the enclosing lushness of the path
to the Pooh Sticks bridge
Herb Robert is everywhere
reaching, with its tiny pink starlight
offset by the blue walls
with their mossed-up faces
hanging over the beck
where one cannot help but stop (along)
and ask for reassurance
with such miracles
we sleep at riversides
.
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Wednesday, June 24, 2015
schlock and schlock again
all that it ever was A major bouncing like
me and uh you in a bouncy castle by a uh river
no minors no sevenths no augmented
nothing but front out gutloose oh fuck
all of it swirled in smerk
dried up now in petrie dishes
like dead squirrels
in rude postcards from the Front
both dead in the mud
not even not even
squirreling
don't fool yourself
time is what we don't have
sit back anyway
you may as well die comfortable
.
me and uh you in a bouncy castle by a uh river
no minors no sevenths no augmented
nothing but front out gutloose oh fuck
all of it swirled in smerk
dried up now in petrie dishes
like dead squirrels
in rude postcards from the Front
both dead in the mud
not even not even
squirreling
don't fool yourself
time is what we don't have
sit back anyway
you may as well die comfortable
.
machine sea
ugh a dread from over
the far morbay that blackback fells stark
into spluts of early birdscold
a monster inching inthing . that ingrew
[airturtles in lifts of silent drubdead] a waiting grew in-again
and ingrew
until over all.the cock and cocklefield was a mainshout pulked
all-ending the lowscrats
in their long-hauled ruggers lugged hard.
the gutwives widing the redroll to belift
in now the men the drymen in, in
acres now to the barrel-beaches with the uncut catch inwarped.
fishimps and ghosts sidelaying low as lie-low for Jamaico
on the eastlandic scottles .............of west herringbane
and chinee soup schlocked in-out in octofathoms
of hemp drabingers, haulers, menwomen
from the near-sea teeters.a washup iglooed him up in rubs
on a southbeach known by no one.his/her face disglued
the songs of how they wore their sea-sucks unscrewed
now from his beachheart and heave-head for the far Cathay tubs
(published in The Triggerfish Critical Review, 2011)
into spluts of early birdscold
a monster inching inthing . that ingrew
[airturtles in lifts of silent drubdead] a waiting grew in-again
and ingrew
until over all.the cock and cocklefield was a mainshout pulked
all-ending the lowscrats
in their long-hauled ruggers lugged hard.
the gutwives widing the redroll to belift
in now the men the drymen in, in
acres now to the barrel-beaches with the uncut catch inwarped.
fishimps and ghosts sidelaying low as lie-low for Jamaico
on the eastlandic scottles .............of west herringbane
and chinee soup schlocked in-out in octofathoms
of hemp drabingers, haulers, menwomen
from the near-sea teeters.a washup iglooed him up in rubs
on a southbeach known by no one.his/her face disglued
the songs of how they wore their sea-sucks unscrewed
now from his beachheart and heave-head for the far Cathay tubs
(published in The Triggerfish Critical Review, 2011)
Cronos eat (jelly) babies (to the Gala)
what we call watch they call un show
we look it from different sides
somewhere between this thumb or toe
time and tongue for no—elides
[—this to 'veal the camembert drool
pinched with pincers from anabapt
munsters calumnous to some fool
hung to dry on Omaha—rapt—]
gagging for Kiplings who states his cakes
that eau est le fuel of the kill
is that which jelly babies makes
in Time if it's coiffured its fill
.
we look it from different sides
somewhere between this thumb or toe
time and tongue for no—elides
[—this to 'veal the camembert drool
pinched with pincers from anabapt
munsters calumnous to some fool
hung to dry on Omaha—rapt—]
gagging for Kiplings who states his cakes
that eau est le fuel of the kill
is that which jelly babies makes
in Time if it's coiffured its fill
.
