Sunday, December 25, 2011
real bad toothache and maybe love
leaves you face down gasping looking
into a tunnel you never knew
not until some volcano
streams down and you have nothing else
but to run madly
I mean not until face to face
eyes like waves of the turning tide
running madly in
not until there is nothing else
but this one thing
not ever
why would anyone?
,
.
Icebergs over Yorkshire
if ever again a haunted pavilion
like someone hitting your fingertips with a hammer
all up your arms the little shocks
christmas morning and the room full of paper
the theme to The World at War in your head, yours
I can hear it
do you know that?
Lawrence Olivier?
I apologise
I have mistaken you
for this ghost
who now in the attics moans
the same old stuff
dolls, dust, rafters, stuffing, waking, rearing
wouldn't it be nicer to just get past it
fold each other in
fuck all day
interspersed by sleeps and holds
and deep clutches
the unending ghost-love, the fearful and needing reach
and surround, the endings of flesh
and such soft drinks?
.
Saturday, December 24, 2011
84 ways of weird connection
—President Harold Truman (referring to the atomic bomb), 1945
Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart—Marcus Aurelius
And thou wilt give thyself relief—Marcus Aurelius
with my body I thee worship
who now cares that much about
a Duke of Edinburgh?
all production values evaporated
one doesn't mean to be unkind
and if this could be that other world in which
[how would I love thee]
think again of biscuits, perhaps hardtack
perhaps weevils, the semaphore approach ever closer
eating through the colloid-language of the brain
only a mile or so to go in fathoms
one hour's drive in vertical distance
to Space imagine Space and space
it is not surprising then apparently even that if anyway
that influenza after 1918
should become mythic as pollen
did Marx or Engels ever stipulate personality as the centre?
oppression? one nation?
why do you think it has been tried and failed?
think again of the Baka Pygmies and their fishing toxins,
their egalitarian rain
that's a mistake, not a particle collision
the distance, they mean
but again if this were the subjunctive otherworld
in which you were adjustable
how much would I love
to adjust you again
your flesh itself the industry of concern
caper now, caper in the arches of night
she cries all flighty
[and now count the strays, for they are flooded
and under the bridges lurk strolls
for all us flocking antic goats] in so
and count/shriek again look how the eyes
have strolled again/grotesque look it up
you won't know what they mean, not grotesque
but of candles and resonant caverns
cans maybe afterwards/sex of
a vast goat uneatable with such love
,
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
sixteen sides of everything looking wrong
how my fingers glide over the keys
how I stand in the schoolyard with my head
a pineapple when all is ice
and ideas
I thought you meant me
holding the hands of our children
running back to the car with moonbeams splitting
our little heads
in an instant the river
sucking whisky like that so shameless at dawn
by the long and outgrown lake the Isley Bros
harboured/harvested up from the winds
I did really think and thin that it was me
s'all in my mind guitar no no no
summer br dunno this verb
everything's not alright
jaz min wait etc you know this heave
swirling diph-fucking-thong well who
summer br dunno this next neural pathway
there was a word I needed to use
to do with cars and fields
but I lost it
Hank Williams came instead
.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Hitchens/nothing
for two seconds
look, if you think you are coming back
if you don't
whose life is worth more
badger, etc
.
.
Barbie hitches North Korea
the entire world is drowned in red wine
despite the whole world's interest
all the world
praises China
the Military is placed upon alert
uncertainty
not to use Violence against protesters
images of a woman being partially stripped by soldiers
calls upon all parties to refrain from violence
how hollow and thin all our warbling
in the trees
at dawn
look around
mist like belief breathes into the river banks
things live down there
a sort of sick politics grows here
I want to use this as a background for my tragedy
my western cult of isolate mere
it lit a fire out there in the woods
strange people rubbing their hands
a stink of new meat
you get a lot of open notes when
you use a capo
all night I listened how
dead things lifted from the gutters and drove away
oh something else happened far off
the eye-healer
the miracle-worker
became a keyboard
in particular
the occult personality demands a new instrument
it creates the eyeboard
by the river
lay the blanket on the ground
.
