ugh from over the far morbay that blackback starkfells into spluts
of early birdscold a monstrous inching inthing that ingrew
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 the men the drymen
acres to the barrel-beaches with the uncut catch inwarped.
fishimps and ghosts sidelaying low as low for Jamaico on the
eastlandic scottles of west herringbane and chinee soup
schlocked in-out in a second of hemp drabingers menwomen
from the near-sea teeters.a washup iglooed 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 Cathay tubs
.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Friday, May 06, 2011
dark entries (several collisions)
I intervened between a man and woman last night
somewhere there in the gazelle-haze at 3am I went out
in my dressing gown with a chair leg I had grown specially
but they refused to listen and would only speak in codes
listen they said all guitar and wire and signal fire
that flashed through, and then I went out because a man
with a trap went by a trap of some sort they postured at me
adopted martial postures
told me to leave and later a man full of silver
an unnamed silver
whose name
I only vaguely caught but it was weird not a local name
like Feather or Flight or Fitzplane
I asked of the neighbours but they were asleep and said only
'you have slept and wept and now you are mad and your
children' -- who knows what to make of that?
and then I went out because a man had turned
into a horse and then I went out
for a horse had somehow
turned into a crab and then
after that a giant goat and some wild things but I refused now
to take certain actions for the fear that clouds.
i have not been great these last few days but the
signs suggest a great or greater conspiracy.i will be there
when i can.it's strange
how the world seems all of silver these shining midnights
as for you: i have seen the evidence. i have never actually
done that, though i know what they say. could you do you
think get even half of it in your mouth? it's a shellfish after all
and even in the hot stages spiny and active.i suggest we both
retreat from all of this before something truly awful unfolds
i will be there at the semaphore gate by west upon west
when the slight disaster hits the treetops you will know
me by my closely cropped hair and my deliberation
this is an awkward and agitated gait engendered by
the rolling of seas full of stars and those wild
catfish of northern Provenance
.
somewhere there in the gazelle-haze at 3am I went out
in my dressing gown with a chair leg I had grown specially
but they refused to listen and would only speak in codes
listen they said all guitar and wire and signal fire
that flashed through, and then I went out because a man
with a trap went by a trap of some sort they postured at me
adopted martial postures
told me to leave and later a man full of silver
an unnamed silver
whose name
I only vaguely caught but it was weird not a local name
like Feather or Flight or Fitzplane
I asked of the neighbours but they were asleep and said only
'you have slept and wept and now you are mad and your
children' -- who knows what to make of that?
and then I went out because a man had turned
into a horse and then I went out
for a horse had somehow
turned into a crab and then
after that a giant goat and some wild things but I refused now
to take certain actions for the fear that clouds.
i have not been great these last few days but the
signs suggest a great or greater conspiracy.i will be there
when i can.it's strange
how the world seems all of silver these shining midnights
as for you: i have seen the evidence. i have never actually
done that, though i know what they say. could you do you
think get even half of it in your mouth? it's a shellfish after all
and even in the hot stages spiny and active.i suggest we both
retreat from all of this before something truly awful unfolds
i will be there at the semaphore gate by west upon west
when the slight disaster hits the treetops you will know
me by my closely cropped hair and my deliberation
this is an awkward and agitated gait engendered by
the rolling of seas full of stars and those wild
catfish of northern Provenance
.
Thursday, May 05, 2011
slick concurrence
north and south and east of the field
the whopwhop bird plaints low
the modern idea of freedoms
who could no longer control themselves
......brick kilns
..........towers of near-silence
you feel this change of air as it falls
I thought I knew nearly everything
he shouts
led away
there can't be much more
all night the radio was dead and we knew nothing
imagine all of us four gathered there in the cellar
it was as if the air had stopped
dead like a lesbian crime scene splayed on the bed
a wine bottle lingerie some maps a space ship
two oversize still humming
some nuclear fuel and an army of rebel
rats in the wardrobe she kept concealed
under the floor with the nukes and bio-shit
that hummed as we approached this stuff is
dangerous we need a trained negotiator who
is conversant in mephitis and alien states
the edit is all wrong—<the bed it is too strong>
there are names for this
you were never here
.