Thursday, June 18, 2015
(a hypnagogue for JM)
... that slepen al the nighte with open ye—Chaucer
... delight ain't just the giver of sight—Madeleine Shine
... because he is absolutely evil amounts—Camus
... the best method of accomplishing
an accidental result—Ambrose Bierce
... whose evil consequences will extend—
Currer Bell
(it is a dawn it is a purple drift and yaw
in which the like and light and fore)
it is water underground
it is dapple on the dead
it is sunlight bent around
beneath the bed
The Deer
—it went by in a clatter, panic
you didn't see or hear
yet both of us gets franic
abouts the outcomes here—
waking to all of the other: so far
(there to spread) the waning paling night
dawning-disaster, and delight
undead
alight
what asters, dear
what fright
.
Monday, June 08, 2015
jump or roll the dice
The people we write for
are always already gone
and will never read us again
we write only for ghosts
—Madeleine Shine
once it becomes clear
that you are falling asleep
at the wheel
and that some other driver
takes over
seemingly with every intent
to drive the bus off the road
it really becomes immaterial
how beautiful the destination
how well you describe it
how it is just around the next bend
at this point your passengers
are advised to cut their losses
and jump
before the next lapse
they can grieve later
for the garden they never reached
for the dreams they lost along the way
but they will live
as they watch
the mad bus
the driver
and his dark brother
disappear into the mountains
.
.
are always already gone
and will never read us again
we write only for ghosts
—Madeleine Shine
once it becomes clear
that you are falling asleep
at the wheel
and that some other driver
takes over
seemingly with every intent
to drive the bus off the road
it really becomes immaterial
how beautiful the destination
how well you describe it
how it is just around the next bend
at this point your passengers
are advised to cut their losses
and jump
before the next lapse
they can grieve later
for the garden they never reached
for the dreams they lost along the way
but they will live
as they watch
the mad bus
the driver
and his dark brother
disappear into the mountains
.
.
last night I walked with a zombie
inconceivable now as the pathway
its soft-looking venoms
where once
the bell the bell the clang
that rang for us zombies
at the river's edge
blood in cups we drank
so slow and soft
slicking each other's bloodlips
never really asking
it's not me
it's not my family
in your head
we the walking dead
eating at each other's brains
lack of brains
wasting unrepeatable miracles
muscle, fat, fibre
connective tissue
brain most of all, this head offal—
all these we devour and desire
our species
yes we desire most of all
our own species
and we are rare
what's in your head tonight
zombie? oh oh oh
bury me under a heavy stone
let it be inscribed
with warnings
not to unearth monsters
lest one has time to talk
and the fortitude to wait
for all of it to become true
.
.
its soft-looking venoms
where once
the bell the bell the clang
that rang for us zombies
at the river's edge
blood in cups we drank
so slow and soft
slicking each other's bloodlips
never really asking
it's not me
it's not my family
in your head
we the walking dead
eating at each other's brains
lack of brains
wasting unrepeatable miracles
muscle, fat, fibre
connective tissue
brain most of all, this head offal—
all these we devour and desire
our species
yes we desire most of all
our own species
and we are rare
what's in your head tonight
zombie? oh oh oh
bury me under a heavy stone
let it be inscribed
with warnings
not to unearth monsters
lest one has time to talk
and the fortitude to wait
for all of it to become true
.
.
Sunday, June 07, 2015
or maybe stoats lofted, Biggles?
what are you like with heat?
there is a tide in the heat and beat
which if taken at the flood, would
what do you call a man with no head
no arms no legs no body?
it is a sort of rude joke and like seagulls
not to be trusted or rusted or thrusted
though no doubt the years have it
crusted. once I sat in a café in Cairo
watching a gang guy twist his moustache
the divvil, he said, they think I am afraid
from the divvil I am afraid from no divvil
which point he produce his flick knife
breathe hard. the divvil, he says
the divvil. by this point I study
indifference and his display falls flat
but is quickly redeemed by weasels
which jump over our tables
in a late-night kahwa. will, one thinks,
one, ever, find, ones, way, home
through these midnight weasels?
wreathed as they are in hashish smoke?
twenty five years on, the weasels?
wind in the arch?
