Thursday, December 31, 2009

caving that could have been could have had had the monster not been sighted early

the bright ^^heart rings over the hit or miss governor
sad though it seems in the little-(((90()child spotted lost
a new thing rises like corru?-&*gated plastic its limit..../?ations
sure like fire sure like the absence of angelic force////////

so she in all memory of cloakrooms inert in her concern
of staid fatherhood the occasional violence so it took her

as mechanics this not this this not this
in the garden some eventual escape

eventually a place like that a place
from where to claim something
not O not merely a place
a place from where to look down

into those phreatics to claim as vital forces

those phreatics look those
vadose those dread passages

wherein one might

if oh""""%£££ haha the 5y5monster.../// hand not reached in
haha had not ript it all out ha is that all that is left
of you now? fathre56%mudre...$)?/0000000-----------------------------

round an round the race track the little tractors came anooooooooooooooooooooooo
one went off the edge
and three (((burst into flame)))

look there has been a thing
we can't talk of it###even no# no#


Monday, December 28, 2009

quick the pirates are coming

the pirates the opirates swarm up from deeps
of sudden throat

one has three rows of teeth another
levitates from the mast foot hangs there over the ploughing ship
swells in a vicious solar flare exploding rains down
realigns at the poop then seastates forth big and menace

these pirates all of them in a wrack language
advance with cutlasses to where we are hollowed
heads out in our fearful caboozes

what is it with you pirates we ask

they shimmer then as though a startle had come across
we go with that
flinging turtle shells we rock-oxen swinge
the pirates in lurks there at the tabernacle they oyster out threats

we gather in like fry we eat up good all phosphorus and wave top

again the pirates have come up the thwarts
squidflooding their mouths at us

all the Last Day to come again in pink neptune arrays
you could bask in

reading wet books
till forever cracks


Thursday, December 24, 2009

black bird tongue

one of the kids is going feral
I saw him looking out the window
at a blackbird in the snow
his eyes stark yellow his tongue flicking
engaged and slow a week later he came in with a rabbit
in his mouth slicked it down blooming and bloody on the carpet

still jerking a little
look he says what I have brought to the table
I am concerned for his future as a politician
or town dignitary if the Press learn of this early deviance
this is how they start
then scales form behind the ears
next thing they sprout feathers
from the shoulders

and all is lost
I hope for some intervention from upon high
to save my son from the high winds
that have come so early upon him

there is still
(the air is still)

just....... time


parachutists of the pink disaster

so I have a new hat
that's just not good enough to stop the world

FDR himself in Morocco said that a hat is only an abstraction
of sex
of therefore the dream of war

Stalin of course leaned right over and requested
a retranslation

what the fuck he said he said
does he mean it?

all the while my new hat Tzara fishattack buried
treasure as if the goats had gone crazy now

down by the river the hatmen leaning in
a certain stench that cries over the hills

Paulus wringing his hands in apology
like oh I didn't really mean it

sorry I have gone back to Stalingrad
where my love waits
with machine chocolate

is this the end
is this
the end?


Stalingrad silent night

maybe it was at the tractor factory at Stalingrad
that humanity became enlightened
that the Buddha learned of the sniper art

my kids there in the rubble screamed along
with the Katyushas ran with the wild dogs
that came starving from the cellars

something broke there in the scream
some part of humanity looked out from the snow
and thought jigsaws might be an equally good way to go

into the night
sex was never an issue
it just flared like that like a dog had barked
or had failed to bark somewhere down by the stables

the presence of politicians is a corrupting taint within humanity
this is known

yesterday my heating went off
do you think I wept about it?
no I burnt what was available
starting with memory and working out

at the end of every forlorn meal in the underground
some new love begins

I mean you don't have to fuck your mother
just because she didn't like the chocolates
and you want to say you care

these are mistakes
like lying to children
telling them you are Batman
that you can fly more or less

you know sometime you will have to do it

better always to carry a few small sticks and find a bridge

this is what they were taught
in that old singsong tractor hymn
of Bing Crosby Stalingrad snowman walking
hey can you smell carrots?

nor women neither nor women
wolves from Ethiopia strangled in through tunnels
to a Palestine zoo

autosave failed
Christmas lifts over the rooftops like


Wednesday, December 23, 2009

moments in the spirit room

around about midnight
the ghosts start to bite

on the stair
a walking chair
now the electricity starts up

in this room alone
the time zone
logic lapses
I am thrown
spirit world I try hard
to keep my head up
but how do you explain
someone knocking on my door just now
so it thundered so it wept into the vast openings
of night yawing like bullets through flesh

yes of course I opened it
of course no one was there

all around that unseen clamour


Monday, December 21, 2009


thango ingdown
upcome re turnarrive staired
down by the upeye


Sunday, December 20, 2009

Le Dormeur du Val -- a translation of Rimbaud

it is a hole of greenery where a river sings
hanging madly to grasses
tatters of money
where sun of the mountain shone
it is a small valley which foams of rays a young soldier stop
open naked head and the nape
bathes in cool blue cresses
sleep it is wide in grass under the naked one
pale in its green bed where the light rains the feet
in the gladeoli it sleeps smiling
as would smile a sick child
it makes a nap Nature
rocks it warmly: it is cold
the perfumes do not make any more shiver
its nostril it sleeps in the sun
the hand on its tranquille chest
two red holes on the right

passing strange food mouth to mouth

being in love no—not that the wind
doesn't still when you step outside

(someone has their hands over your mouth
in your mouth around your head someone
holds you as you fade)

like you were broken into saccades
like they had sliced up your senses

the trees harbour dark things
the night is a wild white train driving
into its own abdomen
—digital craqelure shatters above

rains down glass and ice
see here is your face your thousand faces
in the rain memory
wake here at nightfall
where the hares dance dusk dawn grasp
with tiny hands we come running again
to your arms hold me hold me unbreathing
in the shallow brown water

below us shapes flick
not so in love that you wouldn't know it
nor so we fade
as the barking of dogs
over forest rides love is a mouthful
of pine needles the feel of a wet pelt
the stench of the other
—blood in the snow
hold me there beneath the snow

until the choirs have passed by
—again at dawn the thing on the bedhead watches
every day now it grows more vivid

soon it will speak
in the empty house
that no one will approach


Saturday, December 19, 2009

Lilith - An Anthology of Women's Poetry

Is now available here: click this link

I'm plugging this book partly because some of my friends are involved in it, and partly because there's some excellent poetry in there. Highly recommended.