.
Sunday, December 04, 2011
the sign whose wording is forgotten
a growling in the lonely house
steam trains along the river
some filament stretches
from here to here from here to there
who can count these days?
this part is all machine and this vegetal
here is a slow warbling
something is up
be it words or seas or the mere
announcement of consciousness and re-entering
docking, penetration, engagement, embrace
the erectile dissonance it is as though
the integument had been stripped and left
still pulsing on a wharf amongst
the old ropes and iron cleats
from here one day in 1947 the pontoons
drifted out burning into the serious parts
of the Mersey those undead places
that stir strangely at night and subside again
at daybreak when the phantom
of the One-O-clock-gun somehow shifted
deranged in time and not-time in the hours
the other silenced-strikes, fires, charges
dips, engages, penetrates the wet powder
or poudre of near-history there I was anyway
after midnight challenged and assayed
in the under-standing in the belief at least
standing under what is unknown but imagistic
of the dousing that attends awakening
as though cognition was the entering of some
spirit-fall or water-fall if spirit and activity
were waters and the turbulence out there
in the river's night from which things
could be brought back, clutched close
captured, painted if not in hues then in hachures
and contours but in almost every case
dead at the door, dead at the instant before penetration
and quite a weight from which to squirm out
from under think of it as a battle in which
you know the routine of dead men caught
beneath the body-weight of animals
with such feeble instruments
I can measure nothing
.
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
cinquain
of them were wild
when they got together
dancing like hares in the purple
heather
Monday, November 21, 2011
vampires in self-help therapy
Friday, November 18, 2011
internetted by adipose
great mouths that come at you and keep coming
threeways at least in the sewers of philosophy
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
three and sixteen odes to a forgotten entonox
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
as suddenly an ironbird flew out
Saturday, November 12, 2011
on the pale wind of moving house
Wednesday, November 09, 2011
ruptures that just go on
the discovery of many broken Victorian ornaments in a lake
Sunday, November 06, 2011
everything that couldn't be
Wednesday, November 02, 2011
hounds of the fearful red spanics
mental illness in these frequent lights
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
in glimpses in small hours of the marsh mallow
Monday, October 24, 2011
some things I meant to mention
Thursday, October 13, 2011
failing to deliver
were it not for the nonsense that has been talked about it
-- Lewis Namier
Monday, October 10, 2011
Fairyland
the new fettle
that crashes even before
the wave hits
sideways then the coming-on
the gear-shift
all around my ladder
they start the little
shining people apples
dropping and fairies
upstarting they are as things of myth
but not
they are as the truckle of dawn
and as the night that sweeps
in beneath
the far lights over the sea
so low
so low and light
and only like the light that stops
when it alights
when they are gone
my heart of light
kicks again
fêted bird-pilgrim
of light
have you also seen this?
.
.
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
semi-Buddhist revs over a bar in Dublin
my way
take your hands say
a greek sea monster
what about me
in the sails
heady life off the rails
i don't belong
my face for the last time
c'est belou
waif
good bye
.
Monday, October 03, 2011
dismays of the rotoflarf
Friday, September 30, 2011
ice cream sinking in the reservoir
postcards from vacuums of delight
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Monday, September 19, 2011
of bakers and strangers
snails that eat pigeons in the margins of night
computer virus
1001 hummingfish dreaming the same dream
terminal velocity
as though the quilt was a sea monster
he pulls up his feet in sleep, attempting escape
a strange air enters him
he dreams of his ex-wife
he whimpers and thrashes
some chemical is missing, some neuro-transmission
that prevents men from acting
their dreams
he wakes suddenly with a broken toe
all of the imagery draining out of him
like a party of drunken boys
ripped from a ruptured airliner
their sad songs failing
as they fall
clutching at each other
one of them shouting finally
a hundred metres before they land
heck of a party boys
I'm buying the first round in Hell
oomph
eighteen small depressions in a field
near Blackburn Lancashire
.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
if then some such turnipheads of supernature
sends pheromones beyond belief
late at night where the blossom-wolf up-
sends pheromones beyond belief
late at the room the water the orchids the possibility
of trans-special birth (mama)
I mean the sluice, the juice, the let loose
the water the ash the finality
oh but outside [scry'd]
outside the air
what about these were-stinging wasps this year?