the whopwhop bird plaints low
the modern idea of freedoms
who could no longer control themselves
......brick kilns
..........towers of near-silence
you feel this change of air as it falls
I thought I knew nearly everything
he shouts
led away
there can't be much more
all night the radio was dead and we knew nothing
imagine all of us four gathered there in the cellar
it was as if the air had stopped
dead like a lesbian crime scene splayed on the bed
a wine bottle lingerie some maps a space ship
two oversize still humming
some nuclear fuel and an army of rebel
rats in the wardrobe she kept concealed
under the floor with the nukes and bio-shit
that hummed as we approached this stuff is
dangerous we need a trained negotiator who
is conversant in mephitis and alien states
the edit is all wrong—<the bed it is too strong>
there are names for this
you were never here
.
Wednesday, May 04, 2011
Don's pint of Guinness on Facebook (to Don Zirilli)
he is inside that glass
it froths and looks like it might just
spill over
not much just a small drool down the glass
but he is in there banging at the glass
holding his breath in the black stuff
put your ear to it you can hear his heart
beating ever faster
it becomes insistent
he wants to breathe
he wants to break the glass
he has a little hammer like Houdini
but who would want to waste
a whole Guinness...
his lungs demand it
his heart requires it
he opens up and starts to suck
it in that black filth
ooooooohhhhh it enters him
it takes half a minute
then he climbs out that little leprechaun
red-faced gasping sprite revived
little fingers clutching the rim
grinning and spluttering
then the glassman comes round
snatches it up
dunks it/him upside down in the glasswasher
he swirls away
last we see is his face his hands whirling down
who knows where he is now?
I like to think he's down there somewhere
befriending subterranean creatures
reciting with grins and gestures the story of his descent
one of these days he'll make it back
I for one will buy him
a barrel of Guinness
and a new little hammer
.
it froths and looks like it might just
spill over
not much just a small drool down the glass
but he is in there banging at the glass
holding his breath in the black stuff
put your ear to it you can hear his heart
beating ever faster
it becomes insistent
he wants to breathe
he wants to break the glass
he has a little hammer like Houdini
but who would want to waste
a whole Guinness...
his lungs demand it
his heart requires it
he opens up and starts to suck
it in that black filth
ooooooohhhhh it enters him
it takes half a minute
then he climbs out that little leprechaun
red-faced gasping sprite revived
little fingers clutching the rim
grinning and spluttering
then the glassman comes round
snatches it up
dunks it/him upside down in the glasswasher
he swirls away
last we see is his face his hands whirling down
who knows where he is now?
I like to think he's down there somewhere
befriending subterranean creatures
reciting with grins and gestures the story of his descent
one of these days he'll make it back
I for one will buy him
a barrel of Guinness
and a new little hammer
.
unexploded shells
Liverpool 1968 full of holes and the ectoplasm
leaks through the holes gluing us all down the entries
and alleyways why are these years now full of sunlight
full of wartime gasmasks that smell of old breath
and rubber left out in the sun two boys in the bricks
beneath which still tissue and bones from the bombings
they tie a firework to my bare leg they run off laughing
I come home burnt crying in the rain in need of Hovis
and fly pie one day I smear myself all over with
sunflower oil I think it facilitates tanning I sit out
on the step near-naked I feel grown up and excessively hot
my Grandfather works on the bins he finds all sorts
a rucsac one day he brings me with broken toys
to put in it I lie at the door shooting neighbours
with a broken gun until my missiles are confiscated
green knitwear on the first day gooseflesh and songs
tears but not from me so happy my chinaman father
late at night radio from the sea-measles a gate
through which lower breck we learnt to smoke
betrayal by cousins a naked man by the army shop
downtown deco Mr Bell Bluecoat in the communal
workshops of 1969 a high bed full of some latest
semi-guru always full of women and his pneumatics
harder than iron on the later chippings knappings
this is how this how this
fluxial fluxgate independent of magnetism as almost
the double tap of gyro indents halfway the acquisition
devices that imprint the locale the dialectic shriek
down the sunny street where a footballer lived
beyond his ways six a chips only two minutes
later to affirm locality that cctv of handholding
leading out of a precinct to a railwaycanal sink
for a long time no one had anything
after that everyone had already moved away
the river had browned over
yellow amphibians grow there now
ten quid for half an hour on the water
the naked man still drunk on the leaden prow
waves up the river his anxiety everywhere
on the wind my Grandfather angry and wanting
to get home and drink one looks in and one looks out
in the new settlements south of the river
the apartments had portholes in honour
of the naked man waving
it was as if they had found a way to bottle it
light it up throw it in a ditch
tell everyone to jump in
no one knows much about rivers
the river wasn't yet born
that would grow up to be a god
under the brown flow the wrecks
body parts now bones
1967 I am down there in the wreck
of the Sally Fiola in the ballast bricks
two boys tie fireworks they laugh
I come home in need of drinking Hovis
from the sea naked Alaska
slow-torpedoed in my language
not yet knowing
everyone in the future
was already gone
had left
moved out to the towns with portholes
from which there was no coming back
to the sunny entries and the smell of rubber
river daffodils shine up each Spring
sit there at midnight watch them rise like candles
the river momentarily alight
and the naked man waves wild and drunk
sligo ashcroft over bommie schoolbells smokes
dead Mersey mud
.