Thursday, December 17, 2009


goblin who is not my enemy
goblin who looms at my edges
waiting for sunlight
to tug at the curtains
to run out
clasp at my heel

not enemy not saboteur

nor the unkind words of loved ones

mist that hangs
in air
after spasm stillness
in wet grass

who is neither loved

nor unloved
who waits

for a succession of moments
that come to nothing

swirl of your dust
your sadness, your trying-again
you who are not entirely my enemy
even now

withdraw my medication
I watch from some distance

that all things of the body
are sort of holy
sort of terrible

faintly irresistible,
compulsion itself
just the shadow
into which words fall
when voice stops
in this world
moves elsewhere

please don't burn so hard so fast
for the smoke offends my fucking eyes also of my friends here
at the next table

O I must have words
with you in your dart of sunlight
goblin of my heart
my own wordless night

here we are beyond recall rolling rolling

she pounds the table (who pounds the...?):

1. Remember this time damn it the waves,
the count the clock all of it remember she says remember...

2. this croupier no one you ever knew just a door banging in a wind
a hand reaching for you so much as start to breathe ugly how you do

beyond recall:

goblin of my spinning
flame in the day
goblin hands that reach to catch
hands that pull away

goblin of the heart's engulfing
roll the old yellow dice

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

an arch planchette

of the genealogy of long argument written
from the inside with a planchette or something
(one must assume the most common shape)

try to avoid being swept into eddies
he took some blood from me—I hate that
(his staff are not very polite)
I was shy at that time of my life
with the very concept of pollution

influential people/the law...
he might try learning some manners
like almost every pollutant
I'm worried about public relations

to some extent large or small
always a natural background

he tested my urine
that can show quite a lot of things
many wrecks were lost simply because
of a strong tidal stream

you're too young he said
maybe you'll get it later

the tests are very curious


life without the civilising intervention of regular oral sex

uh i don't want the earth to keep on
in its track no i don't want santa to come no more
nor no fairies to squat by the river
singing low plaints to the love of children
no i want it all to break and fail
all women to rush suddenly from their bloodbeds
intent upon burning something
all men to lift hammers and crush their own fingers
one by one in their workshops
then retire to nearby hostelries with straws
to contemplate with bloody women
the next act of clarity

(air in the bells. lake-voices at ring in the noonfish church.)


Monday, December 07, 2009

language acquisition device

she's never kissed me in any way that made sense
she turned her head slightly
looked out at the starlings in the rain
turned back like this
avidly read about starlets
from the newspaper
that was scattered on the floor like huge wet leaves flopped there
in a fucking flop crisis

in the night, though, starlings she looked
owls she looked also
many seafaring midnights of birds she looked
catafalques and stoops as though of doom yea she looked

me all so passionate but had to entwined look
so I too
yeah there they were, both of them dying
in front of the gas fire
hey hey what's going on he wakes now thinking like a hen on fire
don't be ridiculous

why you sit in trees with starling rain rain idiot
night of the stretches the trenches the facial
twigs tendrils cobwebs mycelia of the dream nothing
Buddha god moonlight of limbs what you want to take me
there where the moon bounces
no yet again I am not invited
to my own funeral

baltic sea 1955 wtf cold as angels mmm...


voice of violet war

put here your illegal ear
to the crystal set

his wartime voice of the hollows calls
Danzig—the Finland Station—Archangel
from tractors in rubble London calling
now war is enigma coding nickel from The Finns/oil from Ploesti
........morsing out Ultra .... .- -.. -. --- - - .... --- ..- --. .... -
- .... .- - -.. . .- - .... .... .- -.. ..- -. -.. --- -. . ... --- -- .- -. -.--

London crawling into its own rats unreal the voice of paper night
sirens of Goering's drub... violet descent all stations all stations
......................rat voices from the thin megaphone
flow down into an organ stench at Saint Pancras & the King's Cross
all-atlantic emergency from Hut 5 Hut 6 (unknown)
the fog signals fly in

Wetter setzt Messe. Das ist die glückliche Zeit.
Alaska nach Liverpool. Das ist die glückliche Zeit!

(into the cold alive moment frozen in the warm moment
all stopped held tight the thin voice
.................................the moment) den kalten lebendigen moment
...................eingefroren im warmen moment
- .. .-.. .-.. .... ..- -- .- -. ...- --- .. -.-. . ...
.-- .- -.- . ..- ... .- -. -.. .-- . -.. .-. --- .-- -.
let us go then you and I
Queen Mary ship of dreams
solve et coagula cathedral in the smoke
report fire here light and not light and light there look
every light in its own water

so many of us just quietly borne away
little lights at sea
............................our tiny Darwins all gone out
finched alive in fire and squeak

Sunday, December 06, 2009

fissures of men

·´¯`·.¸. , . .·´¯`·.. ><((((º>`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸.·´¯`·...¸><((((º>


Sky TV is amazing just a couple of months
and you know almost everything there is to know
for instance did you know that everyone was a cannibal?
no, see, but it's true, those Neanderthals you thought
ate grass and sang river songs petting each other
with big stupid placid grins like bovines no
they were all munching each others haunches

every chance they got you couldn't go to sleep back then
and hope to wake up with limbs crikey no that's why
they died out from sheer tiredness of having always
to stay awake and watch one's extremities and the Anasazi
that you thought spent their days tending gardens
and inventing games with corncobs in fact they had
a special delight in internal organs and bone marrow

of their neighbours and relatives even it turns out
Jesus when they discovered his grave—dude got half a child
sticking out his dead mouth seems he died from biting
off more than he could chew all holy guys get it the same way
either chugging on cock so hard they forget to breathe
or like Mohammed choked on a burger made of the brains
of a Jew neighbour he caught frying up his wife............yeah I guess
without Sky you know nothing all of you don't even see
the slavering nightmare that creeps upon you

even as we squeak now me I got myself prepared and oiled ready
for to offer myself spatchcocked whole to the history channel


Saturday, December 05, 2009

dark upon the faery flow

late afternoon and the sun
in September
a window
up a shadow ladder
you'd never guess
in an apple orchard
everything gleaming
almost in love
somewhere there in the leaves
in the trees the sunlight
a door a ladder what
fairies everywhere
in transposition
all of a sudden all of a hold
fireside no I mean yes
look at this then how
the light leans in low
almost they tread upon my boots
as leaves mythic really they seem gleaming
each a little waterfall of dark light
something like light
something like it

ready for the off


Friday, December 04, 2009

sunny down south

member A from
has sent
and you have requested
that you be notified

of this event
the content of this message is
no I don't

how long would this

don't most of
well you started it
you can view

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remember that you can always
choose not to be


this message was

Do Not Reply!


hurt chords by J

search the web, Bing

he wants to be John and June
Klondike 1932 they came running like like
rotten fruit drip from the mouth
was sex politics back then in the etherised
shamericas of youth I mean it though
that shameless familiarity with skirts
the certainty the utter clockwise
i hurt myself today to see
here nothing here nothing here whirling girls
she was on the streets at 7 years old wauling
les ombres de la rue
little slut you should have guillotined her mother way before
as if table upon said in more
now look again upon the clock
facial tictactoe facial cumshot
all of us dripping in our even bukkake

no one laughs in this custard pie event
even the clock/cock shuts
(wrong twice a day imagine there in the carking shrubbery a strange face peered out its yellow vibe through long, long leaves)

air in the bells. lake-voices at ring in the noonfish church


Saturday, November 28, 2009

in even avenues of love

(this takes only a moment
but gives you increased capabilities)

if the grain is kept straight
.............................and held so
with conviction and compass
then the mere will allow
that across to the felds a wife
....................or what or wifwhat

eek from afar as though even song
through water................was sprung
imagine more then than a water wife

who bounds o'er dark floods
her entire head now bubbled & hove to
the variance of a new North

upholded there in such sea hills
staymates and thwarts

(press this button once only)

the attack the attack
..............................least of all
in the smallest things O some new chaos