my wild litl boy putted his wild foot in a nest got stung
all over of the scalpic integumento
I was there I woulda had bad-batted them offed with no thought
to safety or honour otherways
such dignified as I am and wading of the heft
like a giant wrestling pinked-out fen-demons
the wide white rides uppa oh the subshine bra-caking
all down the interfay of blurry interstices
his hefty hand down there his/her demon hand
there at the oak-wefted door
fire demon fire-fretting the only-rafters at their rafting
boys, wild boys like boy-rats heathered in from the fen
there by the sidefire glint silent-holed slinting they
wade through batting and aside such trite and triter
shadows and shades and overshades and glades of clades
lofted as the ill balloons of gutted and outer waxicades
.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
what do they call that bounce?
I have collapsed he says collapsing
not yet technically she says before he hits the floor
all is a dream he cries a dream in which sheep eat the world
you she says eyeful are calling me a sheepgoat
no no I never I suppose I may but really it was
an indication of the foullest weather to come
the weather to come the weather the weather to come
shut up and let your head hit finally the tiles she says
watching him descend but he slows he slows like non-falling sloes
oh god she says tugging wild at her nose
you are all as uncoiling as a firehose
yes he says now in slowmotion my heart has unwound
would you consider
no she says
not even with your brother
or your two-tailed ocelot for much money
okay he says just had to know for my mother
then it hits the tiles and blows without sound
not much glossalot more matte not funny this irruption
into the other which really occurs as a flow underground
what do they call that bounce?
.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
cinnabar
a little black dress
of a day-flying moth lodged between
marram spikes—red and black
or red and pink she was too flighty
to fix and soon flew
with wild uawks
out over the sea
.
an beatific incident at a petshop or pet shop, of late
the cat has large outer paddles of which
one is inserted by urgent pliantists
into the bars or space bars
whereupon a VAST parakeet bitch biteth off
one such oar or more
leaving such mere stumpage and pump-outage
as a whirling unstumped tripedalled fellitrix
might mump in a panic
its whiskers feeling their extraneities of amplitude
in one quarter dis-tressed one channel closed and inuded
she re-sorts to the toothback module and attacks
both attacks and abacks if such a thing
doth ring awhile the para-keet which is further
*develope* than keet mere keet
she/he laughs and trusts to the bars but the bars are rigged
by the avid pliantists they are lowly sugar or nougat
like Hollywood glass and the feelycat-wild breaks in
all eyes agape and outer toothcome
now so sad so sad
is nurture's outway
the cataster its own dying face-up of vile throaty feather-fret
but such is the click clock way
of the fervid giant pliantist
its great wings already broken, collapsed
all of it just breathing
there on the wild floor
.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
email from Dave Mehler
.
of dental arousal and the taboo tradition in Yorkshire
as if it indicates approval or affirmation
I don't show my teeth not ever
cept to a special few what gather
for the occasion
3,2,1 we go like on a saturday under the cloud you know
what cloud I mean
then I pullem out and let it burst all over
like the fireworks at a football game
woah they all jump back
never seen such stounding white hooters they cry
yeah I run around the ring in the firelight
toothing at them all
man they love it
getting scared and awed like that
then we get it on and all chew together
grinning like cheshire bats
tuning in our oscillatory dopplers
finally collapsing in big toothy heaps of love
all over, enamelled up to the grey waders
.
