Sunday, 27 July 2014


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

Saturday, 5 July 2014

Down below

Red gone to pink carnations upside down from the floor.
Some kid fucking up a car outside. Softening dusk.
Oboes are sadness or curtains for somebody or
Not knowing or a swallowed duck. Dusk almost gone.

Killing the tiny moths and then the dust smudge on palm remorse.
Feast days don't happen any more. Won't taste the paper wafers again.
"I said Hello Duncan three times. Yes. And you didn't answer. No".
Piano's lidded teeth are not chattering.

Bad gift body is something I almost love today.
This and that is so: a woollen bear; the plait demand (she bit
My hand). Peeling heel skin. What am I coming down to?