Saturday, 23 August 2014

Portrait 13

          Sleepy head curls
are a kept rage

  The shining wheel chair squeaks

    A long face holds
mute humanness

     I found a book full of fallen leaves  They
  fell out
  quietly

Clocks don't want
             to be noticed

        A day's sweat declares itself

     Affronts

What, she says,
            have you got tucked away there

      This head
 has shut up shop


Saturday, 16 August 2014

A Stone's Throw

For all
the cut glass checks and wiping
of stains the unruly remains
to hand

left

over

to sit snug
there
on the palm

Who's here just
to guess the weight
of history hid

Saturday, 9 August 2014

Raveling

Saint's eyes were scratched out
or smashed

Alabaster concepts shone

There is work there is
work to be done

old gunpowder energies

They like to retouch the scene

Somebody has to get fucked I suppose

her blistered kisser smiling in the corridor

Work it out without remainders

as clean as

Raw liver sits
on a plate and seeps

Here there's a clock angled to next

not victors

maggoty footstool hunched unkeeping secrets

Dress shirts hang
about the room like persons

photographs

Obama smiling and fading
over hairline paint cracks

bags full of
person in shaky hands

You and me were speaking at coffee speed
with living teeth

What were we wondering at?

A see saw creaks

Wild plum ripens

making a map of wrong turns

past the place
of the friend who went yampified

She holds a
finicky breath

patterning

doxa coats on

a glut of tidy cheer

wheat ears between fingers

blood smudged semolina cake

unfeeling brightness

He picks the red thread from
my lapel

rubbed between finger and thumb till gone





Sunday, 3 August 2014

Ante Meridiem

There's a rose garden over
the fence, heads heavy with petals browning

Tiny dogs shit jewel heaps

B&B lads share sticky beer
juridical sunshine viciousness

A breath is a thought gone
out to evaporate

No more amens

Dust
veils
hang

Sunday, 27 July 2014

Chorale

Lace lifts up at the window

so the swifts' skinny song
arrows above
blood crust colour brickwork

In the relaxation suite
repro galaxy circles
and the bubble tube turns red

Woman in death'shead shirt
will not turn around

as he drinks up
the remainders
from left cups

Chaotic singing throng;
arterial trench music

Turn the dark cloud inside out

Quake, all proper persons, quake!

A dripping radio says
only so much
in miserly rain where some lips
are rehearsing

my writen rowles
Of Morall counsels, I to bedlam give




Sunday, 20 July 2014

Wednesday the 16th of July

Radio switched on and switched off and switched on again

They were on the beach when it happened
and when I heard I laughed (I laughed)

and then has-been lips make a reddish ring
and eyes are see through soft with chemic trembling

Some people (it is said) do like to watch

What is that colour of sky

imagined a tape full of Jesus songs chewed up

This is the ersatz me in the kitchen

It is too hot

There were four of them playing on the beach when

I want it to stop

Saturday, 12 July 2014

A gift is difficult

Wasps dipped white in the knotweed cups and
drunk on it suspended glue slow  Remember?
Severn was near to brim  What were we then?
Still putting the scaffolding up  En famille or

House full of KRSNA consciousness (whatever
that is)  Her face astir a star painted on  Gull
at the turkey bone  Largeness with eyes for cuts

We're nearing everybody's disaster  This year's
bramble flowers being bigger and blush infected
We're not pretending

There were nuns here once that got too old

Pins and needles around eye's throat  Sweat
horror of metaphor goes and flutters  Eczema
coat put on  A boy before in park by pool of
fidgety light  Light in a bundle now cornered

How the trees do grow getting sexual again

I have your plastic woven bracelet on