Thursday, April 28, 2011

BURNING GORGEOUS -- New anthology now out.

THE BURNING GORGEOUS: seven 21st century poets anthology is now available. I have 40 pages in this anthology, and I am privileged to be in there with William Fairbrother, Pam O'Shaughnessy, JR Pearson, Beth Vieira, Greg Grummer and Dave Mehler. There's a preview available at the following link:


Copies can be ordered from me at or from Amazon at


Monday, April 25, 2011

Oradour, by Lorraine Barrass-Evans. Das Reich etc. click on this to be haunted.

till I die

what Iggy doesn't make clear is that
The Passenger happens in slowmotion

I think these are quaaludes and we are floating
everything is ours the world is ours

who hasn't spread themselves in that
long moment?

it is that long drug embrace of the night
the sky the everything

is there a way that happens in that way
without drugs?

this is a serious question


Sunday, April 24, 2011

trinquain for Arka

whaT ISA fillmore east? dissociate vida tricolon
into the other revolution icast ica ico knitwear knitwear
drop't so it drop't from the handedness of ganesha squat
brooding mads't it purtinent listen
...........................................................a path to Sasebo over to the Jones
and down past the vicus
..............................ships in the bathroom but who
believes it now the tiny meme of this struggled up through
its crots sharp as high-hats does it mean tag or _____
.....................................................he used these artifice:
languidfrank, sleepyhemming, negroeswhose

folks swangswung low as east fillrivers and mores
the carvencliff—who forgot the carvebase? zip[per crash
only you/ever/the sasquatch/what now for Libby after?(
[these linguic clutches irk me bad
stop them Jack stop them]i mean they are gone.gone i mean)

such iron pumped even knitworse over and the bells

triparticle shove over and above the farness of natron salt
on a dark desert highway cool wind

there she/he stood in the fillmore -


Friday, April 15, 2011


his breath talked to the switchblade...he dropped Ali on the last parasite—William Burroughs if I could reach out and touch you realise you run my hands around your form just be real for a moment lie there with you while the grass grew around us while the world went elsewhere while the cooker boiled over and disasters little disasters cooked themselves oh if only that that I could reach and it was so easy as some clouds drifted by and nothing but you and me and our tiny voices there all day what things we could manage you and I there upon the very edge of the precipice and not even knowing who we are just these things it is a strange hotel room and the Bay outside stranger .

begin not now even to imagine

these thoughts do not even feel as though they begin here their beginning is all of mystery and nowhere would you not as I would give all this section of your life to reach the next place the other place where it begins again? maybe after all free will is a dog barking every time the wind creaks the gate if there is a gate even if there is a wind that comes from around that mysterious bend in the lane where the ghosts cluster and tug I know there will be another place unlike this one that is now so empty there I would be if only the ghosts would not tug and the wind not howl and the dog not bark and whine at everything such nothing all of it wrestling with itself from here to there is only shadow into which ideas collapse there around that corner is some dog that spits out futures that spit out ideas that come through but will not stop as though all of us nothing but trumpets blasted by some gate that is no longer even there just the wind now or the idea of wind and the dog anyway long dead and only now the disconnected idea of barking why we have continued to lay out food for so long for Death I or the idea of I cannot begin not now even to imagine what it was or might have been .

Monday, April 11, 2011

the Owlman of Mawnan Head

let me not have lived in vain—Tycho Brahe

Alle of this day has been of Flowers but I elect Murder as a better pastime have you forgotten us Old Murder Old Death there on the rooking Sea? well we will see. I perch here on the chimney not for my Health or Ardour but for these opportunities to swoop upon the necks of those I Hate. would you not, if you were here, peck me slightly then urge me on? without your support, Wild Bird, I cannot go on with this tearing and eating. from the Grave my Grandmother implores me to stop, and if only. but there you are, your feathered ass, your beak in my Abdomen. what could be better? I am your Zombie your Assassin for one more only, then we must be married and this will cease. direct me with care little Wild Moon for I will eat your Father for the slightest error. first kisse me and run those rose pips again into my mouth like Dead Souls to the Inferno. another yet cometh up the path I am loosing my claws and jumping again into the river of night air...


