Reservoir

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

Games

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.

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.

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

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

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

Wallish

Mnemonic

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

Alma Mater

From
the salt bath: residue
on drying skin
     a tasty pain      reminders buzzing

Sick with familial myth
     oneiric lulling tattoo

Stumbling here/ there
drunk         stuffing
                  my face

That face all over: a jumpered boy
a dole fed schmuck a married man

Fixatives reek

Dark room steadily closing
in to bleak
      insider uterine density

What to make of this
now creased monkey mask

in the mirror with
curious (read frightened) eyes

Would you let everything go
for a song?         Sing
(you're forever
getting the words wrong)

Line Manager

He tells you about his sense of humour
and how often he is crazy when at home
               (amaretto sours)

   then he turns to the procedure
   coming to the necessary page
without effort
as if it were
waiting for him

and the lights flicker and still

    That there must pass
    for a smile

Long Mynd

The Christians are a few yards ahead. Green track
lit through curled ferns. Heather's scent of everything,
of God entropy. Caer Caradoc: trace of dead claims;
Eretz Cymru. Yesterday he sang, Take me back to 
the Black Hills, in wavering falsetto. Inhuman folds
from before anybody said anything. Empty beech nut
shell: dead genital mouth. Low weave of branches.
Broken shortbread mushrooms. Shat-upon
fleece scraps. Weathered bowl of water trembles.
Blood touched fleece with a scraped-clean scapula.

I wanted to catch you up. You didn't want me, but
I'm forever having to remember lines. Bastard wind
sharpening this bastard boy: I have eyes that I might

Telling the truth

1.

Autumn stinks

How do we say love/ here/ you
with the new russet scene about?

Think. Give them
what they think
they want. Think

Things I wouldn't say I say
since the boxed will isn't working

Rain taps sequences and
shoes soft as conscience curl

At work I listened to each clapping

You want both lights on and
I want one of them off

Monsters we
with big communicating heads

Querying
acid strips

Desire's
particulars, my
failures sparkle:
diamond flakes

Maybe some day
an attic with air
in inches and
fruit flies heaving
dot hearts
at sticky windows

Being me
I would like
to have you
culpable

With some elegance
we set our distances and
objects show up sharp

I love you am peeling my calloused old heart


2.

Peregrine claws
the pigeon down
to the patch at the back
then the crows are on him
with block cacophony

The grass is damp

Leaves on the ground pattern up

She said the other night, "You're superstitious really"

I cough up a lump of ghost
and go back in

Bournville Parish Church

Chapel walls
are falling milk

swollen fly
shoves air about
and says "against"

Candle in red
glass sheath

Circle panes;
forever traps

Draped in
chocolate quilt
piano keeps stumm

My voice from
face down
in a pool of before

Fraying service book
opens
joke fatefully

There roars
a gash
smile
until it slides

Tuesday 30th September, The Lamp Tavern/ Own Way Home

1.

ar aeih ewer
shakes a reed

a mouthful will arc

    a brazen lung a
    hard hands' cup

Bust sums spool from fixéd mouth

Strings are hurt taut and in love

    a wooden lung a
    hollowed head anew

Tuber splits roots inkling
there to where so sheer

Rust antler stabs before anaglypta blue

so the Ought Not of musick hollers bright
as it should

    geologic roars
    popped air

    kicked wood

fingering a piano's guts
to silver

Scale was broke with
blood rich trembled pitch

blown down eye/ear holes I am
glad to be an animal with
tiny bones inside


2.

Man/dog shrinks
in ticker stripped
with halogen
Piss streams in
shelter Steely flats
of the reservoir
Are there owl eyes
Sheet metal billows
and so poplar sings
as odd angles do
 

Painting

done
work

looks
back

with crashed seducer eyes
then a daub wrinkles

Some thinking part
goes charcoal dark

Mote and Beam Grid tilts

Woods are made not to exist

Rose wash veils run over

Some shape
petals open hic et nunc

fur and feather echos

Flux stutters gather

Brim splits and fails

A matted hand says yes (only just) and flexes

Step in
Step back

Step in
to the insides
Again. Step back

After hometime

A sordid pillow
with entropic halo:

it is a person
on the wipe clean chair.

Woolen monkey with plastic face and
plastic hands
unfeels for the floor.