we hoot and feel the resonance of masonry?
at least my parenting does this?
dick was the answer, didn't you know?
just like bob was the other answer
now there is the Theory of Everything
it's more complex than you thought
this weasel thing of love
first you have to answer your own joke
then twirl your own stupid moustache
then recognise your flick knife
most of all
see the weasels, the weasels
then find your way home
to find all the furniture gone
no one ever lived there anyway
what you thinking huh?
brevity is lost to me now
and you also, whoever
.
there is a tide in the heat and beat
which if taken at the flood, would
what do you call a man with no head
no arms no legs no body?
it is a sort of rude joke and like seagulls
not to be trusted or rusted or thrusted
though no doubt the years have it
crusted. once I sat in a café in Cairo
watching a gang guy twist his moustache
the divvil, he said, they think I am afraid
from the divvil I am afraid from no divvil
which point he produce his flick knife
breathe hard. the divvil, he says
the divvil. by this point I study
indifference and his display falls flat
but is quickly redeemed by weasels
which jump over our tables
in a late-night kahwa. will, one thinks,
one, ever, find, ones, way, home
through these midnight weasels?
wreathed as they are in hashish smoke?
twenty five years on, the weasels?
wind in the arch?
we hoot and feel the resonance of masonry?
at least my parenting does this?
dick was the answer, didn't you know?
just like bob was the other answer
now there is the Theory of Everything
it's more complex than you thought
this weasel thing of love
first you have to answer your own joke
then twirl your own stupid moustache
then recognise your flick knife
most of all
see the weasels, the weasels
then find your way home
to find all the furniture gone
no one ever lived there anyway
what you thinking huh?
brevity is lost to me now
and you also, whoever
.
Tuesday, June 02, 2015
Littlebigbang Theory
cold dark matter, some of it bright and hot
some of it not matter
on such a scale that it might appear
arrested, frozen, fixed
in crystal spheres
but in reality flying
outwards from a single point of origin
Play that film backwards—Brian Cox
tracing the reverse trajectory
of all that is or has ever been
brings us at last, second by second
gasping on the shores of cosmic time
to a garden shed near Banbury
there a mild goddess sits
the un-ancient of days
her finger on the button
what done it all
her name the horn of becoming
the park-keeper at the gates of dawn
the shot that was heard around the shed
gnab
.
some of it not matter
on such a scale that it might appear
arrested, frozen, fixed
in crystal spheres
but in reality flying
outwards from a single point of origin
Play that film backwards—Brian Cox
tracing the reverse trajectory
of all that is or has ever been
brings us at last, second by second
gasping on the shores of cosmic time
to a garden shed near Banbury
there a mild goddess sits
the un-ancient of days
her finger on the button
what done it all
her name the horn of becoming
the park-keeper at the gates of dawn
the shot that was heard around the shed
gnab
.
we are the eggmen
as with Burroughs's ugly spirit what killed
his wife one awakes to find one's existence
compromised by forces that appear alien
beyond one's control astonishing how a moment
will unravel everything gasping at the sudden
intervention at how it can never be undone
can never be put back never made whole again
one can of course fret and complain can pine
or preferably one can awake to find one's mouth
and eyes sealed with ectoplasm half-buried
in a ditch in some urban woods waiting to be
kicked to pieces by feral children in the closing
pages of someone else's story in which ultimately
one was only a minor character forgotten
once the book slips from the fingers onto
the bedroom floor where once or twice only
.
his wife one awakes to find one's existence
compromised by forces that appear alien
beyond one's control astonishing how a moment
will unravel everything gasping at the sudden
intervention at how it can never be undone
can never be put back never made whole again
one can of course fret and complain can pine
or preferably one can awake to find one's mouth
and eyes sealed with ectoplasm half-buried
in a ditch in some urban woods waiting to be
kicked to pieces by feral children in the closing
pages of someone else's story in which ultimately
one was only a minor character forgotten
once the book slips from the fingers onto
the bedroom floor where once or twice only
.
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