all of the unused things
many bodily functions
all the lower circuits of the mind
so many gestures only accessible
when relaxed
almost all of the chairs
the table
he becomes all cerebral
all top chakra
though that too withers
becomes a thin and wasted thing
his strut and pride
his elevation
his erection
his cockade and cloud
the laughter and arrogance
the penchant
the pendulum
at the last it is Toulouse Lautrec
shitting on a beach on camera
giggling
the whole world stinking of that giggling shit
a room in which one can barely breathe
bicycles
driving licences
hands, even hands
that used to make things
that used to give
now just pliers to lift the routine
disaster
get narrower still
watch it all slide away
just a brain in a jar
amongst the cauliflower heads
and onions
sending out its last mephitic signal
my name is this this
I don't remember
it doesn't matter
I left
they will pick through the traces
and find nothing
but ash
sticking to the floor in that outline
where the fluids became sticky
where the insects settled to feed
all else blown away
just a wisp and a whisper
civilisation
.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
future in the quick
of knowing every word before it happens
of urging it on like a conductor
of watching the street and reciting
the future which car will do which
pedestrian will collapse by the tree
her shopping spilling sending
of watching the moor and anticipating
in your heartbeat the next gust and yammer
apples rolling over the walkway
into the puddles and the beat the beat
grouse rising disturbed water
shuffling in ghost forms through the grit
like an act of creation maybe
this is what it was bringing
the world to life the mad dance
maybe it hasn't finished
maybe if you sway hard enough
on the right day
when the wind is from the west
and the witchclocks allow
it will all happen again
the entire reboot
and you just did it
whipped up the wheel
scooped the froth
cast it out over the trees
the new trees
you and your lover
collapsed into each other's bodies
knowing everything
meantime tick tock tick
the lick of the slow wind and the slough
.
ceremonial magic on reality TV
empty air space
trumpets over the wet field
the creature keeps heaving
croaking at death
its head jerking sadly
the self harm of the new electric
the medication adds another level
to the arcade
think of a chasm
filled with mist
things whirling and crying
vegetation stripping
over it all like a slam
the night bridge
girders dropping into the fog
everything shaking
halfway across
nothing ahead or behind
wait for the signal
don't change anything
wait for the signal
same as it ever was
same as it ever was—David Byrne
.
Saturday, September 03, 2011
unfinished poem for David Mehler
into liftoff and we sail over the last grand arches then that oof of the air machine as it sends me brakes like a whale a stench coming out way below of clutch and rubber and sin and then the clear fairway down to Manchester Central easing it on in with the mirrors the whole thing gasping out leviathan steam all over the wet morning six thousand horses in need of a drink
.
Monday, August 29, 2011
our other eyes and mouths
can do anything
they are tiny octopuses
wrapped around the world and all the world's things
murdering and loving
imbibing its pheromones
banging and wafting
giving spasms
writing this
imagine them suddenly gone
like a stopped mouth
vacuum blackness where they had been
flies buzzing there
sucking, drying
.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
mysterious people of the flag
the flag that flew and was blue
the strange flag that flew its blue
suddenly grew
a hue
the new pink and blue flag
would not burn
but now turned and flew up the flue
over the rooftops it blew
alighted somewhere near breezy Renfrew
where it was spied all over anew
by a farmer where his crops grew
in the new-broken ground
nothing more was found
unless it were
by some covert few
.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Bloodgutter looking in/out at the real Other for whom in is out
into the schemes of expulsion—think of
trees a clearing smoke rising the smell of meat burning slow
the gunge and ooze the wings the non-wings
the womanly thing the man thing that acts and speaks not
the way that light hits from aside
stairs descending 1234 into the archives
of the body
nine tenths of anyone is bacteria
alien stuff from a world without air
living in us like we are space-suits
Feminism is just the same old urge
to hop louder to eat grass and grow wings that swell
over the sea, to become itself the transhuman
this is the other reason: mix
it up and see
before we were here
before we could be
they were here
they had to migrate when the air brought us in
they migrated into us
our darkness
our warm wet caverns
asteroids loaded with vats of spermaceti
tended by aliens with care and rope
hollow oh oh oh
sits the song
one of these days you will wake up
one of them will be cackling on your headboard
grown huge
do you have a headboard?
