Monday, 16 April 2018

Summerfield Park

      gasses from the chicken shop
  glaze our pauses and
                        two girls vape pretend clouds out
         while shot up faux silk skinny threads
weave through the vomiting cherry tree as if
        that’ll do for now
                         says who

Monday, 2 April 2018

All the heat gone

Frayed tarmac in 4pm February sun and
furtive moss clusters be gone

neon tube hiss           
              shrugged off antennae

Now all the oddbod crocus fingers creak
a yellow stepladder floats from his big arm

So bird lime at the edges of the wired glass
            history cakes  
   and blisters and 
                       half hid 
        stains on the waterbed too

No magic vestiges
                      even in felt tip flowers and leaves

                Quiet is an hour or so hung up for afters
before hometime hands say