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