I don't know
but you'll regret it and soon
think hard of the substrate
the Burgess Shale
our love affair doesn't fossilize there
it's all just red-black mystery
this is not the beginning middle or end
of a beautiful relationship
airships airships everywhere
so many wild airships
they mount the sky like strange balloons
a billion years if necessary
until the ride is available
back to deep space
to their deep songs
of all the guts in all the world
she had to walk into
.
Friday, August 19, 2011
love
evil drunken
everyone in the past was a bastard
holding their kids down under water
singing
everyone in the past was a religious flaming fuckwit
who knew nothing
nothing but anger and vengeance and infant
mortality
everyone in the celestial past was a neanderthal comet
what spoiled its soup messed its pants
everyone no excuses was a goddamn psychopath alcoholic
drug addict racist sexist fuck
as are we
looked back upon
in about twenty years
love
.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
twelve steps to the great going sideways
he feels he has insects all over him their little needle steps
new revelations of the meridians waking
his electric flagellum sexmotor will not rest
each pinpoint of bodylight has a counterpart
the old rooftop is falling in fast
his pets die starved while he sleeps
he shuffles down to the river splashes his head like a Buddha
who got up in stinking rags and realised
it wasn't over yet that the past weeks
under the tree were just the beginning
that now he had to go home and face it all for real
leave all this behind this virtual practice
leave these sotted rags by the riverside
jump in finally, say it all at last
Hi my name is the Buddha and I am a non-swimmer
.
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
three and a half seconds of pure light (a poem to the Time Being)
Tuesday, August 02, 2011
shellfish
sex with your mother
kings in whirling dust
Sunday, July 17, 2011
noisy spirits
even stuff like this
TV review overheard in low flight
Saturday, July 16, 2011
again the bell samphire erupts
Friday, July 15, 2011
scratch
Thursday, July 14, 2011
the peasant's revolt
a contusion of unknown flowers
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Alice, at last
Sunday, July 10, 2011
raising sails in the east badger
Thursday, July 07, 2011
une ombre de la rue
it purhaps some placeholder for an embarrassment
when she/he is ready to be swept by the nervous heath-fire
the brownian motion upon the veldt-integument
as dough as dammit them digitigrade hoofers came all
in a swoop through the meridians beaming in their
as though a motive now even but are you sure
you are ready for where you will go next.the cur-
tains will unravel the lights enumbrate are
you ready to see in this new place such parsifals as you may observe
and booms of the kopje drums the lift and unlike-light rings aloud
Saturday, June 25, 2011
seriously, pigs on fire
by powerful toxins
that feels like an earthquake
the organism shuts down a little
and then a shuddering takes hold
and here is the separation
the divergence as the oscillation
defies the local disaster
these words are vague words
unless you have bestial experience
there is a possibility
that these abstract fires
might say nothing
that the readers might just
roll down the hillsides
might lie there by ponds
thinking nothing much of this
beyond the croak of shallow water
.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
I had smashed the windscreen and was crawling in
how disapproving you would be
figure yourself leaping down rivers
a man enters your door
and steals your keys
a man is in your house
you hear noises.a friend had this
and was too scared to act
he stayed upstairs.
I keep a pickaxe handle near to the bed.
I am sufficiently insane if required.
the merest tinkle and I am active
beating reflections and windows
you bastards I cry I will have you
once I hit myself around the head
convinced that I was a burglar
Bastard, I shouted
I don't get this focus on these old words
he started the car and reversed out
with me on the roof
by the time he got to Burley Terrace
I had smashed the windscreen
and was crawling in
it was a Zombie film
I didn't remember it was me until later
I know where you live, I shouted
beating on the bonnet like that with no head
I got as far as the end of the street
before the dawn came up
before the dawn of the dead
.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
little satchel
one could imagine it anyway
the settling in the invasion
the colonization of melody
the meme life the not actual
of virus half-strife
blackened now, balded and blasted, the grouse-rid heath
I have no kenning me not now
kenning I have not my wild sow
imagine emmer wheat and rivers
mudstone and sand-stations of the wild cattle
imprints in cuneiform
one huge rock hard-hewn, struck with crystals
the wounded are dying from lack of sanitation
and the town is about to fall
their exhausted faces bewildered, lost
oysters
agape
their faces lay undiscovered for five years
his unearthed body still wore those same clothes
as on that day
a little satchel on his back
shove your hand deep in the rivers
and grasp up the mudfish
now light fires by the delta
and forget
what it is to hurt so much
.