.......................rupt the night
in which we look
Oh therein his earnest helm and heck

as though there were no none of it
ugh yes no nonce of the word of it eating of it
"no longer any mouth to put it in"

pshaw! now nothing is to be done

07762 888118
anyone with the answer
please call before morning


Thursday, November 26, 2009

Lights fall from the Old Man of the Sea (a wrestling poem for Rus Bowden)

we hold until I am exhausted

he is a trickling thing of sand
a scintilla that drains back into the beach

a shock of trees
released by strong winds
he is a fish, a slither
an eel that flits away
then has me pinned

he is all around me
he clenches, shoves my face
towards his
buried down there
beneath our grinding feet
iron-eyed our faces

stare it out underground
through lock and tremor
we are two seismic prayers
to a god divided

he is a lion he is my mother he is the flicker of songbirds falling
as black snow in early evening my fingers are wings are poems
within his smoke we fold back to embrace
count five sudden things of magic
stamp and hold tight

lion mother phantom
my lost brother
whistles hard in the waves

old father in the fallen leaves offshore

we walk into the sea
each carrying the other
light as children who cannot return
rise only as the tide
sends up her drowned lanterns

each with his heart of red sand
catching, holding

our breath beyond reach


Wednesday, October 28, 2009


now I feel like someone

shoved a huge fish into my throat
if you look into my gaping mouth

you can just make out
its pucker just see the glint

of its eyes back there
a monstrous glottal stop

I look out it looks out
those are my eyes too

in there my eyes its eyes
mouth in mouth it wriggles

it freaks I am in the stink of it
all down my oesophagal culverts

its tail flaps from my cloaca
visible even within new trousers

cut for concealment
I now waddle with its cold

between my outer legs
maybe I was always a bit fishy

but this, this, O my people
is something new


Wednesday, October 21, 2009

a moth in your mouth a moth oh good god

on the way home from the pub
a guy accosts me
in a alley
a dirty high hat
breathing it up like an alpaca
or some other stern beast
think you are a poet he says
I am going to kill you poet fuck
tell me how the night sky
add up to nothing how the wind
blow everyone apart
tell me biggest secret
you know
thinks you are so special you
stick a gun cold in my eye
tell me tell me or quickly die
I can't help think
this is the great moment
the whole dirty history of poetry
I have the answer ready
always same answer
ooze from everyone's belly
silence beyond everything
for its expression
I got nothing I say
I am just go home in a cold and stiff wind
please don't harm me
or I will herewith uncoil and eat at your whole fucking head
for I am already known as the gravedigger
even amongst the merest flowers

of evil at which he smiles and becomes now my friend
hand in hand we beguile the night
around us buildings collapse softly
we squat together eat butterflies
that druggle in the mouth
both of us glint
like Autumn storms coming in
leaked low & let loose

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

cows of a the causeway 2

she comes in from the rain
says hey what’s for dinner
says hey..........I'm thinking
of having sex with him next door
at weekends just a sort of arrangement
I haven't told him yet
thought I'd slip it past you first
..................sure he says

he likes you &

his wife would watch
if there was nothing on TV
while we're at it I should tell you

I have a similar deal
....................with your Dad
sometimes your Mother watches
not always sometimes she turns
away............... to gaze at the wall
that writhes with damp and cold
tides of old wallpaper windows
of seaglass ghosts and head-high nettles
..............................the drowning of children

sudden outside voices now stilled O

I dream about such walls as that
..................don't you?
yeah oh yeah she says she slides closer
he feels her moving around inside
but can think of nothing to say
................................—to sum it up neatly:
outside in the garden a gale
whips the washing line
into wild skipping rope cycles
that rip at the long unmown grass
ghost children spring up
beating time.............. into stars

everything is unkempt and ugly

for a few seconds
he bursts over himself
laughs a little awkwardly
shrugs it off
smooths himself
back into place

his face a blue skull
he steps he dances the slow starfish
he veers

aloud to her incoming



Friday, October 16, 2009

tea coal (self mortrait at dawn after delayed flight)

I sat up all night smoking looking
into some distance as though awful faces
there in the night looked back I wonder
sometimes if I will smoke until
it dries me up like an old timber stood
derelict above the tideline desolate
until I am well enough of myself
desiccated in my own salt and voice
just a thing that looks out
from a pile of frass
feeling for myself in stutters of radio
—it is at these times

that I am at my most inhuman as though
I might rush out and engage
in some act
motivated entirely by silence
by something there in the mist
which I do not even feel
sometimes this is an elevating thing
that makes me climb rooftops in darkness
an animal wired to the night

in that arching pilot rictus
it is in pain that I appear most real
watch the needle
I look to find myself there
in the scattered leaves of late October
look here it is already in the coming repetition
of late hunt it down
for this is an interactive animal
barely brushed by late winds
folded in like a baby that sucks
its own shadow
knowing no other mother to clutch

the sensation is that of a cold moss that seeps
behind the face somewhere
in the olfactory wall the haunted cavities
of pre-language it runs down
through the thoracic circle the abdomen
with its distant cries and heave
it eddies and corrupts in the genitals
settles finally as a dying reptile
in the ossified knee joints

stifled and unspeaking
its tiny mouth stuffed with mothers
stretched in death's happy alarm
over and forgotten

but feel free to add
your little fucking soft
afterdark breath in your ear
handsliding alerts

& be aware that you dance with the dead people
you are in the presence
of the dead
the sexy dead people

for one night only O
the blinding lights are blowing below


Friday, October 09, 2009

Darvaz: the Door to Hell

this vanishing act runs dry

around of midday I arrives at your house
I don't says much
but swans around there in your backyard

all the while fixes you with wild faces
like a goat
suddenly released into a cinema
couldn't find its way out
got angry sat up on stage glaring out at the crowd
like the devil its elf
bleching out fury
Casablanca running like the sea
white and black
across its hairy toggenberg face

O beard of the prophet now sweep down
this could be the beginning of a uh beautiful elation

"such people we saw the like of there
such glory and fineness walking"

yes oh yes we on Sunday visited him
we found him much diminished
in both cognition and physical ability

you have no idea what's happening now

you, I say, you

I stuff your letterbox with petroleum jelly
I will dance hoofing like a wild buffalo on your car

on your doormat you find
an offer of marriage
a broken balloon
but what care I for your goosefeather bed?

oh if only these words
had fallen suddenly like dead sparrows in China
into ponds all over town


Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

teaching a boy /θ/ to enunciate

(the boy with the blue hat under the wailing-tree
finds himself in a wasp world maddeningly abuzz

swirls of dental fricatives hold him electrically crucified
shimmering above the plain
he has therefore no meaning and must withdraw quickly

for into such confusion we sashay like vampires
stopping camp upon the half stair half turned insistent
that this is the music such children made
of what the night
Bela Belial
undone teaching the unboy to enunciate peripheral
phonemes of the edges of the mythos grosso I wanted
to hack my way through dream conquistadores
drift upon high the philosopher's tone
the alkahest)

all of it out of reach drowned in articles
in dense green capillary the delta swoon
silver guitar amazon pirarucu sucking in prey
it has teeth everywhere grinding teeth
it has no language
the trees now deep in black water it waits
in the roots always wakeful

the thing
black as water lapping
waiting always

any real poem should come up close
breathe hard in your face
to murder your family

after that it's as if a boat was cut loose
by drunken strangers at midnight

crashing in your dreams

tomorrow and


Monday, October 05, 2009

Sunday, October 04, 2009

have you even any idea?