The heat
from my sweating head:

dull evap gas all breath forever lost.

Words had
crack.

In the underskin
the motive sump trembles.

Jesuit me exits and smiles wry.

Smethwick Windmill

Light effects on social scenery:
gold the shopping unit roof
until it's not and
her gold enunciative tracksuit creases up
and wrapper gold in gutter glisters

Halflit fuckery piston sheen by Matalan

It's written all over

To her girl: "It don't mean
that you're really happy"

Heineken sunglasses are no joke
Threat steps
at the crossing: "You stop, yeah?"
(set in
-flections
on repeat) and
the Jeep gleams and shudders

I sing falsetto bluebirds over
and the skinny girl catches a rail
and doesn't fall

The Waterloo's dead
with rusting Victory weather vane
wetted to muted and weovils
twist inside
next to empty struts of the yet-to-be

Our backyard - rotting
down rhubarb tops have
a something to say
and a pile of circuitry is stupid

A back turned sky very bored of alleluias
with the Sun being tucked in once

A feeling

Turn these stones
into bread


Chocolate lime dissolves in burnt mouth

Snail eggs open in the compost heap


The wrong half's naked
as the bulb stutters off

Orange lip skirts
slug with blackest eyestems
shrinking in

Crying without suffering
a thing a name
might stick to


flash
of excruciating empathy

Hands
will not conduct
tenderness

She
looks
down

Tears
wait at lids heavy
enough for the drop

Small adventures

1.

Are these leaves with black fungal kisses
living things or parts of living things or gathered up?

Sulfur stench at tunnel mouth
Impossible grass at the feet

Barge Horse Way cuts through estate

Whitest skinny kid
on some holy bicycle
Hermetick mudcaked machinery

I can see the outside of the rain


2.

Willesden Green and Finsbury
are melting among the green meadows

Now the flabby clouds shift at film speed

Memory eeks


3.

Bruise on the knee is lovely and petals
Cup the swell

Plaster teeth on piano are alive
and the piano teeth too

Pick off the scab and
show up the hollow

You fell by the woods but don't know why

Portrait 13

          Sleepy head curls
are a kept rage

  The shining wheel chair squeaks

    A long face holds
mute humanness

     I found a book full of fallen leaves  They
  fell out
  quietly

Clocks don't want
             to be noticed

        A day's sweat declares itself

     Affronts

What, she says,
            have you got tucked away there

      This head
 has shut up shop

A Stone's Throw

For all
the cut glass checks and wiping
of stains the unruly remains
to hand

left

over

to sit snug
there
on the palm

Who's here just
to guess the weight
of history hid

Raveling

Saint's eyes were scratched out
or smashed

Alabaster concepts shone

There is work there is
work to be done

old gunpowder energies

They like to retouch the scene

Somebody has to get fucked I suppose

her blistered kisser smiling in the corridor

Work it out without remainders

as clean as

Raw liver sits
on a plate and seeps

Here there's a clock angled to next

not victors

maggoty footstool hunched unkeeping secrets

Dress shirts hang
about the room like persons

photographs

Obama smiling and fading
over hairline paint cracks

bags full of
person in shaky hands

You and me were speaking at coffee speed
with living teeth

What were we wondering at?

A see saw creaks

Wild plum ripens

making a map of wrong turns

past the place
of the friend who went yampified

She holds a
finicky breath

patterning

doxa coats on

a glut of tidy cheer

wheat ears between fingers

blood smudged semolina cake

unfeeling brightness

He picks the red thread from
my lapel

rubbed between finger and thumb till gone

Ante Meridiem

There's a rose garden over
the fence, heads heavy with petals browning

Tiny dogs shit jewel heaps

B&B lads share sticky beer
juridical sunshine viciousness

A breath is a thought gone
out to evaporate

No more amens

Dust
veils
hang

Chorale

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

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

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

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?

