Bus note 50

        Clamour of ducks descending

        to half-frozen pond in the park.

Grown man in woollen animal hat

(knitted ears)
comes dull-eyed down the aisle.

        Monday morning

        and Winter carried over.

The air is clearer. 

There
are some clouds.

Ashdown Forest

The invisible
fuck me lark
goes musicking,
deranged, above
the temporary
pools of up there
reflection, broken
by hard grasses,
shoots that pierce
the flats of water
still here and all
too cold (the wind).

Bus note 49

        Changing buses by Morrison's;
I hate that smudge of Sun.
        Smart young girl sucks fierce
        on her cigarette
        in the car park's dark
and trees outside
keep green secret.
        I want today to be tidier
than it ever could be.
        Go on to work, our kid,
        with your troubles all packed up.

Conversation's over

For Russell Molloy

Something      an everything
communicates
below the information register

Music happens to be music

Flame crackles
and brown bird whistles

Near imperceptible laughter
of a man who doesn't have
the language working

Bus note 48

        Bright bleeding Sun
        makes the ice go away
and so people walk by
with easier bodies.
        Rays hurt eyes and feel
        all unfamiliar.
Now the mottled green/off-white
practise ground beside us.
        Say this: we're all
        very different today.
You can get a mask
you can warm to
if you want.

Work surfaces

Bus note 47

Some very drunk old gents.
Like boys. Almost dapper.
        One FUCK shouted
        over everybody's edgy nerves.
A little girl echoes that starred word
ad infinitum.
        Unstoppable play.
Baby scratches on civil skin.