leaks through the holes gluing us all down the entries
and alleyways why are these years now full of sunlight
full of wartime gasmasks that smell of old breath
and rubber left out in the sun two boys in the bricks
beneath which still tissue and bones from the bombings
they tie a firework to my bare leg they run off laughing
I come home burnt crying in the rain in need of Hovis
and fly pie one day I smear myself all over with
sunflower oil I think it facilitates tanning I sit out
on the step near-naked I feel grown up and excessively hot
my Grandfather works on the bins he finds all sorts
a rucsac one day he brings me with broken toys
to put in it I lie at the door shooting neighbours
with a broken gun until my missiles are confiscated
green knitwear on the first day gooseflesh and songs
tears but not from me so happy my chinaman father
late at night radio from the sea-measles a gate
through which lower breck we learnt to smoke
betrayal by cousins a naked man by the army shop
downtown deco Mr Bell Bluecoat in the communal
workshops of 1969 a high bed full of some latest
semi-guru always full of women and his pneumatics
harder than iron on the later chippings knappings
this is how this how this
fluxial fluxgate independent of magnetism as almost
the double tap of gyro indents halfway the acquisition
devices that imprint the locale the dialectic shriek
down the sunny street where a footballer lived
beyond his ways six a chips only two minutes
later to affirm locality that cctv of handholding
leading out of a precinct to a railwaycanal sink
for a long time no one had anything
after that everyone had already moved away
the river had browned over
yellow amphibians grow there now
ten quid for half an hour on the water
the naked man still drunk on the leaden prow
waves up the river his anxiety everywhere
on the wind my Grandfather angry and wanting
to get home and drink one looks in and one looks out
in the new settlements south of the river
the apartments had portholes in honour
of the naked man waving
it was as if they had found a way to bottle it
light it up throw it in a ditch
tell everyone to jump in
no one knows much about rivers
the river wasn't yet born
that would grow up to be a god
under the brown flow the wrecks
body parts now bones
1967 I am down there in the wreck
of the Sally Fiola in the ballast bricks
two boys tie fireworks they laugh
I come home in need of drinking Hovis
from the sea naked Alaska
slow-torpedoed in my language
not yet knowing
everyone in the future
was already gone
had left
moved out to the towns with portholes
from which there was no coming back
to the sunny entries and the smell of rubber
river daffodils shine up each Spring
sit there at midnight watch them rise like candles
the river momentarily alight
and the naked man waves wild and drunk
sligo ashcroft over bommie schoolbells smokes
dead Mersey mud
.
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
tickertape parade a history
during the later Triumphs the office workers on the canyon walls poised their fingers over the empty buttons ready to dump the contents of their recycle bins these gestures showered the cavalcades in streams of semi-randomized electromagnetic broadcasts, all of which would register to the electronic Jack Bauer lurking in the shades below in many misions afoot as strange commands next thing he leaps up on a limo hood with a microtech halo grating he jumps in rips out the throats of six foreign dignitaries only he knows are aliens about to detonate themselves yeah the crowd the night the streaming wild tickertape yeah you shoulda heard it just around midnight seems Osama was reborn as a chauffeur got a self-destruct in his ear was just about to say 'what' blow the free world to oysters yet again we give thanks reel out our low frequencies oooooh we cry oooooh you shoulda heard it just around midnight
.
.
