Monday, February 28, 2011

Eggs of The Augusta

studies suggest that two thirds of us would like
to have them out

with a blow to the head
—the process is called soil-liquefaction—it is
the fear that a man might come
(in the washed-out smear
of a rear projection) and the foreground faces unaware
of the rising event cone in the glass (or that he might shout)

(just twenty thousand Italians)

(all again point to the strokes) (but before any of that
the ongoing)
a catastrophic bubblejet sent up
every day and never getting it
all those things are valued there

it takes quite a lot to stand up now
(why did I do that)

in the tilting moment
observe the rats and scorpions
those frogs that freeze and thaw
something underground that doesn't burst
before Vesuvius the aqueducts clogged with sulphurous stench

that made the people think

of flatulent water gods
before any of that

the ongoing catastrophe in Christchurch

(delusional and unfit to lead his bloody
grip on power—it is not spelled out)

why I did that:
two thirds of us wanted them out
of panic.with a the head
and that then was called/the liquefaction/the cone
the cata-strophe delusional and unfit
(there's the complexity of making sure)

before any of that it is not spelled out

at any moment 23% of all people are already dead

you others have a few minutes left
twirling your umbrellas
before you have to come in


Sunday, February 27, 2011

narrative natterjack

the therapy is dramatised as a game
in which the analyst outwits the clientess

small forms scatter from her aura

one believes that it is possible
to buy love somewhere on ebay

(imagine being John Layfield the first English
man ever to eat a pineapple)

toothache any argument beats (the tectonic skull's prized open topaz)

the man and the crow look each to each
Pazuzu in the invisible shimmer the fat man
teaches the casual approach to individuation
in a causal film about slow rape

taste like no he didn't say


Saturday, February 26, 2011

raw material for a pottery project

Thou shalt commit adultery—King James Bible, first edition 1611

not everyone is entitled to an opinion
if a stranger down some dark side road at noon
brushes my garment while passing I do not then grasp at him
declaring I wish now to pronounce upon the wedding
of your daughter...

I don't generally consider a handshake to be sex but there have been exceptions

the one-armed bodybuilder downtown sold the other for
the specialist steak market got enough to keep him in cerium oxide
for three months now says he is saving for the stem cells
they all say that every one of those slick amputees it is as though
an elephant god has waded from the perfumed dunes
squats upon the city flooding the whole damn airspace
with liquid miasma that sets locking in every human spirit
in rotten amber will be some future delicacy

they play this frequency designed to break loose the atomic structure
of construction materials used in shipbuilding and produce
high-tensile bonding across the entire field like a silent air-raid siren
shake loose everything human deep till the body melts down
hangs there on the skeleton guffawing forever with all doubt dissolved

back there in the trees you see it he gasps so earnest something watches
what you expect sunbeam they giggle at him

found myself running out naked eating bark
forming opinions
selling my limbs for gas and air

it will be like this: your hands around the wet neck
feeling it come loose and slip away

wandering home with filthy hands

little goddamn Jackie from the past hangs there from the balcony
with a broken back
committing suicide above the high street for shame
everyone watches lovestruck
as the thing shatters, still soft, unformed
never to be what it nearly was

dried up now no one even notices stepping over it
little face looking up frozen in invisible yeller shit

to be harvested for the sector delicatessens years later
by huge flightless men with nothing left but this


Sunday, February 20, 2011

politicians shoved off the cliff in a row

a fine man who came from Portugal
that fell in a river
well this fine man
a thing came over him
started wearing a hat
and not going out on Saturdays
waving his cock at the football games
learning to fly
doing shit with balloons
jumping off cliffs hey
eating squid
masturbating in public
in every big way wanted to be a helicopter
finally came up said fuck
I am exhausted trying to look like this
I am on my hands and knees
I lowered down slowly
not sure if he would go wild
it was surely a wild and crazy moment


