Saturday, December 21, 2013

so sag the benches-O

the white fields of nothing
the swaying fields of empty plants, flowers
bucky pools and bellbloom as paradise and its pools
here here
someone someone
must change these sheets before morning
before the arrival
no you and I must wait here
upon the hillside
with our Accuracy International stolen
and I will shoot and you will spot
one termite below
the eye from a shrew
just before Dawn
upon the day
think now
when the parade proceeds
to walk upon the shimmer
where once
my father
lost his footing
only to find himself wifeless
in Cordoba
bang lifeless with a mouthful of figs
shrews out of his ears
love now

hats like we stook

dating symbols across the carpark
in the near-east.forget.forget.forget
some holy man hollow as backstreet straw
says this: we look upon him [alarums alarums]
for a few seconds before ignition
before reaching out with hammers
to break his rodent compulsion
one's advice must be to distrust
while trusting
to unlove 0)this buddherism see
until the story breaks
down the hillside as burning pigs
at the carthage for Tanith and not
to the awful, the convulsive, the sheer
the /Breton/ thing of the fixed

fixed without that no that knife that bird aloft
do not enter/enter/do/not
not now oh but see
this is how
oh stop it now stop/silly says the countess
all tickled asquirm
with a key in its fundament so unlovely giggle away then

for this, this
nothing yet

in the yawls of monty zoo


Monday, December 09, 2013

all cats rehomed.

these things shudder by as half-eaten dreams but who gives
their outcome unknown
once I was eating a cake the next minute in wild ships
and this was in India by the southern lights and cookies

on midlife half-human scooters in rainstorms there in Goa
oh come on with the waterfall then! you monkey-faced tumble

all day and night Vishnu fucking Vishnu
well I cared for nothing but vindaloo tortoise
it's a colour most pronounced. it is a colour most pronounced
(most prized and otherwise-hued)

for there by the river as dead women
rocked by our swollen footage and beyond snakes on all sides

on the tide a huge dead elephant
onshore a nothing
some Gay men from Birmingham

and all night at dead Coco Beach
near to the rainstorm in a hut
made from cardboard where once
the wicked witch of the west et up all of a tortoise

now see how you is

but next the jellyfish.think hard.think soft and slow

by the pools this boy over and over
no he says no this is not the poem you were born to write
then he jumps, runs, snips
turns into an old man with binoculars
he is unreachable now and will not speak

you've never seen the sky so low
if you sing this shit again you will surely die
Coco Beach near Namaste near the chickenfish gurning so beyond

Portugal all over like there are horses, territories
colonies of way-out spice fucked from behind

look: potatoes, cinammon, wine, vinegar, dead stuff and packed hair

I am all done with it anyway and halfway baked
when he comes back from the pool
waSted like that and little and offers up
an oyster yeah i grab it
next thing we are buddies
drowning together in blue vapour
our hearts streaming out as red strings
on the guitars [red/blue]
of people we will never know/knew
the man out at sea the man who stands there

we open each others' wardrobes look in  at our peril

I want to say more have you seen will you ever know

what about it anyway?


Monday, December 02, 2013

alum and white again some baths of lead

the patchwork the pidgin
the pooling and how there you stood
drooping more how you were lit
in such lobbies and counterfoils all night
on the bed bouncing in deliria
not with sex but with ardour and the many fascines
thrown on all sides like incense or gingerbread
how we bounced not once but thrice
barefooted and and
then such rides to the north
and i cannot exclaim it
freckles and dead meat
and a river running by
and on the tops the beginnings of snow
underneath it all ash and the ceaseless
sound of cars driving
along the high street the high road
into the highest and nearest river
and above it all on the tops
the soft leavening of snow
starting to happen
along the corridor route
above the gulfs so deep
all of us falling at the last
gasping up into the interior
but there on the tops, snow
into which as any would
we arms like rebar and over
the far we'er hills we overgo
nothing like this
nothing such

and there on the tops
you know again
this smallest snow