Sunday, 13 September 2015

O Willow

From Smethwick to Wolverhampton, Birmingham Canal

Piebald pony in sham heat
roped to a lamp post
on a Tipton verge


It isn't love if it isn't love
goes the switch box


on pen stems



Coseley Tunnel
kept air sharpens
with droplet calcium

The front light's swamped



He's crouched by the bank
with a thin stripped branch
as if half divining

Weeds in the water
are half seen
Are they creaking?

Crickets are all
a shook
their organ legs

We PAN, with slowly streaming weeds


and blackberries blacken
past black to rot dust


At the outskirts
inflammable tanks
will dissolve
halfarsed feathered mysteries


well there is
no rain just
whitened sky

Monday, 22 December 2014


Back fence second coming clock growls low
offering a fistful of wet Jesus slips

I used to paint the horizon at the embankment end
There was always too much sky

Below, the wharf with oxide fur on barge remains green smears
on portacabin walls

Crowmobbed heron pierce air to bleak

Hands dripping with autoimmunity
a face liquefied
the skin hospital’s lamps

Dead cygnet bones somewhere
and the nest open mouthed

Boy run off by swan in bestial glory

Cup ring on the bench will disappear

Water drowning
baby trees

My monstrous crust lips twitched

The heat my body made
is saying so insect ears tune in
the rushes O

Rhythm of the wires against the mast

Sunday, 14 December 2014


Dense ropes from the ceiling are evil.
Are we small? There are teacher monsters
in thick alien cotton. Pervert hair curls.
Mouth in a beard. Our thin flammable shirts.
English mud sticks fast. Hidden hollow
of the goals where my boy heart echoes.
Give nothing. Let Caesar's tight old bladder
past the post. Sisyphean medicine ball.
Shin kicks and bastard jabs. Walls
are chromatic ills are rock. Porno slits.
All the dick glitter tucked in. Be delicate.
Breathe badly. Empty face. Be ever the last
in the line to be called.  Fit for nothing.

Tuesday, 9 December 2014

The Arts Centre Yesterday

Baby girl pushes the chair
across the floor till daddy
sits his old fed weight there

He lifts her up and she says,
Put me down. She has her saw
-tooth squealy demand and
he has big fuck off hands

The air's all of a class here:
it wafts.
Man on news says,
I can't breathe.

I will leave skin flakes on
the table top. Squash crumbs
to nothingness.

Coffee cheerless like cheap fags.

My face is on fire never being
one of them really.

And another face falls.
This fallen face.

Say hello to some bad past rep
and pretend I haven't
forgotten her name.

Monday, 1 December 2014

Well Groomed

The positive psychologist
talked about happiness
his hands very small

Outside trees slept thin fog drifted

Over the road Witton Cemetery:
two men washed a gravestone
to a white fixed point

He told us that we shouldn't
think too much

Monday, 24 November 2014

Three movements

Old paper shade with round mouth two human slits
is a person says
sod all

Split wood heart creaks
The phone is a body part

Scratching the head as if I could get in

Rain hammers windows

No regard:
to be of each
other hurts

The wheel an urge caked with real decay paste
You came off at the curb

No trumps no loose limbed truths only
the leaf rot that downs you

University clock chimes a xerox chime

Cold as instructive

Will I always be a human snail?
Yes says the bland walls dayglo flowchart mouth you will

Monday, 17 November 2014

Further notes from the Lamp Tavern

Lungs slapped as they turn metallic

Sounds like sucked teeth or like punctures

Genial industry underplay

Furrowed techno

Fine hog brush on nerves

How at the phrase's close a softer beat fractures

Glass dust flowering

Are echo effects faux mystery?    

Clouded fragility

Sounds like a way in or something said

Train hollers

Secret melody                               

A dipping thumbish beat

Shimmy down

Bugle intervals

Sounds like hurting from cartoon vices

(remembrance day)

There could be dancing with short sweat strings

Verdant funk insists about here with glimmer fists

Arch Sun licks ears

Hum pulse with ungiven sex

Whistle angelic mouth show

Skin’s singed patter hungry and stroked

Felt up a cymbal

Snare like a robot boy treble

There are no lambs there are no lambs

Bass top end lunges and pushes air

Down the stairwell, tremolo

Burst Sun plates

Battered prayer thing

Scuttling along the guts

Sun furnaces

Swoll galaxyette of static kissed hair

Chord shoves out a head and pulls back again

Hand eats frets and up ends

Slowed up pitch crystals eat  machinery



The Sun full at the hollow

Dermal friezes

Cleaved taps

Brass cup kiltering makes some wires

And OH the tiny strings are troubled subtly

Ghosts with meat veils sweltering

Fuck your blithe ears

A two loses one gets lonely teaches

Muslin bruiser clouds spinning

Shale cuticles

(The Eucharist)

Legs are twitching music

(Remember boy with corroded ear bone)

The Sun’s fraying prairie

Fermented barrel organ

The Sun’s a billion clitorides

Fingers are all over the scene

A melted crown