and what if a young boy just had enough
6 years old he saw a TV thing
that said this is the age of the self
your parents no longer feel a sense of duty
he quite reasonably buys the hour
of the hoot as the dawnwash
elevated he flows let me O god let me
garrotte this hollow
that in his hollow he dives
straight through into the schwa between
where the rats
such a thing such a thing
such a thin and awful thing

hi he says I'm new here
to a piratical fetch on a drippage
both of them squat where
watches below the slow

point he gets that he is the Buddha
he sees that work below him
flowers and new bread emanate
he p[onders] becomes intoxicated
he jumps
he enters the swim
years later
he wakes still there poised

what then he asks
what now

he curls back in
understanding the impossibility of everything
I will eat bananas then he says
I will eat biscuits
and gaze from on high
waving my uncut wand
playing with it gently
waxing it up

or I will slough gently into it all
either way
I think my cock just dropped off
maybe it's time to start
a riotous religion of reeling rats
all of whom now fall to their feet

Christ only knows
where they were before

this acrobatic stuff

aeroscape nude encounter
now you endless (I don't mean
just don't even bask
for again I'm fucked out with the full flood
squawks of
little miss skygod
hacking (to be honeytoed) all night
christ no

moresongs of love i hate love now just like you

me washing in on
the stupid blue beach
a big bird eye watching

repeat after me
such anthems of
stark /sorrow/ treelines
snow has gone bad

he wakes again with his gun
to the Buddha's head
everone in the building has a hardon
to see what come next

things slide now
into the cage

the Terror and not the Terror

"offer yourself to him" -- Withnail and I


fucking a ship in a bottle of world peace

so he is just washing his dick
and gets to concentrating on that little hole
through which it looks out
and sprays the world
and he digs into it just to see
like what's down there
he keeps going
are there animals maybe
a shrieking jungle thing of genital interior
caverns of bloody white crystal
in he goes digging they find him later
head down stuck airtight in his own hole
feet quivering up in the air


Sunday, September 27, 2009

the night's travel

in and now out the same door
like all knives whirling
our utter politics in collisions
of limestone pavements

across all this she travailed
with sepia sandbags
of County Clare

all sailroads to traverse
and only 8 O-clock
by the whale's chime

this big hand by the night's wild travel
points to 12
the little hand
flickers and stops

iris of heart attack hope
—love of small things
and wild places

be certain now be sure

it's that time
in between
where the hands don't count

it's okay to be scared here
to lie down and breathe
to lie a little
before waking


Friday, September 25, 2009

tout n'est pas pour le meilleur dans le meilleur mince de tous les au-delàs impossibles

Burroughs & Gysin

The Perkl Light energy spa

Realdoll sex dolls

The Rapture Index

Animal Trials

Buddy Christ

VietnamNet article.

Bastards of The Party

Lynch Law Investigation

The ZEB Device

Sybian & Venus

The Grim Reaper

"The most moral army in the world"

Flicker streaming online

An American man smiles at Iran

Gatling bench test

The Hideous Sun Demon Movie

Horseflies Hush

Poetry as circular EVP records its own breathing

bodyfield part 1 )ectoflarf(

is there another tenant in the building,
that we are unaware of?
—Terence McKenna
keep coming through on the radio
—the Rezillos
.............the creature in a sudden wind
scents its own past

all up the valley (du dormeur)

your deathpixie shriek (can they be insane?)
ベン=マイモーンmagnetic resonance imaging

[2 3月2日skeet Mishnah-Nephesch ミシュナー
..........................oh you ugly electric fuck no Morphism
.......................(圏論) not as we know it no Mo-ho-notheism 一神教
.......................of soft descent May 23 (*) will be too late...]

遊牧民 Dunkirk ダンケルク [dun church the circus the starchamber]
ah ghostly MelanensO how soft thy rivertongues at night the Glob
ファック urgent consider stop consider the bodybomb
Ia Drang bubblewrap エIアキャップ

... エホバの証人の教義j

.........................The Karate Kid
as a sequence of radio prints
[what is the unconscious map of this event?]
the track by which you arrived

........................(Disregard the sudden beauty
........................of the stars, Watson,
........................someone has stolen our fucking tent)

—can you be insane?
ベスト・キッド Life-death-rebirth
retriangulate (adj)
snow fills his eyes with dusk & shit

[pilot blind & avid this vector this
.........course to steer] [the drowned boy in the attic
records fearfully his own footsteps]

there where the slowho
petals of the bright nightcat flick?)


Sunday, September 20, 2009

scull soft as I oracle

each morning I drop
by the gas station
on the way
to the dropoff [dropdown/flux/a little skirt
the freak-fire in the wet]
I emblood outstick
the noxxle to my lips let it flow flood fillup
36lbs per square inch by inch
gets me inflated and heady
ready to crush
what is in my path arrive at work
with dead moths spread in my eyes
begin the slow climb
up the wall to the yellow light extended distaff erectio
here and there I will
catcall remains of my grandfather
through the long and winding one such day
clinging to a fatbulb with bulging eyes
you know blowhard [scat] it ain't easy
I look forward only—

only now with such investment in the fusèd skull


Saturday, September 19, 2009

poem for Maria

when I was eight years old
my Dad would wrestle with me
would hold me down
twist my arm behind my back
say give in submit
I never would
you can break my fucking arm
before I give in
I would say
in other gasped words
because I didn't yet know
these words
you're mad he would say
and get off me
distantly sensing the danger
that was to come

this dilemma of murder
unhinged me until
I was in a supermarket one day
and finally understood
that gods are shrivelled things
doled out by uninterested fishmongers
in worlds of stinking grey ice


Friday, September 18, 2009

love in the middle of a firefight

the man is only twenty years— Cho Siu (1946)

old when the thing hits him
like a bullet
causing a disruption cone
that builds
as yawing begins at a tissue depth

of nine centimetres
the thing that hits him
like a bullet
is full-metal-jacketed boat-tailed
a copper-plated steel coat

steel core and lead
not a metaphor of love
just a chunk of metal
like love its purpose

profound disruption
of tissue
not necessarily death
but a wholesale tearing apart
of the interior

all his torso a latent hole
not gaping
but frowning


Monday, September 14, 2009


in the shaft down to Wycoller
steep and trodden deep descending sunlight alley
I was on my knees
like a magnifying glass
with my book of flowers
trying very hard to look
at a tiny tormentil
that had suddenly erupted from the banks
of the seventeenth century

in great difficulties of scale I now rolled
all down the packhorse track
in my new fractal hair and gait


love perm of the postmodern water reflex

how much do I need you?