the zooming green play
suddenly look like machine parts
such is their depth of field
so vivid are they in this moment
for a second the world rotates about this green axis
I am instantaneously drawn in,
risen, raised, as though
a lens had been tightened
an axial symmetry was now fixed
it doesn't feel sane or safe
to see with such clarity
such starkness in the green-grey
it almost crawls there and wakes
quickens and reaches
I sat all day with green saki
feeling that beat-down satori
creatures of a later age shuffle
into our disasters
.
.
ravenous vermin
those teeth were not real teeth
the man who leaned in with all of his heft
applied to the luxator who did to the teeth
what a bus does to a tortoise
is now gone oh now gone
it has rained for this six weeks
inveterate book clubs of Tai Chi and smoke
use this to make your title stink
Kali got Jeffrey
under the table
by the time we found them he had died of fright
or some other small rodent issue
Kali looked smug
we buried Jeffrey in the garden in tissue
no one knows who let him out
and my youngest son won't admit it
got to imagine it, though
a caveman confronted by a huge tiger
it's a bad end
Bruce Chatwin sees the Prince of Darkness
in that lurking spotted fear at the fire's edge
predators were big back then
before we got projectile upon them
now hey what
we pray together
to our gods of sewage
love, too, is a parasite
your clothes ain't done up
jesus don't you care?
buy the next ice cream or we will
fall upon you like ravenous vermin
.
didaktosaurus captured in yellow smoke
they know nothing of deep play
if you do it so casually then what
exactly what?
how would you tell them sensibly
that adults do things that for a tiny reward
risk everything?
you live in their dreams
you saunter beside the dusty high-roads
to the Gnostic frontier
it will be years before these bombs go off)
what a disaster that we can't live in the future
when everything has been cursed
oh shit whatever
we get long enough to pick the frogs out of our teeth
grow beards
lose everything
isn't it enough?
but that boat across Grasmere
little red arms and legs churning in its wake
and the crew eating cake
meantime all is hedgehogs, hedgehogs
all the way down
the amplification here is not in hand gestures
or facial tics
but in the kitchens of Dorian Gray
the outer the unreason of behaviour as foliage
he screams wildly then reads a book
my dear fellow, he erupts
all is fucking lost
.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
a dog that flew upwards in ice cream air
that he should have a word with himself
he feels like a vampire an oupire
a thing that wakes up and wonders what
warfare is always the main business of Humanity
this is why women are not valued so highly
this is changing now that vegetables and fruit
can be cultivated at any time. night or day
anyone can order a mango to be delivered
to his/her door in a basket strewn with exotics
those seasonal cycles are now just particle splash
a man walks along the clifftop with a small dog
that won't stop tugging
suddenly he has had enough he reaches down
picks up the dog and hurls it over the edge
he watches it hit far below
then heads back to his rented caravan and eats ice cream
from a shoe
the dream reference is of escape and disaster
he wakes early and walks the same path
along the cliffs
dragging a spirit dog that yaps maddeningly
somehow right in his ear as though it hovered
beside him
it is understood that dogs can digest fecal matter
and take out the last vestiges of nutrient:
they are adapted to extreme scarcity
sometimes the caribou just walk away in ways
that predators cannot
if you or I ate shit we might at least
want to keep quiet about it
this is the thing with dogs
(people think dogs love them
think about this in terms of protein complexes)
in the karst clints and grykes are edelweiss
on the clifftop
a man backs up to the edge
his arms outstretched
lets himself fall
it is Saturday
the unlikely flowers of North Yorkshire
flying about him
the ground zooming in
the riverbed
the limestone
the shattered small dog
yaps out a river from the deep phreatics below
into the sunlight
this is the thing with dogs
.