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.