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:
Click: BURNING GORGEOUS
Copies can be ordered from me at steveparker333@live.com or from Amazon at http://tinyurl.com/3745tt3
.
Monday, April 25, 2011
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
.
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 -
,
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
switchblade
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...
.
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
.
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
listen
listen
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
.
with an old-fashioned telephone box
London 1965
raise it high the river roars
listen
listen
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 .
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
in and out of inner rooms
the man walks in the house I don't mean into he doesn't crash he is already in and walking in the woman looks out of the window then she walks out he walks out too then she walks back in see above this is a strange thing the woman and the man walk in and out the day curves like this the man and the woman stand in the garden walking in and out always to nowhere both of them staring at the ground who knows what they think down there? their thoughts like worms shovelling away such soil and grit oh in and out they go one of them saying after much of this stay in this time what if we stay in this time? but yes she says we could fuck all night and broil each other like slow-cooked lamb yes of course he says but afterwards there must be a certain look for both of us must know wonders but I am yours she says giving herself like a wasp in an old shoe he loves her for this and beginneth to respond she reaches for him and again the entire day walks in and out what fury furnished most of this .
Monday, March 28, 2011
bongoes nothing
it is 3am and I am banging
on the bongoes
there is a sort of darkness
but I am banging on the bongoes
bang bang bang I go
on the old linden tree
bang bang bang I go
what?
.
on the bongoes
there is a sort of darkness
but I am banging on the bongoes
bang bang bang I go
on the old linden tree
bang bang bang I go
what?
.
kites like monsters
I can't do anything with this woman
I can't shape her
she just is
I don't know if I can deal with it
my head has become a wild cloud
my chest is full of buzzing
she is all of fear and cockerels
go near her and she will wince
but she will not she just won't
she will and won't
she will get to the first fence then turn
and say NO just NO
I could but I won't
this is a place I have to grow into
and I am sorry for my lack
all I have is these monstrous kites
that burning swoop
some sort of tomorrow
lovely mother of my monsters
.
I can't shape her
she just is
I don't know if I can deal with it
my head has become a wild cloud
my chest is full of buzzing
she is all of fear and cockerels
go near her and she will wince
but she will not she just won't
she will and won't
she will get to the first fence then turn
and say NO just NO
I could but I won't
this is a place I have to grow into
and I am sorry for my lack
all I have is these monstrous kites
that burning swoop
some sort of tomorrow
lovely mother of my monsters
.
through the tunnels we gasp like tiny frogs
you who will never learn anything
you anarchist you waterfall
how can you
be your mother all over
like that
she is also beautiful and wayward
you are her child
ungoverned and starting
you naked child who refuses all fences
me and you outside
now
when you are older
hold me
just do that
I have tried to make this okay
but I don't really know how
I made you a paper plane but it crashed
you laughed about it
because you laugh about everything
because you are a cloud full of laughter
because you are falling
from here to there
laughing like a balloon
my only business to catch you
wake up you cried
but I still want you
to mind the gap
for it is a large gap
and known to be full of holes
hold my hand, please
tightly as we step
.
.
you anarchist you waterfall
how can you
be your mother all over
like that
she is also beautiful and wayward
you are her child
ungoverned and starting
you naked child who refuses all fences
me and you outside
now
when you are older
hold me
just do that
I have tried to make this okay
but I don't really know how
I made you a paper plane but it crashed
you laughed about it
because you laugh about everything
because you are a cloud full of laughter
because you are falling
from here to there
laughing like a balloon
my only business to catch you
wake up you cried
but I still want you
to mind the gap
for it is a large gap
and known to be full of holes
hold my hand, please
tightly as we step
.
.
taught by elves
you are seven years old and you often cry still
you wear yellow pyjamas
your brother hugs you and takes off your shoes
he is mischievous and has that smile
today the sun
caught you like that
you sort of love everything
but you are still scared
one day we were in a barn
looking for rats
and the next we were in the sky
something happened
before I knew it you liked tomato juice
(what children ever like tomato juice?)
and trains
when we went through tunnels
we closed our eyes
you weren't sure yet
about adulthood
you still wanted to be a boy
I wanted that for you too
your brother shrieked as we came out
of the tunnel
wake up wake up he cried
and now we are pulling up
at Ingrow East
and I want to reach out and stroke your face
just because of nothing
just because of tunnels
and waking up
.