Thursday, February 17, 2011


Far off in drowsy valleys/Where the meadow saffrons blow—WB Yeats
Meadow Saffron: all parts of this species are deadly poisonous. Do not collect or use.
—Collins Book of Herbs and Healing Plants of Britain and Europe
most Dim Sum restaurants are enormous—The Rough Guide to Hong Kong and Macau

just above your head on the roof is an owl
it looks down at you through the tiles

a small body tumbles down the chimney
something lands there behind the wall
patting itself down
peering out

far below
the little lights the mist the smoke

they found three dogs in a bin near here
one of them still nearly alive

down the road is a streetlight
with CCTV that captured a shot
of a murderer waiting to kill whoever turned up
he called a taxi and killed the driver
with a hammer

disguised in a hat

up the road and down a certain lane
a plane crashed in January 1944
bits of the plane can still be found
at the bottom of the pool
below the hill in the wood
if you dive down and dig in the mud
a man dived down and dug in the mud
and a hand grasped his hand

disguised in a certain hat the man down the lane
tries to hammer the owl on the roof just above
a hand grasps his hand

big white wings open in the night
but it is nothing really
just a door that closes in the mud

turn over now you are taking all my space


Tuesday, February 15, 2011

use this to make dogs love you

please say ack ack ack to the folks that I knew

we'll meet again
outside the rainhouse he showers in floods
things ain't what they be perfect
you is animals
watch this collapse he went he went no oh no

would you read it to me again please
divide it by a migraine I am gonna get it right
light interrupted by a kid with an axe
it's got to be like the faint snarl
of a cock failing in the snow ha rough as
at the last calling

those spiders down the neck
she felt those damn crowds inside and out
as she whirled
her dresses falling from her
everything gone now all logic and time
face up in the ice and mud her eyes still open
but flooded suddenly with the exact opposite
of nausea
her hair is a barn full of new hay on fire
the rain does not reach the ground

what a time we live in


a little lemur hopping

through the glass prismatic the light the shudder
the skein off the table into the wall the smoke
the cable the arch of the jug jug
something and nothing


gas gas gas

a bad/bad thing what blew windows in

Facebook: this name felt an earthquake
Facebook: today I found myself while washing a tree
Facebook: this name says 'beautiful'
Facebook: like
Facebook: strongly dislike
Facebook: think is a piece of shite

(green animalcules.)look cloud spreads an isomantic ugh
you and i on the walk saw a bee.

a bee we said a bee

both of us not bees therefore

Swift looking at his dad's ass laughing
seeing ferture divination in doublin hedgegogs.

jimmy j in his eyetie shed tinkering at the Vox amplifier
the AC30 that will ignite later.that bike on the headland.
he loves a woman who is dead.fuck him then
he won't be comin in later.boys he won't be comin in

you/me also me watch the low fire go down
suddenly that slump and swoop in the gut
that announces the Gothic place

my/he/her/oh my/my big face at the window
glow/unglow (a fire man at his naked work)

religion keeps on and on sayin

...................half a heart on your plate its own jus

bridges/reefs/bushes the triumvirwhat dropdead
gouched out night on Moss Side shoulda seen them
at the Night Market copy-watch fillipino girl fish
garlic prawn Lala Red Lion--Heckler wall city you you x830yf
—those shops stacked with
a huge unmanned space-freighter full of oranges for the Others
we don like dem they say not at all got umthin else
like we wan swap for head all we care?

think of this tracking shot a slow gangster car circa 1930 in red not blue the slugs like fireflies reel out under the trees a man in an overcoat who loves a woman who is dead falling down steps under trees his neck breaks like oh that forthcoming whole is a homily men now use hair straighteners are you joking a crack that shivers the whole evening and on through the parkland the muzzles pulling back in the windows winding back up inside the rush the fervour the shiver the car down the road in the rain under the trees the skinned trees stretching like a human intestine so far so far out out as a filament of moonlight oh no not moonlight from the opened belly of a howling were-man now one of them so wild he jumps on the roof as the car like a marquee moon a stratocaster a fender twin so railing and reedy and reactive drives slow through the park hoots and hoots and then hoots out I am not your father straight into a lake the driver already dead the car steams there in two foot of water mallards fleeing the boy on the roof behind it all the trees down the avenue one after the other coming down tonight there's no coming back the doors have broken the moon has fallen with a big dead splash haha wtf into the shallows many waterbirds hasten to suck it in you got it Frank?

