Saturday, 13 September 2014

Smethwick Windmill

Light effects on social scenery:
gold the shopping unit roof
until it's not and
her gold enunciative tracksuit creases up
and wrapper gold in gutter glisters

Halflit fuckery piston sheen by Matalan

It's written all over

To her girl: "It don't mean
that you're really happy"

Heineken sunglasses are no joke
Threat steps
at the crossing: "You stop, yeah?"
(set in
on repeat) and
the Jeep gleams and shudders

I sing falsetto bluebirds over
and the skinny girl catches a rail
and doesn't fall

The Waterloo's dead
with rusting Victory weather vane
wetted to muted and weovils
twist inside
next to empty struts of the yet-to-be

Our backyard - rotting
down rhubarb tops have
a something to say
and a pile of circuitry is stupid

A back turned sky very bored of alleluias
with the Sun being tucked in once

Sunday, 7 September 2014

A feeling

Turn these stones
into bread

Chocolate lime dissolves in burnt mouth

Snail eggs open in the compost heap

The wrong half's naked
as the bulb stutters off

Orange lip skirts
slug with blackest eyestems
shrinking in

Crying without suffering
a thing a name
might stick to

of excruciating empathy

will not conduct


wait at lids heavy
enough for the drop

Sunday, 31 August 2014

Small adventures


Are these leaves with black fungal kisses
living things or parts of living things or gathered up?

Sulfur stench at tunnel mouth
Impossible grass at the feet

Barge Horse Way cuts through estate

Whitest skinny kid
on some holy bicycle
Hermetick mudcaked machinery

I can see the outside of the rain


Willesden Green and Finsbury
are melting among the green meadows

Now the flabby clouds shift at film speed

Memory eeks


Bruise on the knee is lovely and petals
Cup the swell

Plaster teeth on piano are alive
and the piano teeth too

Pick off the scab and
show up the hollow

You fell by the woods but don't know why

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

Clocks don't want
             to be noticed

        A day's sweat declares itself


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



to sit snug
on the palm

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

Saturday, 9 August 2014


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


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


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