you wear yellow pyjamas
your brother hugs you and takes off your shoes
he is mischievous and has that smile
today the sun
caught you like that
you sort of love everything
but you are still scared
one day we were in a barn
looking for rats
and the next we were in the sky
something happened
before I knew it you liked tomato juice
(what children ever like tomato juice?)
and trains
when we went through tunnels
we closed our eyes
you weren't sure yet
about adulthood
you still wanted to be a boy
I wanted that for you too
your brother shrieked as we came out
of the tunnel
wake up wake up he cried
and now we are pulling up
at Ingrow East
and I want to reach out and stroke your face
just because of nothing
just because of tunnels
and waking up
.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
things is not plural
(I would were I not subjunctively consumed
by the waste/waist such consumption is
the province of raMpaging male hippoi
between which and the water you had got
so as to camera the memes they are as grapes)
is there a dofline or is that wrong?
they stroke I hear they stroke then die
can that be right?
it feels strong like motherhood in a cave
is that right? image away the saccades of stroke?
then drift unfeeding away from everything
everything dust that inflates outwards
not a singular thing but things is not plural
as inflation everythings blows ups or out
from his mouth ivy and golden clouds
for there is no up
as of guilt look this is what I mean the meme thing
the breakdown what a cronk someone
long far way stretch was he called Alan or Alain
the spelling ludes it was far off in time again
you can know everything and still hate what it is
to be monstrous as that stuck hippo of gloom
of screen of sashay of youth of the room even
to to to to always approach with a rat in the mouth
shouting and wielding as you flood for this
is known to be scary as fuck and/so/even they will
indeed run at the mouth and the apparition
with ichor and fright at the very affright
or afreet in the well but that is a non-story
stuck in a lift with a killer on the zero floor
I was not but neither were you? (he wanted
to hold his wife.he murmured.he had forgotten.
she was dead.her voice across the straits.
the cannonades of human limbs.the grapeshot
that took the legs out of the Highlanders.
in spring they throw bread in the rivers
to raise the dead.he clutches at her.
his arms return raining with emptiness.
he looks in the mirror and wonders beetles.
who is that behind him?he opens the door
at midnight.something invisible slides in
past him.everything is now infected.love
goes bad and becomes a disease.sent using
BlackBerry® from Orangeyeah what) no you i
mean no you that's the damn thing—no you
.
by the waste/waist such consumption is
the province of raMpaging male hippoi
between which and the water you had got
so as to camera the memes they are as grapes)
is there a dofline or is that wrong?
they stroke I hear they stroke then die
can that be right?
it feels strong like motherhood in a cave
is that right? image away the saccades of stroke?
then drift unfeeding away from everything
everything dust that inflates outwards
not a singular thing but things is not plural
as inflation everythings blows ups or out
from his mouth ivy and golden clouds
for there is no up
as of guilt look this is what I mean the meme thing
the breakdown what a cronk someone
long far way stretch was he called Alan or Alain
the spelling ludes it was far off in time again
you can know everything and still hate what it is
to be monstrous as that stuck hippo of gloom
of screen of sashay of youth of the room even
to to to to always approach with a rat in the mouth
shouting and wielding as you flood for this
is known to be scary as fuck and/so/even they will
indeed run at the mouth and the apparition
with ichor and fright at the very affright
or afreet in the well but that is a non-story
stuck in a lift with a killer on the zero floor
I was not but neither were you? (he wanted
to hold his wife.he murmured.he had forgotten.
she was dead.her voice across the straits.
the cannonades of human limbs.the grapeshot
that took the legs out of the Highlanders.
in spring they throw bread in the rivers
to raise the dead.he clutches at her.
his arms return raining with emptiness.
he looks in the mirror and wonders beetles.
who is that behind him?he opens the door
at midnight.something invisible slides in
past him.everything is now infected.love
goes bad and becomes a disease.sent using
BlackBerry® from Orangeyeah what) no you i
mean no you that's the damn thing—no you
.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
the end of that world
me and you looking at chimpanzees grimacing a little examining lizards fuck looking at each other, wondering the sun coming up agreeing with all strangeness kind of loving everything wanting weetabix but not really reading books after sex to each other both leaning out the window to see the meteors fighting a bit for space laughing naked making love till half an hour ago this carrot I say all of a sudden yeah what you say what you gonna do with that? oh nothing I say just throw it far away till it lands in some place without ripples all dark there all fixed there no let's forget it just what could have been all those little frogs sound like engines full of sex all of them dying in drying wheel-ruts that the rain filled briefly goodbye to all that this is the end of that world that world of sound and light goodnight goodnight goodnight it's always the same people who don't turn up .