I read about how bodybuilders
starve themselves of water during the last days
of training for a competition

the bodyfat comes off through cycling and pumping
they achieve maximum vascularity
all those vessels pimping out etc

it's difficult to get an erection
or think straight
or grow hair

the body cries for water
the many cries of the body

that much then

be assured that I've never ever said this to anyone else
this bodybuilder thing


diary entry date mutable (show don't tell

as though boiled water were itself the reagent
of consciousness I have added it to the fungus
though I expect to consume the body itself

when the water is nearly gone
already the sweat starts
but as yet no flying reindeer
I am gripped by the fear that resemblance

has no third party
but sink again into the reassurance that
it can always be described
and that it would be entirely Wittgenstein

to ignore the mathematics of poetry
this and this but look this resembles this
in that its nose is of similar length and hue
its hair is like
come running with a measure

to test the third proposition
this is not an etheric hover

it was observed that the actual host
engendered some nausea
& required some persistence and strength
to swallow
but for the sake of humanity

the thing was done
with only a little spray

thereof one must shout and show
& wieldof always a sauvage umbrella
in the manner of a determined Englishman
who will tolerate no foolishness
from foreign devils


Sunday, September 13, 2009

your ardent gripe

so imagine this man underwater
in a rapid current
attempting to fit a bolt into a tiny aperture
over and over

the precision atrophies
as the exhaustion increases

by 19:33 he has had enough

sinks and drowns himself
throws it all up and surfaces shouting
kick kick
gets fierce and fastens in
now he is the river man
with fins

the dawn cracks over his head
just his eyes
slick the surface
wild fish eyes in the spray
body silence
beneath waiting

like him i will never
you know


Thursday, September 10, 2009

monster of light

the drunken men haul in home in on something they found
a dark alley—a storm of leaves—a bell
,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,for a light
to shine upon it they sing low as they go
drag it behind
nor even feel or know or sight

it suck the long red shadows
from their backs
reach for home with nothing
..................a line that stretches away
..................into the cracks

their song used up
dusted in sleep
dawn kiss them goodnight
the world's last soft kindness
mulched in the deep

through the curtains
on the face of a sleeping child
the ticking stops light
floods in
drowns it all

.......................traces of a man
in the tidemark light
still flickers still
a book still open
where it fell

to some same page years later where now nothing

nor the softest knell


gnostic myth

the iconic brass boy stands on top
of the world urinating violently
his laughter cracking the floor

running down and around steaming
like an onion it drips off the south pole
reels out into space droplets

that catch the sun in golden spray
freezing in the vacuum of gaze
swinging back to attention

each is not a little world
just think of him up there
laughing like a clanking ape

nothing else happening anywhere
everything just silent waiting
until it's enough
until something remembers
reaches down
strokes it up into arousal

they wait forever
in their shared breath
each a tree grown into the other
leaning in together
for the last laugh


Thursday, September 03, 2009

sea-beams glitter

don't fuck around of course I've [i uv] felt it
on the roof in the rain naked *//[of goat husbandwidth devilfish]

alongside longsight secreted camera aliceaforethought

the neighbours watching the firemen the police shouting the priest
couldn't hear them at the time jump kid jump drink drive jump black


flag coming off as I did with a great slither
into Death
that with the warmth of history uploaded in squalls
exits the new language of ponds

looky here you have stormlight
crawling over the moment
you have the stone arch of the urge

you want the warmth I see
down the hall mother I don't want father

all of it runs/down over your face/face
and you sitting there giggling in the cafe

O she asked her for a fuck
but she said that was yuck
to do it in the park
when it was cold an dark

in the cafe you thin thing full of squawking rope
coughing out I would like to thank the academy
that schlucked you outta its soul so |]=] I could
love you love you unknown attenuate of the backdoorman

your stoop sweeping down walls of light
I get it fuck
how it might have been there over the water

skin rolling back growing new eyes
one asshole staring out pronouncing of +words

............squaredoff landscape ugh//?make it numeric I donts got to <>jump in the wild<> windhay no more
............with tha fuckfish

octodata agency will square you away

meep meep meep mop meep mop 2323(left leg in)

submarine rescue

field the killcard at last orders


posting an application

stuck inside of Mobile—Bob Dylan

put it in she says
there are fields of static whenever I get close
the whole moment fizzes
we wait there with stuff dripping off us
magnet squawk rearrangement woo
I'm spinning
put it in why

better in than out she says

who says there ain't teeth in there waiting
to end all this I ask and she looks in no no teeth she says

just a wide open moment from either end

you don't ask you don't
see the sunrise over Karnac
get off me

the lights came on everyone was there laughing

okay I blew it the old fucking letter game

three nights alone on the tower
with a wet towel
listening to them cavorting below

petting my crow at dawn
I plan to start a cult with teeth
that will pull you up quick
listen mother I will kill your children
you don't stop this magnet woo

please consider me most earnestly for this position
me and my dead candle crow atop

—oo mama can this really be the end?


logolith riff

come out with the Dutchman—William Burroughs

he is just a small fracture
a god dancing behind the screen there
tugging the words like teeth
from our mouths I made him broken

in the forest shades before waking
come out with your hands
at least
come out come out whoever I tell him

you owe me adoration............ it is now vital
that we get this wrong
that this train does not move it only waits

for time to dial in a new station

on the wheels a new fix
over and over the same time
come out with the Dutch
man-woman-cloud He only becomes
...........................real if I rub His lamp

watch now hush
the bushes shake shake

the beginning of the world is, uh, nigh

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

gimme that old time religion

sauvage (I know you don't like but let it spread
the world/weep for a ruminous presence in the channel
listen listen again to the codes that fly in
we are into it now this triangulation

I have you fixed . . . I approach at night
sleek and slick with oils of the body you nestle there

[insert Roy Orbison]

in the offset of dreams

in the whirl of out of date
no longer for consumption

a little glimmer

so we advance

into the third nest we go
huddle there
open mouths incapable of the merest flap
all of us finally aware & stark the moment

O you have fucked my girlfriend
or something
things like that

this how shoved tiny
we feel stuff
Charles Manson desperate to be loved
it all turning inward outward sour sick love

love me love me he cries he carves he craves
he cavorts there at the mind's edge cutting
swastikas of fucked love

even this holy hate is just love
as hunger
...........eating at itself like stuffpig

this what I mean
tiny complication
tower over us each morning in the sandstone
do you see
the little birds sedimented
sacrificial children
there in the frozen grit

quick before they melt away?


so we huddle

now we are entering the deeps

reference to nothing typewritten (learn more)

it is not possible to be fully happy
if you are sentient
in such a place
but at least one can smoke
in the corner
by which I mean that masturbation
and eating are acceptable practices
under the same Sun we shift
moonbeam motherfucker


caring made uneasy just because yes this again

leading lights down Lune Deep

father a convicted paedophile mother a drug addict
how the labels trip off into a general heading
a compass bearing into the ferns

see where a trail treads in
but nothing emerges

now follow this deep channel
look down look down says Bill

this is all make believe shapeshift

they killed your heart
killed your future
who did?

time did...

no wait it's a bricked-up cave full of bats
you can't see in
you'll have to imagine what they do in there
in the few days before they die

it doesn't just pass down it gets worse

people kill a child
they do worse things to themselves

suicide is murder
and self-abuse is abuse

it is impossible to speak from the trees outside

we won't fix this until we jerk that Hitler
died before he was a teenager

it all seems so big here
the trees the houses the people
all of them outlandish
sparkling like crows over carrion
have you seen this shine?

fighting so hard for the right
to be powerless
without lift
sucked down into it

ringing its own big bell on the causeway


every little person doing
the worst best they can


I almost believe in God


Monday, August 10, 2009

the soft and quiet way in to the back room

it comes on
the black librarian with all sails
full up with quiet
his huge handclap
over the ears and mouth
urgent with disaster
it comes on

I will need help
in this new world
with such airs shining

with such dazzling murder stifled agog
I wish I was in Dixie
with the trees walking
the clouds talking

but a flat earth floats above

hush little baby
a bad man is coming upstairs

one day all this
will be yours)

in dreams I stand there
with a spear
looking down into darkness

who's there?
who's there?

will I sacrifice myself?

is there understanding in this wake
of the inept surge towards stairtops?

