I guess the rain

In Angleland
where pavement clings
go hug yourself

Three trees are difficult:
mixed meters

familiar rodent grin at the PO
plainness glaze     
fuckpig lines

wall face got up
wall face

The girl shrank back

Glass bled and whispered, "Not long now".

Shape Moves

Face-to red flowers below the eyes

       This fine crow trod a square to fit

lambent feels

  Thin lizard of autumn coils at feet

           and you held your breath still

        then couldn’t say

   A danced round with a pivot

        plumb dropt from who knows where

All the wrecked boom patterns in the dark

Made points

Shards glint
Moss drowses

Watch the smile slide off from vertices

Ash spasms in blue air a.m.

The root system lurks hid
As grass clumps hunker

Where there was a path a path was
Embers where

Rings of crinkled growth leaf sungen
And the noon brays cloudless

Empty teeth with arcs awry

One box with a cross on it was broke

The loam blown and gone all blown away

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

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

dry is dusk as

                  littler than you are
         (or will ever be
                          or were)
      small so
    thin and there
                                shinyblack and hid beneath
             (pinching skin of space/
                                 tiny baby pincers)
                     the dirty leaf

               trod mud is showing
                                     also rustred flecks
          and fungal thumbprints too

                                  with a smoke stink all about and
          great pink comic smear
                                         on ageing dayold sky

an almost 
arse-end-of-the-city place
near half a river's course