Saturday, March 12, 2011
radio bird
the trains always come in like this now
dead and slow and black
almost identical to how they went out
almost
something happens out there
they just can't keep them alive all the way
the drivers seem okay to all but their closest friends
the lights of houses
with some front projection of text and faces
that inner feel of braking
those fence posts that are laid at an angle
as though time had had some overlay
in their installation
from the hillside that little dot of smoke and steam
the cold light laying it low and full of atmosphere
I kept asking and wouldn't stop
I can't stop questioning everything
but I just really need to know
is this through all the smoke and steam
okay?
he looked and felt things
there were birds out there
that messed with the radio signals
he wanted to touch but couldn't
it woke in a ditch made all of broken radios
it turned its creaky head for a while
like some robot crane
that couldn't take off
it collapsed then back into its long sleep
thinking as it went
that it might once wake somewhere else
where its currency was legal
nothing now
nothing but here's the thing
when she drives away he stands there and some part
of his intestines flops out and it gets wrapped
around one of her wheels and it unrolls
from his torn abdomen wrapping itself
around the wheel and the tracking rods
as she drives down the road stretching out tighter
thinner and translucent and shimmering
it doesn't snap until she turns the corner
with a crack like ice floes cool and blue
as distant gunfire recoiling back into his gut
doubling him over with some sensation
that is rather like but is just not laughter
.
dead and slow and black
almost identical to how they went out
almost
something happens out there
they just can't keep them alive all the way
the drivers seem okay to all but their closest friends
the lights of houses
with some front projection of text and faces
that inner feel of braking
those fence posts that are laid at an angle
as though time had had some overlay
in their installation
from the hillside that little dot of smoke and steam
the cold light laying it low and full of atmosphere
I kept asking and wouldn't stop
I can't stop questioning everything
but I just really need to know
is this through all the smoke and steam
okay?
he looked and felt things
there were birds out there
that messed with the radio signals
he wanted to touch but couldn't
it woke in a ditch made all of broken radios
it turned its creaky head for a while
like some robot crane
that couldn't take off
it collapsed then back into its long sleep
thinking as it went
that it might once wake somewhere else
where its currency was legal
nothing now
nothing but here's the thing
when she drives away he stands there and some part
of his intestines flops out and it gets wrapped
around one of her wheels and it unrolls
from his torn abdomen wrapping itself
around the wheel and the tracking rods
as she drives down the road stretching out tighter
thinner and translucent and shimmering
it doesn't snap until she turns the corner
with a crack like ice floes cool and blue
as distant gunfire recoiling back into his gut
doubling him over with some sensation
that is rather like but is just not laughter
.
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 blow.to 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
.
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 blow.to 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
.
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
.
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
.
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
wainscot
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
.
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
.
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
.
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
...................in 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
.
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
...................in 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
.
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
.
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
paradise
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
.
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
paradise
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
nothing
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
shit
leaves and a weird light
.
.
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
shit
leaves and a weird light
.
.
Elvis turtle
when no one else can understand me
when everything I do is wrong
fuck
this is someone else's song
you yes I mean you
are a turtle flapping
as it falls
.
when everything I do is wrong
fuck
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?
.
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
.
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
motherfucker
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
.
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
motherfucker
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?
.
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
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 simultaneously.you 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 in.you 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 smoke.like 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 disappeared.my 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 there.you 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 mines.nothing.nowt.red wine is full of news of Egypt.love.stop
everyone else thinks something different.good
.
.
this is the real diary.confess nothing and everything simultaneously.you 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 in.you 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 smoke.like 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 disappeared.my 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 there.you 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 mines.nothing.nowt.red wine is full of news of Egypt.love.stop
everyone else thinks something different.good
.
.
amp-u-like
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?
.
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?