a new moment without commas has come
under it
the ground rumbles


instances of barnstorming at the last

O you people you spirit vagrants
whose necks do not twitch
when the dawn hits like roosters
sitting on cold chimney stacks
I can't help you

a wind there was a wind
that flapped around the world

what did you know of it
there in the dark circus?

my mother stuck a pig's head neck down
in the tarmac
like a challenge
—this is a reality I can't convey

we took it from there
we lay together
we softened slowly

then in a sudden wind

his moment of Zen
his analysis
which I took to heart
was that he'd only been here for the beer

this sadness flooded the place

I needed wild wild cranes to bring me back
to such urgent hooting


sea area Irish Sea never-drift-never wreck at low water

she leans close and asks
do I have a girlfriend
she reaches up my sleeve
feels my bicep like it is
a tulip swelling
a phallic cipher

I'm only here for the beer
says her grinning boyfriend

they want me to go home with them

the engine whines then breaks
we drift
it's sunny and the sea shines
I enter the sea
spin the propeller
both ways
it's not stuck
but something is wrong

we're just like that around here
she says
you can't buy a drink

outside in the broken glass and blood
little things crawling
not insects or mice
little things
looking up asking

the Fleetwood lifeboat tows us in
along the buoyed channel

all of this is lost in the static

we were somewhere North West of the perch
280 degrees off the West Cardinal drifting
in shallow water without personal power

when the Vampire struck

it took two of us off before we realised

you want to know truth
ask a traffic light


Wednesday, August 05, 2009

Tuesday, August 04, 2009

I don't know what you mean

all of our words
hang above an underground lake
words are totally silent things

don't think they have sound

all that can be heard are the drips
that rain from the roof

below this is another chamber
into which the drops transpire
through layers of rock

below this another

it's not turtles all the way

it's lakes

none of it is what it is
only what it's above
and below

it should be working about now
the paralysis


Sunday, August 02, 2009

Jeremy Brett

Poirot nothing—
Jeremy Brett
was Zen
in the Art of Archery


Saturday, August 01, 2009

unedited tagflarf Jesus

I enjoy mind games.!. .wtf? Really seems .like half the have .head, n.ot me! I'm the pos.ter child for ze.nitude. I was a littl.e bored so I .went online to see .w.hat was g.oing .on. I c.ame. a.cross. your profile page a.n.d wanted to sen.d you .a little message. I you live nearby and that's .a .HUG.E plus. Not .sure .though because .I'm just vis.iting the area .and .sta.ying a frien.d. I'm into most types of ph.ysical, but NO.T into on.e night sta.nds. I like to find a .guy. to da.te. I l.ove listening to m.usic, s.inging ka.raoke and doing load.s o.f other. cool stuff.. I. also like hanging out at coffee shops and .pubs. I like d.rinking beer.. Ask .me abou.t my. wild .trip to .Mexico.! Oh, I men.ti.on I VERY cu.te? But .don'.t. take. my wo.rd. .for it, contact m.e a.nd .let's arra.nge a fact to face. meeting a.lready! Just don't reply .directly to my message..... I using my friend. seeing tha.t .I'.m not a on this site or whatever... ;-.) Tell me what you .think .at my email., chrissymawer at y a h See you soon!


Friday, July 31, 2009

lights fall from the old man of the sea

we fight until I am exhausted
trying to hold a trickling thing of sand
a scintilla that drains back into the beach

a shock of trees
released by strong winds
he is a fish, a slither
an eel that flits away
then has me pinned

he is all around he clenches me tight shoves my face
towards his
buried down there
beneath our grinding feet
mine is down there too
iron-eyed our faces stare it out underground
through lock and tremor

as two prayers
to a god divided

who is it the tide sweeps in
and sucks out?

who becomes the tide will prevail
will not win

he is a lion he is my mother he is songbirds falling
as black snow in early evening my fingers are wings are poems
within his smoke we each fold back to embrace
count five sudden things of magic
and stamp and hold tight

lion mother phantom
my lost brother
whistles hard there in the waves

old father in the fallen leaves offshore

we walk into the sea
each carrying the other
light as children who cannot return
rise only as the tide
sends up her drowned lanterns

each with a heart of red sand
catching, holding

our breath beyond reach

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Jesus Army

around 3am some soldiers from the Jesus Army
find a 22 year old girl on acid crying in a ditch
at Glastonbury Festival

by 7am they have persuaded her to embrace Jesus
and be saved

at 9am they gather
and she and others are baptised
in an oil drum of water sprinkled with Oxo

she comes up spluttering and shocked
and the Jesus Army claps and cheers

Alice is now one of them
still coming down off acid
she looks cold and unbefriended

last night the guy shouts
Alice was on a trip
this morning
she's on a new trip


if you say anything about this
the Jesus Army Security
come and take your arms
move you
away from the scene

Alice don't need you no more

they keep going
slam dunk
all morning saving
with Oxo & Cold Water

it's a pretty thin gravy
they are drowning people in


their bets at night

I saw two hedgehogs
butting at each other
in the garden at night
instantly I was out there
telling them to stop
telling them
like little children

I saw two hedgehogs
in the garden at night
instantly I was out there
looking down from the firmament
impelled by my new prickle-drive

I saw two hedgehogs
it makes quite a mess
in the dark grass
I feel like a psychopath
with my blunt blade cackling

I saw two hedgehogs
I wanted to nestle alongside them
feel their spikes
getting soft
as the sun turned the grass
as the slugs flew away
with no sound

maybe there were no hogs
but I anyway
saw two hedge


night of love

he hears something in the garden
he is scared he comes downstairs for reassurance
I hug him and take him back to bed
we share a moment there under the little alien nightlights
later I hear it too
in the beam of a torch I find two hedgehogs
making rhythmic rasping noises

there are lunar phases to this night
humours that tap at the window
signalling their arrival
a coughing of hedgehogs
as though the call and response of this house
gathered in nocturnal animals
who came to feed

I'll tell him about them tomorrow
the other one threw up the Tamiflu
I crushed into his milk
it steamed into the carpet
he's coughing now too
up there in the dark

in the dream a face at the window
a wild sort of face
the owls are yapping outside
somehow it has all swung in close
it is a faltering finger pushing in
a beak a proboscis
feeling for our weakness
it all feels like a nest

threatened by something outside
while we sit around the fire
counting another presence
in our midst

it feels invasive and familiar
something that has slept cocooned
in our bodies

there is a quiet over it all
muted voices in reassurance
the soft wash of the dark
adults holding children

lights far off
shining this way
but no one is coming

whatever was coming is already here
in the sensory fallback
of sickness
it is a night of love slipping
its ropes


Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

cock and awe

...............................................I know it says that but
every way it slants
..........................through there is a otherwise
look at this at this like why that age that age only
at thirty you wouldn't do it you'd know better
so the sap wires run down ............all night telegraph
there is arbitrary magic to this soup
........................................come on let it unwind

..............................this isn't sex it is only a blowjob
...............don't find any meaning in it
with dress now stained
for all history the most famous dress the most famous
stain it even suggests the position
the Rock and Roll presidential genuflection