gaslit all up and down


Monday, February 07, 2011

the air above and below

it was me that shot those two old guys
walking home down Lawkholme Lane
last Saturday
in the rain
I want to confess
I sat there gawking at them
as they twitched and stopped
laughing my ass off
wet through


the anarchic apples of the future

I am almost sure that an invisible man
keeps entering my house
I hear him ascending the stairs
I almost see him standing there
saying nothing
just standing looking
again and again I turn, startled
by his presence
he looks and then walks back down
sometimes I follow him with my gun
so distressed I want to kill him
but he is always already gone
I hear the door closing before I get there
out on the street nothing in any direction
I blast it off anyway
just in case
I stand there shooting
and the sky goes into negative
my hat falls off
I fall back against the wall gasping
one day they'll come and get me for this
bullets bounce everywhere with that crack and zip
the neighbours are already alarmed
they look at me under their umbrellas
the cops will come and drag me out of this hole
in the garden
they won't believe a word about the invisible guy
I wonder if he will follow me
to that other place
sit there laughing
while the tide rolls in and out
while the fruit drops off the trees
for now I am going to laugh
all day till I am sick
there's never been a world like this
with fruit dropping all around
invisible men with heads of light
everything's got weird
I love it
my plane has just dropped out of the sky
at the exact moment you read this
it is making a huge hole in the sea
and everywhere wide-eyed fish have started up
hooting and flapping
I can hardly believe it myself


already dead before we hit

staring at the back of the guy's head
in front
as we ride up into the mountains
he keeps turning around pretending to cough
he is an old guy with a beard
and I am ignoring him
the bus is a slow diesel grumble up the hillside
to where the crystals are
I don't want to buy any
I am only here for the disaster
but here
we enter
or some messed up thing like that
going somewhere anyway
somewhere high
somewhere that sparkles like cold mornings
somewhere up there
goats jumping with wings and things
fairies throwing down rocks
up we struggle
back of his neck
stuff like that
he keeps coughing
gonna punch him in a minute
he keeps doing that shit

no need for that in paradise
just put the bucket back on your head


Sunday, February 06, 2011


so she walks out of the bus station
just before the bus blows up
she sits behind some guy
with spots on his neck
she's going somewhere
for the next few seconds she thinks
about that neck
she sees through the gap
what a jerk she thinks
then she remembers to be kind
nothing, she thinks
then her legs come off

up there some god creams himself
a rain falls down
nothing else happens

leaves blow around

not a damn thing


leaves and a weird light


Elvis turtle

when no one else can understand me
when everything I do is wrong
this is someone else's song
you yes I mean you
are a turtle flapping
as it falls


later, a raccoon

imagine this wild shit then

you and your brother in the trees, how you howl and squawk
then a tiger runs up and grabs you
all around the waist your svelte waist
got you good bro
shit that hurts
rips you up and eats your lungs haha
eats everything
except your ass
leaves it there in the woods

later a raccoon finds it

checks it out

nah, not having that he thinks and walks on

the tiger leaps from behind a tree
whoomph yeah it thinks
nice little raccoon
shluck it down

do these things live on the same continent?
don't be stupid

at this point a cow drops out of a plane
kind of kills the moment
one of the squashed fishermen in the forest
Christ knows why he was there
walking through the woods with a butterfish net
stuck now under a cow squealing most loudly
says oh I am squashed only my head works now
imagine that head of a Japanese fisherman wailing out
but this ain't Okinawa 1944
any more
are you sure?
a tiger still nearby
working forever
in the rain
fishing midnight fuck
no nets nowhere
just a pink rain falling like ice like death juice
like heavy shit that turns you into ripped-up fossil

imagine that eh?


Saturday, February 05, 2011

jack black tar hitting again and again

if I had ever known my father I would like
to have embraced him
before sticking a gun in his mouth

I think anchovies can't jump, but I don't know for sure

whaT Fascists aRE THEse who have no interest in foreign food?

the third rabbit came out reluctant as a rotten tooth

I am not here he cried

imagine it down there full of anchovies and teeth

sussuration, one has to abandon hope and sussurate
this is religion in 2031
or anyway the Singularity or after
where the hares run wild

have you seen this at dusk those hares
they are fearful things
at which to marvel again
as they fall like stars over the sprinkling hills
did you ever see such a thing as this?