Musick

Curling
rose head drops
and taps the
piano wood:

mouthful of sound

Feet ache
with their bleach film
naked and
out of Sun

Mown
grass shrinks
and darkens in the yard

Do love the green
and unbelieving chestnut leaves

Insolent guitar
turns face away

contains
a breath upstairs
where she

tucks up sleep
in her arms

Think on
the delicate
neck of bird

Worm makes
a circle and waits

My own way home

It isn't a wilderness
with this edged river
of diluted vitriol

Rough kids' feet
dip in

At the bridge
nun in mufti
tries to smile




What are tiny crushed-face dogs for?




red
brick
clock
death
drop

fixity

reg stitching

polished
tick tock





Jasmine sex
trails about
the physics block




Not starts but
pristine befores




These are the clean
and legitimate boys and girls

Non-joke looks are key shaped
as in in

This one's crying herself
to raw peeled face




Muirhead Tower done up
to neutered politesse

Way back when the glass sheets fell
cutting up silly ways (so they said)




Godlike I ride a Raleigh Ace (steel framed)
red as lid shy sunburnt eyes




Let the hunch back lecturer be
a marker for pre-ended history




A hole in the fence is one way through
figured with
involuntary
memo ghosts

and insect thick
and lovely dark

All ears

Foxes make baby pain sounds

Cat with thorny penis weeping too

unfurled musk tendrils

Love is a tight face

I don't want these animal adventures
bared little teeth and hid little bones

The shakes are somewhere in me

Sleeping people
just keep
their mouths and eyes shut

Bus note 96

Her forget-me-not shirt
gets sticky in breaking rain.
        Lattices of scars
        on lower arms
and rush job star scratches
on loose hung cheek:
        skin book
        of harm.
Dragonfly tattoo
looks penned on
with wrong hand
in thick vein blue.
        Steam fills
        in lenses.
The wet makes
red bare places.

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

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

Fields

For Tom Clark


1.

Undo the red wool knots

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

She unravels it her way


2.

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


3.

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


4.

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


5.

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


6.

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"


7.

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
bleak

Big fat daisies
are set out open
even
now


8.

Prickwillow    Soham and Burwell

Bottisham    Quy and Devil's Dyke and Wicken

heroic sky


9.

Condensing
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


10.

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


11.

Up the stairs to Bedfordshire
my Grandma used to say

"So do you have any friends?"


12.

Skinny little daisies shut up shop
under pastel talking sky

vaulting

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

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
blindness
or ideal teeth

ramshackle sing song       here and there

stickiness
too sweet

tenderness

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

Woke up faces
are at hand

Up top

Starlings made of spectral metal
meat   they flit

Sticky town, you win
with hick intimacies
eyes   tongues tethering

old toot stalls      nylon baby dolls
(later aflame)    a cheap decent cauliflower
dog food         fish hooks
fucked toys

Woman calls me dapper
till I trip a step

line of the Severn         unromantic
definite    
hidden old industry silts
practical fish

Subject filter's bust
lets a personhood shimmer

Something's always carried over

thumb of mollusc

a scared hairline

White woman a statue you
look to in love with her
white stillness trick

lips press
bitterness kisses

Old beast making water
Jesus, he says. Jesus

Bus note 95

        Pink porkpie
        with plasticky dogtooth band.
Jacket's frayed
and heavy tweed.
        The falling down houses
        hold up just.
A swig of Frosty Jack's
        and another swig
down burnt red throat
with sparse white hairs.
        The mower and clippers
        he does the rounds with;
mensch testimony.
        Outside Wilf Gilbert's,  
mangy blossom petals
flatten beneath
shod feet.

Bus note 94

Sunrise Senior Living:
gilded piss pot palace.
        Faraway Sun drips cold
on boy's thick-knit red kapele.
        Finicky leafless twigs
branch against syrup blue.
        Remember:
        albino deer
        set apart
        in sodden grass.
The engine judders
        and sometimes
        by accident
        I happen

Bus note 93

Her white fur head band
with flecks
of red pollution dust.
        Broken diamante phone
is a mirror where
she does up her face.
        Insect machinery
        shows up at edge.
Her inch long gold nails
window tapping
        till she turns
        and looks back hard;
        eyes perplexer jellies.
The Camp Hill boys
with smooth wealth pallor
        tick off mini-cruelties.
Sweating Chinese kid
from some long bad shift
goes along to sleep
with head to cold glass.
        Where the magnolia
        flowers cup up
        now is here.
       

