Saturday, 31 May 2014

The Downs

We eat ozone flavoured air

Clover's afraid of open mouths

Buttercups are vicious
today telling
nobody they're in love

Hear the cuckoo cuckoo:
primary school woodwind displacement song

Train past Southease Station
is the wrong line of commentary

Lark vertex

Blue green bridge with blue
green boxes and crosses pretending
to blend in

River empties somewhere near
into non-categorical sea

Bowling green constellation:
wet chocolate suns

I've got my resentment
on in acid colours
knotted about

It's a day out
far from where

Saturday, 24 May 2014

Pigeon Park

Mad girl reads lesson
to legal secretary clans
mouth/ eyes swollen
with God infection

Gone drunk
lies sunned
with skin thickening

Lush grass;
flies gaping

Two girls
slow kiss
in love

I don't know what you call
these kid clusters here

They hug each other
and hit each other:
blood rush economy

What are the affinities?

Air gets tight and
the heavens get iron beards

Bone fed sycamore studded
with party lights, shadows
waiting line of us, dulleyed

We're all about;
our built in dishonesty

hums as low-toned
as circulation

Saturday, 17 May 2014


For Tom Clark


Undo the red wool knots

It's easier if you start at the ends I say

She unravels it her way


white petal stamen stained
Make a flower pile
Pink is considered

The great cylinder of rust
hums misnomers
in the working grass

Animal music bends
about the axes

The sky could be virtuous fuckless dusk
My face hole eats it

A bricked up garage door is a window

All we were taught
has a prim little swing
in the hands we left at home


I'm not an Englishman today

jumpered Anglo-Saxons in situ

Odd beams are governing square faces

Broke arch in my head won't be mended
by any sort's tomorrow


a cycle herd

Bees pour from
Diana's frozen skirt

while the twice struck redwood soundless croaks

a marble baby cradled -
kitsch tail on arse of Bacchus curls

The broke green stick stands
burning by the door
the white door


He put the car into the back of the foreign kid
the wing mirror left swinging

Falun Gong by Trinity -
with a balancing Polish widow's hat
her gloved hands hardly moving

Town bruisers decolonize some pavement
with lager magic

history    demos    shops are    educated beauty girls    tuck the notes in

Eating lunch on green with history of birds
hid in our mouths

Herbert Spencer is the size of my thumb today

Go to dissolve


Lilies sex the church
Consider them

There laid they Jesus in coloured light

the falcon the robin
the woodpecker the kingfisher
in thick yarn kneeler waves

a peeling coffin trolley

eaten walls

"Rich people had the high ceilings but
us we just bumped our crowns"


Tremble, dearest cowslip flower, and shake

The drains are straight

a horse hoof sound

histrionic pylon lines
above torn fleece and threadbare rushes

Dark chocolate earth of Ely fields
where rook food is
and their sure grey mouths are insistent

Big fat daisies
are set out open


Prickwillow    Soham and Burwell

Bottisham    Quy and Devil's Dyke and Wicken

heroic sky


green-ish on lazy perspex roof

rain legs

baldhead pigeon swells for no one

mere boy with mod hair
and sticking out eyes

The special kid laughs so hard
and the pencil's stumped

A slack stroke mouth asks

Cambridge that isn't shines its bruises forever and


stone fingers of yore

Insect Jesus
give the pond skin

Newt drops down to murk
and then another breath

happy scarab eyes

tweed shield

I get lip buttons

I don't believe right anymore


Up the stairs to Bedfordshire
my Grandma used to say

"So do you have any friends?"


Skinny little daisies shut up shop
under pastel talking sky


Saturday, 10 May 2014

Till Lime Street

Why pearls on the bobble hat

Not God in empty trick green fields

Not Nature fenced

Why girl with sharp axe face hair thinning

Run of mutilated trees goes into town

Corn stubble itches in treacle heat

Black beams crisscross

Patches of before

This solvent head place isn't easy

Neither there nor here

Fishing huts about the square dull pond

Runcorn bridge in vanishing ink

Up from mildewed dream blinking

A tree is ivy eaten to alone

Moldering sleepers pile

Woman thumbs her everyday words

Nowhere without strings of electricity

Until chosen space heroic over

A beautiful Birkenhead girl waiting here

The whole city kisses us hello

Saturday, 3 May 2014

Through Warley Woods

Bent near naked
split oak utters

and the Wood isn't anybody's
secret anymore

Insects cluck from dead floored branches

thick grass in indifferent waves
soft green inhuman needles

Curled up beast sleep buds
pierce low slung air

Wild garlic is coming
until there are delicate wet stars

whiter than
or ideal teeth

ramshackle sing song       here and there

too sweet


We two, bruised up, begin
saying, "love", remembering

Woke up faces
are at hand