizzle and rain

inshore waters.Friday 14th.weak fronts.rattery.Reichstag.occasionally

lands end

fog patches in the west.not really.later.there in the south or east it is half past five.

debt crisis in park litter-bins.in sport.he won't ride again.

a plan to be approved from Paris.

constituency paperwork. a spokeswoman.

lost from the public sector accused of complicity

he insists there is no alternative to his leadership.

the Euro has fallen

which means to return

in the first place

but the idea

who we really are

we have been looking at changes

.

.

Fairyland

the upside and the snake
the new fettle
that crashes even before
the wave hits
sideways then the coming-on
the gear-shift
all around my ladder
they start the little
shining people apples
dropping and fairies
upstarting they are as things of myth
but not
they are as the truckle of dawn
and as the night that sweeps
in beneath
the far lights over the sea
so low
so low and light
and only like the light that stops
when it alights
when they are gone
my heart of light
kicks again

fêted bird-pilgrim
of light
have you also seen this?

.

.

semi-Buddhist revs over a bar in Dublin

ke ytou
my way
take your hands say
a greek sea monster
what about me
in the sails
heady life off the rails
i don't belong
my face for the last time
c'est belou
waif
good bye

.

dismays of the rotoflarf

the evidence the fluid eyes of killers

someone laid their fingers

on a bra clasp

this woman is not what you wanted her to be

ash keeps falling, heaping up

something awful, no doubt

happened

to the whole truth

fingers on a bra clasp

prurience

DNA

evaporating like men

rushing into a crime scene

kicking over bottles

smoking Italian cigarettes

so many ings building up

not a noun to be seen

at the bottom of the well of all this

a girl

which

girl

reload

.

ice cream sinking in the reservoir

pain:ice cream:water:reach:primate:cheep

the descent of these chords

the clamour of grouse

a new man hits the street

a New Man

born in 1780 dressed almost as mollies

by parents who loved to inexcess tabac

he stumbles sudden all sudden of a sudden

in his southern den smoky as physic

why he cries why this is not religion it is

nothing more than the carrying of battlements

have I will of it none un-

-yet his mother his erstwhile and eggplant mother sidle

in his rear ear

oh oh aloud he shouteth how my mollyhood has challenges

my dandyweft was worked I confess

only now will I roost back in the rut

with such wild words and channels

he alights in the stead of his father

snugs there as chicks barely lofted

this, she whispers then: this, I meant

.

postcards from vacuums of delight

night stoops black/blue like falcons, like Superman's hair

smashing doves from the forest sky

the ashtray is your snout

you thing of clay and fire

would you like one of these tablets?

your leg is an oak tree trembling

your back is some sort of ocean fret

your hair is a vast spider taking off

never to

feel again the launch

of our shuttle and shuffle

our shining catch at morning

my best friend

the time weaves on

I am cutting our cords

you and me rise over the hedgerows

caught in sudden lifts, wet

caught bright like stars, scraps of web

that drift apart in the early dawn

you worry that I am a spaceman sent outside

drifting off open-mouthed into the endless empty blue

maybe I am

I will try not to be

but I can't help sending back

signals

from these new strange worlds

wish you were here

.