.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Slimmer Rick's Bar Americain
O wailing gorilla who danced
while at his fat mama he glanced
crikey hey look at me
he criked from his tree
I'm almost quite every advanced
.
while at his fat mama he glanced
crikey hey look at me
he criked from his tree
I'm almost quite every advanced
.
this earthly tic
this ran orange alert
by the castle
but really that guy was dead
three hours ago
they stood around watching
a car in a lake
Jacques Brel sounding off insanely
in some astral dance hall
nothing now but standing
and going home
just to be sure
one fat monkey puts a gun to his head
and laughs
jumps on the roof
waves his ass
you want to talk philosophy with me
you'll need a dirty towel
.
by the castle
but really that guy was dead
three hours ago
they stood around watching
a car in a lake
Jacques Brel sounding off insanely
in some astral dance hall
nothing now but standing
and going home
just to be sure
one fat monkey puts a gun to his head
and laughs
jumps on the roof
waves his ass
you want to talk philosophy with me
you'll need a dirty towel
.
cool nun
I am a monk in a tree
with a gun in my ass
a cool nun holds the trigger
this is nothing but my latest attempt
to enter Space as an amateur
I am Wan Hu and I do this with devotion
of course I fucked her first
plied her with extracts
plied her
and inveigled her into the position
but now get real
my time has come
I love everything
everything is nothing
love is a slight panda that starves
slow and mild and bite unconvinced
I am not unconvinced
I am Wan Hu
my heart is in the stars
sister it is time
our love is of the stars
feed my shattered hide to the pigs
of the monastery of Wan len Fu
his pigs are devoted and will eat with care
midnight flutes will play
along the eastern wall
see my detachments
cool nun
fuck
.
with a gun in my ass
a cool nun holds the trigger
this is nothing but my latest attempt
to enter Space as an amateur
I am Wan Hu and I do this with devotion
of course I fucked her first
plied her with extracts
plied her
and inveigled her into the position
but now get real
my time has come
I love everything
everything is nothing
love is a slight panda that starves
slow and mild and bite unconvinced
I am not unconvinced
I am Wan Hu
my heart is in the stars
sister it is time
our love is of the stars
feed my shattered hide to the pigs
of the monastery of Wan len Fu
his pigs are devoted and will eat with care
midnight flutes will play
along the eastern wall
see my detachments
cool nun
fuck
.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
cinquain
eyes out
on two long stalks
the lecherous old pig
frequents the local student bar
for gawks
.
on two long stalks
the lecherous old pig
frequents the local student bar
for gawks
.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
a ghazal for wide red elision/elysium
lugeto veneres cupidinesque—Catullus
as in a tabula raga/rasa that off with
the fairies drifted through much fog—No One
Molon Labe—Terse Laconics in Hypotaxis
a curious liberation in this announcement
of the Platonic footing all the night
I felt in her that fairies had taken me
I strapped my new feet and thought of fire
eating up the houses all around
their faces pressed against windows
but in this I am not predatory
and would abandon a chase if a slow gazelle
turned with haha heaving breast to demand there be a rest
but still, still
the fire creeps down the houses
and who could believe
in that little box
that no one of us had thought in the fire's steep
and thought still in our sleep
of how it might be
if the gazelle the ghazal had been quickened
in all of its rhymes in its hindquarter chimes
till the breath that flew there
the claws that there grew
fastened all through her hair
in the rain-steeps I am learning
to be mellif as all Eve
always to believe
in the last-lying heave
.
as in a tabula raga/rasa that off with
the fairies drifted through much fog—No One
Molon Labe—Terse Laconics in Hypotaxis
a curious liberation in this announcement
of the Platonic footing all the night
I felt in her that fairies had taken me
I strapped my new feet and thought of fire
eating up the houses all around
their faces pressed against windows
but in this I am not predatory
and would abandon a chase if a slow gazelle
turned with haha heaving breast to demand there be a rest
but still, still
the fire creeps down the houses
and who could believe
in that little box
that no one of us had thought in the fire's steep
and thought still in our sleep
of how it might be
if the gazelle the ghazal had been quickened
in all of its rhymes in its hindquarter chimes
till the breath that flew there
the claws that there grew
fastened all through her hair
in the rain-steeps I am learning
to be mellif as all Eve
always to believe
in the last-lying heave
.