Tuesday, April 05, 2011

prime numbers

despite being the biggest organ yet built in England—Radio 4

no no it is paler for the dryness not greener
and if a grass snake
could be dispatched to fix this
then one would wish that but at least as we knelt
our hands momentarily brushed like paper

in the appointment of something
that could not now be undone
that was now laid down

so startling was the moment and the absence


Monday, April 04, 2011

twin neck discovery

kill your mother
with an old-fashioned telephone box
London 1965
raise it high the river roars

watch her agog as she descends
bit by bit into the slabs

helicopters everywhere
swat them you fuck keep going
drive her down

you are The Hulk things like this do not concern you
leave just the top of her head exposed
so that as people pass
on their way to the palace
they might polish their shoes
on her hair
dry as voices of autumn sage

everyone's hair is on fire
this is a wild place
fools everywhere
setting light to each other

I myself am now a camel
drowning slow in all the old places


coughing stars into rivers

slask slash i mean you und me it is chicago i mean leeds i have you here delicate as ice the way forward the way baby baby we are now no longer dragons like that hey what about tomorr ow that fuck that over the river soft morning new dogs howl me and you on the beach at dawn coughing out pebbles full of morning stars no well I don't know you that well .

Saturday, April 02, 2011

where you don't live on the parrot axis - riff

At any rate I can safely say that there is not a petticoat in the whole history—H Rider Haggard Wow you've got a very clean inbox!—Windows Live there is one of those horrible birds there too she laughs you should have seen his trunks in a little cage a little golden chain outside a van goes by pulling down washing lines she runs out the door the poor dear all fuel runs out we ran out didn't we that's my washing yes but something will work here the night anyway in the corner thought you said a sandwich like we were friends yeah she says the van fuck that how could I see it? this isn't even a public road where does it say that? listen lady I got a job this ISN'T PUBLIC no no what you saying? I'll get back in no sandwich then that's fine call the police then YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED UP HERE by now a crowd the gay guy next door offers tea heated the builder disgusted backs off no no have some tea who wants to be eaten by mobs of hippies he thinks but can't be bothered and is not Gay thanks mate everyone does this you bastard I am not everyone the other builder on the side of the building pulled off by the washing line aaaaaaargh now that oh look yes a sandwich now you had better shut up they'll be here soon it was his fault for not looking out of the houses that smell the ghosts fall down the little steps to the outside toilets everything suddenly tumbledown and weed reeking out okay what happened well she yelled he tore down my dreams but she ripped out my heart what was that number again is there a solution to this without me arresting everyone yes but one only we will have a huge fire and kill the bird a sacri-thing a sacrifish late that night nuzzling him oh baby no one would yeah you too such parrots or whatever caller please repeat I did it on purpose you know in my eyes the sun the moment was too mushed that tight wire yes she says that dead man walking teetering he says tittering teetering yes arf arf squeezing an eye then the sirens the seirens aye tight as you like what fools we are playing accordions all day care to? you mean like the last parrot ever? yes a black steak till it bursts who are they that live above? oh no one too many players like onions like no one lives there with the candles no I thought no one this is the problem with these places no one told me to come here up this track are you serious track what this is no track no he says I didn't mean it not this track that other under the washing line just below where you live beneath the black steak with your many dead cousins [don't do that to me] who wake in the autumn rains and go digging in the woods for glowmice and red elf-truffles of iron coming home always empty-handed answer it for god's sake forlorn in need of sleep only five left in the world—you too I think are troubled try this then like that and I will not but this is a particular parrot disturb you where you lie if that didn't work try this though you say you... kakapo they call it so they do you mean like the black robin yes holy mother all that to get to this .