Going outside

Braised steak   hid mouth pink
opens and says open and


memory cult     thick paint signals

a glue coat of not-innocent fingers
blackened
chewy crumbs


sheer awning

on to Summer's swung futile
soft grease cricket bats

No supposers: mush of now
judder the sprung stumps


Thin rat skirts peeling wall


How up is the heating

for the game disassembled


Eye slits with human glaze around


sing song acetone (smelt drape)
veil and chrome green nails

The skin dissolves again

Portrait 12

    Plait
    her
    hair
  and mackerel clouds thicken

           Her teeth split this skin
     white roof of hand
            with ganglion curls saying   up

             The cup's thrown
                  and the big bent
        jack of so and so

        Her black plastic alice band
                 serrated        
                                           not holy

                  Incisors:
               thumb   tip   cut   out

             alive     alive

                    alive

        like a stab in the eye
                   thieved kiss    
    or bursting a blister

iridescent lid dark wickedness

   Sometimes the fits
           look like laughing

Bus note 92

I sweat here being ill.
        The fog.
The shop clock's stopped.
        I shuffle off.
Six foot woman smokes
long thin cigarette.
        Her dress of triangles.
Walk over before
the green man says yes.
        My fog. My eyes.
The back of my stupid head.

Bus note 91

        Lips stretched livid
and going at it too.
        A spittle ring
        cakes there.
Eyes are 372 now questions
outneedling each other.
        He wants to be in again.
Mad with the Export
and schizo pills (aura
of closed ward)
        he works
        a thin familial recall note.
She listens and answers,
measured and scared.
        Her little girl looks
        and makes remembering flags.
Questions, wet ropes,
dark stabs over
stiffening, shutting down heads.

Music and Movement

Lungs clagged outside

       sucked smoke
  blown out as amulets

                     excremental air

        Yellow sacs are full
      with people weights

 a breather

             unseen caking
          secret stalagmites

              Fishes in blood are blind

         His bloated neck in heat
              a fat key jangle            

 sleeping tache          where
      the windowless eyes

   Us against        poverty romance or
     fucked and ready dignity

 Meandering in and out
           of stupid garden

Her with jewelled eyes
        and then bleak eyes and then
   jewelled again

           her heart her hate aflutter
              her hurt her
      hysterical hair map

Medical witnessing
                        at a chatter pace

     Decay-stained valentine, curled
                where the plumbing

       Please
       wash
       your
       hands

"We don't go
to the disco"

 And the dank old
           in the cold old
    Brythonic dropped clouds

From the back window, The Shadows:
              "Wonderful Land"



     

Bus note 90

        Whispering static
and stopped rain.
        That one in the bushes
        with the coffee again
(his pretend nature corner
traffic smeared).
        One wall left;
        brick dust cumuli.
White of Birch,
white, sick
and nearly beaming

Bus note 89

Wind flattens rental sign and
        fucks gait and pace.
Unhooks blue tarpaulin      
        over erratic lightshow
        of nip and tuck place.
Stink of skunk:
remainderer.
        Pretty girl goes on:
        "Did he think she was on her own?
        Should we like kill her or something?"
Trees pulled up and out
like some idiot joke;
        an almost subject work.

Morning

Dulled fake slate

Split lip inks up

Sky wash with bruises

A heavy necklace
of oughts

Terraceds squaring
bled rural traces

We have to call it
a drama today

Bus note 88

Empty boats
in Icknield Port
        and then
        a lump of church.
Hair branches scratch.
        "Oh!",
        the wet rot musk cloud sings.
Eyes are fucked
with caffeine shots.
        Traffic pulse desecrates and stutters.
Bare will's thinned.
        How heavy are my hands?

Bus note 87

        He taps sums
        into a fat calculator;
closed face
with vague beard growth.
        Monotony of sky outside.
The cold has been
humiliating.
        Step off and shiver
        and be unprepared.

Bus note 86

He makes another window

in the misted over window.

        Objects show

        their particular get up there.

Thinking about 

sacred stroke profane until

        Hairline itch

        at eye's rim

        full stops

and then on we go.

Going along

Gasometers are
singing down
from the Fort

road grease   nausea

dust piles and perimeter scrub
and crows at belltower vents

brittle insides

Language folded up too much

Me is a box of imaginary meat

maybe hole

unshaded

Bus note 85

Two dents in large pink head.
        Black cap passed back.
Skinny arsed teen
alights at Eye.
        Bare neon tube
        in empty frame
        of bust up sign
        above dead shop
stutters: flustered gas.
        Small boy's held stare then
my bright bloodrush viciousness.
        Cloud bunches go along over.