I, robotic and crippled a little, am now a gog

I have fallen off your wall

help me please my ears are so long

I wants to eat you


Thursday, February 03, 2011

late-night hanging

look I got a ton of shit
I brought it in on a yacht
I am in a carpark by myself
at 2am
you want it or not?
one ton
of shit
you want it?
I am as scared as you
I also have a gun in my back pocket
but I am being honest
I am being nice
just give me the cash and I will drive away

or do we do this gangland bloodshed right here?

and that moon arcing as wild as
oh you don't get more engaged than this

here in the carpark I must write on my knees
of the wall of the Phocians

throw your arms in the air
declare that everything is useless

this is the business, this

now give me the money


mournful cries in the upper air

this love of the dead

I look down your top every chance I get
as though the memory
might sustain me as though I might store it
as I fly into the Western Lands

when you are very old I will come
with still this need to fondle your chest

the streets of Cairo run with breasts

huge breasts roll on like zeppelins crushing
houses and those backstreet rooms that serve evil tea

the revolution hits like a wild black dancer whirling her breasts

a whip cracks because the tip breaks the sound barrier

these revolutionary breasts break the sound barrier

they are the god-tongues of huge lizards licking out
crushing with a sort of oomph all indecision
blood and alchemy leak from them

brass birds swoop shrieking loosing their breast feathers
like quarrels

you know what I mean?

everything dead all around

rising again their wings jerking like epilectics oh gods

naht meen?

Wednesday, February 02, 2011

TV light

hugged little faces
in blue adventure
—wild TV light

this theory of pottery

I forget myself and devolve into diary poetry. That's sort of okay. It's a function anyway. Means you are sort of alive. But poetry might be about more than issuing life signs. Given the Shamanistic origins, it seems that the most honest and physical use of poetry is in the excavation of the inhuman. I had forgotten that. There ain't nuthin wrong with using it as a diary, I guess, but that's a long way from using it as a distinct art. How do you do this... Well, first off you abandon ship from all ideas of culture and fashion and you just shake that shit outta your hair. Then you damage yourself repeatedly with narcotics and explosives and wild alien sex, however shameful. Then you come back and stand around the crash site with an umbrella, mulling with an over-serious manner the way that insects and fungus have there accreted even in so short a time. And then... then... you turn on Motorhead and you freak in the woods like a fool. No greater honesty will shine upon any human.

this is the real diary.confess nothing and everything cannot do better ever at this than to engage in every possible way with the Present Time séance.blood fills these gutters.all down the hoot-walls it.imagine the ache of us.reach in and grab these little black shapes.nothing.imagine.the whole ceiling falls under the stuff listening for spades above.a rod in your abdomen signals your rescue.the rods in the great hole.the burdened and battered free.dome in the everything:give give give.honesty is the best polizei.blood.where you now down there lost spirit? hear my hook falling...

all my pottery clapses

my new thing

Rabelais walks around in my toytown just coz of he woke up he pisses down the little rivers drowns everything all my toys gone down steaming nothing

I bought water-based lubricant, as advised.i find it abrasive and giving me spots all down my hairline.i feel like a teenager.i am on the beach at the reservoir at dawn tracing the thing that just fingertips in the thick freshwater sand.smoke on the hilltops.that woman in the shop with the dog friends.

a thing of straw and water and light washed up.down there is all copper-thick black i have dived there have diveed have known all this all your life.the theory of poetry is reminding not informing.

again all the round bales flooded up the Aire Valley.every year this now.they've got to stop paying out.the hilltop tower of lead wine is full of news of

everyone else thinks something different.good




today I don't feel you out there like you are a book that fell from the hand of a sleeper you and the story lights out—Brer Rabbit

look I said at this hole before us
see how it steams and writhes
oh that hole she said
and fell right in
who wouldn't leave her there to boil away
a little moved by the fleshless grin
she adopted at the last
but busy with forthcoming memories of the séance?

near Chamonix in dreams we traverse
soft the murder glass delineal amphorae age on ape upon neckless fritter

I always like to drink weird drinks on holidays like that, like things I've vaguely heard of but never tried.the sea in Kenya was above blood temperature in the shallows.was uncomfortable until you went further out.don't get eaten by a shark. Jacques Cousteau recommends in the event of shark encounter that you swim towards it shouting and punch it right on the fuckingsnout.this larns em every time.

these strangled stories cut at the neck—
between the release of press... and the imp... don't say everything don't

fairies are accreting/forming/ing form/of/like calcite of statues/faceblock face
in the sunlight the underground light
bad day at blue rook.bayonet.lay out the drogue/father.a bientot
I am not comfortable with this will you please leave

my god she says you have hair and here I am also with hair
this advanced degree of synchronicity must be a past life thing
black/white/black/white dunk no colours on a keyboard

the mass of one fairy haha

our liquid lost footfalls all down the murder glass kisses are not lost things they return at night to settle about the lips like bats jostling and squeaking before sleep in the cave of your titanic head oh god haha haha

I am not uncomfortable with this
will you please grow like grapes?