Scenic Painting

Dour is Sun like mush

She leads she angles    city between beeches

hollyhocks   

defo brightness      blueness

A tongue floats and sleeps so

silver vocifer     stood out breath

Home again and          arc of sleep

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".

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

O Willow

From Smethwick to Wolverhampton, Birmingham Canal

Piebald pony in sham heat
roped to a lamp post
on a Tipton verge

*

It isn't love if it isn't love
goes the switch box

*

Bullrushes
compact
dark
on pen stems

definite

*

Coseley Tunnel
kept air sharpens
with droplet calcium

The front light's swamped

*

Forgive-me-nots

He's crouched by the bank
with a thin stripped branch
as if half divining

Weeds in the water
are half seen
Are they creaking?

Crickets are all
a shook
their organ legs

We PAN, with slowly streaming weeds

*

and blackberries blacken
past black to rot dust

*

At the outskirts
inflammable tanks
will dissolve
halfarsed feathered mysteries

*

well there is
no rain just
whitened sky
     

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

On Windmill Lane