...........hoohaaa least you weren't Linzey have to eat up such
weren't a Jew playing Achtung
weren't an orange guy in Kooba
busting out like Quttb

what you whining for
all you gels was made to eat cock anyway
.................cock and awe
skeets raining down from on high
impregnating everything
........for another millennium

now Sarah Palin is coming like the Iditarod

oh god yes no yes I am a cloud
beneath which
is no land
within which
is no moisture

it's as little as little gets

like a toadstool in the head
like a corkscrew to the fart littles out
looking avidly for shit
upon which to recline
and get with it
with a teenage sweetheart

the internet has blown every chance I had
of becoming a politician

ugh it has forced honesty upon me

yeah I agree
who cares



Monday, July 27, 2009


in the awful awk that the brain works oh
in silence sly savages
in flower salvage so they stoop
look how they have fallen upon that body
do you read divination in this? hey anklebones

a strange moment has come upon us

flee from the scene
large dogs like that

tic tac into the Lego baby
it's never what you think


Thursday, July 23, 2009

a moment with the coconut circle

(dedicated to John Kinsella)

there in the shade in the forest
in the place near the spring
in the midday in Midsummer
that was dredged up from the sea
that was found speaking
in the rings of the sea in its rings

with magic
sea-coconut can you be real
in your dreamswirl
your kelp arbours...
so lofty as you are

we all stand watching
it ring its bright thing
it shimmers there at eye level
scruffy hairy rough little sea-god
rattling with poet-milk

a ring of pigs around the cocogod
up on their back legs
truffling the moment

who we wonder will be the first
to rush in
to start the dance

while it lasts
before we fall again
onto our front trotters
shuffle off quiet
into the stench
of hot mast

each of us now asnort in our ringing avast
our pigs to the ring
at last at last
singing our unknown things


Tuesday, July 21, 2009

would you cut off all your limbs for love (a poem about politics) unconvinced jitter of the low canopy

I know we have done this in jigsaw glances but I wanted to ask formally
if you would mind
making this sacrifice
if I had become paraphiliac
and just required it

these are the tests of true love caller-wauler

please keep holding
as your answer is important

it knits together here it's a little precise
nice attack of the complex patterns uh of life
let us hold hands to celebrate that one

it's between us now
in the air the ether (hold hands)

I have committed myself
to a diet of cold hard unsoaked beans

I spit like a peashooter

I am a marine iguana

please keep holding
while we organise a response

now watch this seaflop dush

crushing wet cottages in the land of the giants
as he walks home dripping

seriously there's a crush I have
starting as influx entering froth
now the alchemical steel
the holding back of the rush
until the moment of caramelising
then the sink
the relief

this much chaos takes discipline

a two year old child
should be covered at all times in bright sunlight Diesel

like waves of goats they came running from the hillsides
shouting Owain Owain vast deltas await you O you

look go back through it with a spacesuit
it's the only way
no it's really not
yes it etc

screw it to the sticking station
and let's none of us exactly sleepover

(got wood, yeah, Tranquility Base, got wood)


Thursday, July 16, 2009

Nelson's Melody

it's all black out there tonight
not a star or a stray stop-out
to steer by
just thick black tarry night

that runs into you
pushes down your throat
fills you up with stiff ink
somewhere in this Nelson night

he's standing like Churchill
by a bus stop eating sardines
soaked in Brandy
flicking the old V sign

with his ghost arm
but no one can see any of this
through this murk
that has come down

we feel our history in braille tonight
unsighted sardines
saying nothing
our throats filled with pitch

with silent cannonades
with seawater
thick with dead songs
we raise our distal

proximal phalanges
in some skeletal shimmer
of ending defiance

nothing will be seen since


Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Mr Hargreaves the grocery necromancer with one thumb

the hit or miss governor etc I accept
these things as wonders

a burning pontoon floating out

while this continues you can detect the onset of rain
just from the feel and the look
we carry this detection

in our hemispheres like potatoes and tomatoes
they hit the ground and that's that
splat splat splat
the language has nothing
the language has nothing to do
the language has nothing to do with it
the language has nothing to do with it showing

glowing in the shape of a shop
hey Mr Hargreaves walk me to school in your cabbage white shoe polish light
mist across Liverpool huh

see here tablet eat
be well down there in chinatown
huge cattle crashing down the Mersey
rusting back into your dirty little throat

the pontoons (firing up)

the pontoons (Grandmother)

the pontoons (no one)

oh god our kites dropping


Monday, July 13, 2009

two stoops over Pateley

overlooking Guisecliffe at about 3am
like a crane extended over the blue black
leaning out
I would like to suggest we abseil down
into the lost world
it's wet and hot down there
it's steep
maybe we can deal with hot
wet and steep
with North West Eliminate reared above us
it's tricky in the dark
that first traverse

but then you are on the arete
it's juggy and bright in the light
of a headtorch
cobwebs everywhere
sharp V of an arete
legs astride
a cheval
headlights beaming

some of those holds move
when you pull them

there's a little area on top
where I thought we could sit
looking down looking out
across dark Pateley
like little drunken godrats
in the gritstone
and grass

drinking watching the sunrise
kick itself right back up the hillside


Sunday, July 12, 2009

an occurrence on sheep-creek bridge

if someone followed every cord in this carpet
I think they would walk several miles before they arrived
in the other corner
it might take a few hours
and there they would find a low roof
the persistence of arrogant sexual perversion

some candles just fallen over
spilling wax
evidence of drug-taking

clearly some dacoits had just left the scene

following the carpet god back up the hill

the sneak-god who just walked in
snuffles down in the fluff in the firelight
rolls itself in feathers
sings itself to sheep

they coo at the window astonished
as pigeons
twitching their ears
at his overtones
wondering if they should come in

but it's just not the time for sheep

nor swimmin neither

being interview

it was as though moss
had grown over everything
the faces the torsos the carpets and TV

I ran around in the new green vacuum
shaking hands with anyone still alive

them foliate faces sneered back
down in the alley where the mushmen grow
the wind comes on and we start to slow

breaking wind is never straightforward
for adults in company

my old man laughed from the clocktower
heh he said fat remind them fat
is a feminist
I mean like atishoo

it was a joke about a pandemic
that no one got
he'd been waiting with it for years

but I was now in
a reality show

how now to eschew

like this he is cavalier with our safety

his pheromones fill the car
I cannot resist his crash and verve

O take me home before
I wet myself
Jesus is a rally driver
or something
who stopped for a piss
underneath a tree
in which a barn owl
was evacuating

this is why he has that white streak
down his face
in all authenticated photographs

his schoolmates still call him Streaky
though his new gang
are all icky and polite

he hates them really
but they buy him fish
to eat on the forest tracks
where he shoots owls

Jesus he whispers Jesus
there in the fucked frost
of his own south mouth


Friday, July 10, 2009

pumping the far road eastward

I am not so outsourced from humanity
and its bovine origins
that I don't feel hurt
when you dig up my relatives
there with lanterns and curses

I only bide it for the holy pumpkin
here in my stiff blanket


bees of the fury

going further was no longer a choice
it had become a thing of condition

he felt it like waves
rolling in

each new tide
could mean murder or religion
so many things had become uncertain

in the middle of it all he sat
saying things like aha

the weather here oh
it shines now
where it used to shake

there are so many things to consider
when setting out to establish
a new cult

what, for instance, will we wear
and what attitude will we adopt?

it won't do at all to be complacent
for we are not merely rats

but now examples to all humanity
in our long-tailed sunshine
our incessant whirling
our devastating umbrella
of all that is new and holy

O how we advance inwards
knowing no caution
but the bees aloft


Tuesday, July 07, 2009

fell cow from plane

her moves in the sky etc
now listen

in the askance a story unclouds

a Japanese fisher
what could he fish upwards

gazing down there Take Kakuzo
it comes from above

envisioning cows of the deep
we are beset by the pressing sky

Brother Lustig at the lake laughing
the Devil in his knapsack

you are furled in your stockpot
little yellow-winged cowman
until the cows come home to roost

three elements you may count
these are future/present/past
as lantern as pond imps
gathered upon you
a slow dream of sinking
in a lake with a small island
reaching down the inking
into the highland

catch now these blue oranges
which here I toss
see uproaring they spark and shout
under your hide of sparks

dance aloft then oh good grief


cooling angels beneath broken box

I will I mean I am anyway avid
at tapping
I have realised now
the thing sits there shifty
deep in the belly
in the waiting room it slides
hey it laughs you hear the one about

no no one heard that one no
there's a thing like a trunk
keeps reaching in snuffing
fuck's sake you might say christ

you say fuck and I say banana
really does this help
outside in midsummer
when the grass is wet
oh I can't slough it up that easily
it's a waiting thing inside
that's all not a dream no
because you would dismiss that
no a turning thing inside
a shift no no

a strophe
a catastrophe
here are the forces
in which I am still banging this drum
shatter here the telephone
lean in
man my gas biceps look big tonight in candlelight
they are lifting me outta my chair
like little Hindenburgs

call me fishmale
for I am a flapper
full of gas I have come over
full of gas
I have come clover
that ship\/////////
haha foundered a new nation
it keeps coming in storms in morse code
dead to each other now

we smile every next hour pigeons
dropping on our rooftops at dawn
cooing angry stop
in heavy weather

Sunday, July 05, 2009

every excuse for warfare

there was a poem that went nowhere

it went nowhere like this:


they were dead voices
down the bowling alley

it dropped down

the anus thrust back at the face

it was disquieting
all those absences
the roof leaning in on wires

two men danced opposite each other today
each connected separated
by blades of intent

the one pulling the other
push pull you know

as though there was something in it
I mean something in it

you things of light
saying nothing
now watch this moondragon bend at the waist
and lift


giants dance under the waves

don't look at me like that

what story are you trying to tell?
I can't help but hear drumming

why the silence anyway?

how do you feel about your mother?

okay I just said that
because I couldn't think

how do you feel about crows then?
do they crawl inside you and eat things?

is that too invasive?

why are you slapping the chair?

here's a story a man was typing on a computer
and an insect a tiny tiny thing was crawling
over a key that he wanted to hit

he was in a quandary because he was a kind man
who didn't like to kill things

a giant suddenly shifted itself from the paint
and masonry of the room in which he sat
for a moment it bore down upon him
it didn't grab him it just vanished
though he was left with the idea
that it could have grabbed him

this doesn't relate to the insect in the sense
that to the insect the man
was a giant
it just happened and left him confused
watching the little speck crawling

god only knows where these things go to

outside there were fireworks for Eid
he felt himself close up slightly
with each explosion
though he tried hard not to be racist

somewhere in his knees he thought
there was something locked away

to do with his mother
to do with fireworks or


Eid mubarak
he thought
rail travel is the future
maybe powered by high-flying balloons
maybe not that exactly but
the wind anyway must be utilised
in any future reality

at this point he paid the kind man

he was in a pretty terrible state
down the old stairs that were collapsing
into the river


Saturday, July 04, 2009

friend of goats

all goats have always loved me
in their yellow upside down eyes

I get my fist soft and ready
screw it into the skull
with sounds of affection

if necessary I'll get down in the mud
and butt her a little
till she gets the idea
then back off quick
before she gets serious

go back to the gentle fist

she will twist her head around on my knuckles
occasionally stopping to look up
to make sure I'm enjoying it as much
ah baby you okay
she says
yeah I'm okay
let's keep doing this all day

sometimes she will let me ride her

I've never got down and suckled a goat
that would be too much for me
but the feel of the hairy udders
as you squeeze them into thin jets
of milk warm and swirling with white hairs
in a pan
the smell of milk and hot pelt and dawn
yes we did this at dawn...

do you know that goats like to give birth at dawn
on calm misty days?

I always knew how to find them and when

they would be there with their hind legs apart
a little drunk from the shake of it all
somewhere behind a hedge or a barn
in the still moment
wisps of fog all around
ready to lay down in the dew
but waiting for me

it doesn't take long for them to squeeze out
but you have to keep the rats off the baby
if it's near a barn

after half an hour
we would walk back in together
both a little slimy
me carrying the newborn
her waddling a little sassy

both of us ready for applause
from our separate places

a yellow eye goat can shift
across a yard
quicker than a bird
no one will see

there I was walking in alone
my jumper covered in blood and eggwhite

sticky with secret shit


ex libris

have we read all of these books between us?

we are now so stuffed with words
they ooze out from our holes

these books between us

somewhere far back
there was a chapter
that woke me
shook me by the ears
like a wolf

since then it's all been grazing

if someone bursts in now
some wild ruffian
demanding to know at once the situation

I won't know which book to find it in

it's in all that somewhere
over there over there
I will whisper
gesturing faintly
from my seat in the orchids

as you wheeze
back there in the shadows
where I hear your chair creak


Friday, June 26, 2009

Billie Jean

at his death they came out to praise him
glad that his skin would again turn black
would make him easier to employ
—Noises of the Bad People, Isobel Fluck (1989)

there's no excuse for inobesity
in an age with lipothrust
and easy credit fraud be bop be bop beat it...

only 34 only 34 no not him he look like 70

oh this ain't charlie paharker
the woman whose heart
eventually felt like a gasp
of cold morning only

the man saw himself now as an egg broke open

I looked for my humour
found it black bile unbalanced
I ate blood pudding and oysters
..............for a month I sat there like shit

I was prescribed pornography and tumult

[this part was missing but]

found his own egg in dreams treetops
stifling and terrifying forces closed in
at the moment of waking

beat it beat it
she found now her own enemy
gathered into herself
she was a weapon
that could only be used

everything around waited for a decision
you could feel it hang
drool running out of its barrels
waiting to decide
what would be the best way to dance on this one

given that all that pissing
now had to be unpissed

she thought for a while in her dreams
that watching America do Politics
was like dying of Huntington's Chorea
by proxy

but westward look the land
is shite and Billie Jean
was not/was/was not

fucking was



turb turn

these the oysters comin in thick mothers
cross the loamin ocean-land

Billie Jean..............Billie Jean

Billie Jean..............Billie Jean

Sunday, June 21, 2009


I didn't know if the penis sheath
would work
would be considered acceptable
by the guys
but they took it in good spirit
we moved on

by lunchtime it was hardly noticed
though one old feller clasped my arm
and for a moment things whirred
around us
as if we were antennae
downloading a storm far away
channelling a storm far away

into a map awash with tears
so grey
I must bray

I held him back with my amulets
I clutched at him there
shaking things in his face
don't you know I cried
don't you know
that this is not the time?

It all seemed to smell a little
as though ghosts had walked here
stinking by as they sometimes

neither of us really knew anything

now it was over
I was again a whale or more

how did you ever could you
he said think this would work
like the boys wouldn't notice

now this and not this
is a whale
of a time
a penis sheath aristotle-onassis
pull up a chair and wriggle, bro
here-have a seminal fluid
tailcock at death's door

this is a whale of a time
about to happen

this is the place
where all doors fail