Monday, January 17, 2011
a virtual lekking so proud and denatured were we then
there once was a tyger
whose heart was quite black
fear yet me he cried
whose heart was quite black
a peacock happened there
in that tyger'd tight world
he hop't and he blew
and his tail unfurled
in a scrape and a hollow
such lekking he did
and there in that wallow
he boasted and hid
and slid him a fever
in a packet so tight
that e'en a tyger
could nestle that night
as a cigarette nurstles
in the lips and cavorts
in the lap of all vessels
that sway at his thwarts
[and in the morning the voice
that spake that there was the third
and that there were only three
and of this it was the third
and that no more would there be
but three and this then was the third]
of the tyger was nothing
returned or yet seen
but the slow acre danced
in stripes dun and green
the peacock arose
he flut then his tayle
whereupon he dids't lift
in quite a great gale
[and thereupon he spake again
that this was all of the three
thrice he had spoken from five
to three of which it was the third
and this proclaimed the three]
and now I must flit
where the hearken is through
I wish you were here
where that tyger-root grew
.
whose heart was quite black
fear yet me he cried
whose heart was quite black
a peacock happened there
in that tyger'd tight world
he hop't and he blew
and his tail unfurled
in a scrape and a hollow
such lekking he did
and there in that wallow
he boasted and hid
and slid him a fever
in a packet so tight
that e'en a tyger
could nestle that night
as a cigarette nurstles
in the lips and cavorts
in the lap of all vessels
that sway at his thwarts
[and in the morning the voice
that spake that there was the third
and that there were only three
and of this it was the third
and that no more would there be
but three and this then was the third]
of the tyger was nothing
returned or yet seen
but the slow acre danced
in stripes dun and green
the peacock arose
he flut then his tayle
whereupon he dids't lift
in quite a great gale
[and thereupon he spake again
that this was all of the three
thrice he had spoken from five
to three of which it was the third
and this proclaimed the three]
and now I must flit
where the hearken is through
I wish you were here
where that tyger-root grew
.
the straight and left wing clapping
men die quicker because they are heartbroken
at the age of four
introduced to the violent resolution of conflict
taught that no one is to be trusted
women on the other beat
still believe deep in themselves
that war is a game
that will never fully tear their bodies apart
they can laugh and dance
while the boys do it
to the rock and roll rock and roll radio
not all of this not all of it but enough
still we die four years younger
and it closes as we learn
that war is not all our inheritance
but only a spoken thing that sinks through
the footfalls on the stair outside our yellow-lit rooms
drums into our little hearts
steals us away to the dry place
beyond the warm wet place
and all our songs and speaking
in such loud whispers hereafter
have I already given this to my boys
this infection that will make them stand
beating their little heads
against the long wall of their lives?
.
at the age of four
introduced to the violent resolution of conflict
taught that no one is to be trusted
women on the other beat
still believe deep in themselves
that war is a game
that will never fully tear their bodies apart
they can laugh and dance
while the boys do it
to the rock and roll rock and roll radio
not all of this not all of it but enough
still we die four years younger
and it closes as we learn
that war is not all our inheritance
but only a spoken thing that sinks through
the footfalls on the stair outside our yellow-lit rooms
drums into our little hearts
steals us away to the dry place
beyond the warm wet place
and all our songs and speaking
in such loud whispers hereafter
have I already given this to my boys
this infection that will make them stand
beating their little heads
against the long wall of their lives?
.
mass spectrometer
Oradour
like a bubble
they don't lick your fucking toes
these guys
(Plains Indians/Tibet
Das Reich)
every letter a word
tell you what
.
like a bubble
they don't lick your fucking toes
these guys
(Plains Indians/Tibet
Das Reich)
every letter a word
tell you what
.
reflux
each human a saccade in which we sincarnate
a stroboscope of serial-slow suspension
a line of leading lights out from the lee
a staccato spasm of apprehension
its mist and moan of siren and the lowest
astronomical tide that divides you from me
.
a stroboscope of serial-slow suspension
a line of leading lights out from the lee
a staccato spasm of apprehension
its mist and moan of siren and the lowest
astronomical tide that divides you from me
.
Maria's childlike delight in chocolate
all night he looks
he can't help himself
for somehow the fact that her nose moves
like a little animal
when she smiles
has eclipsed all the far-off lights
down the eastern road
to the seashore
.
he can't help himself
for somehow the fact that her nose moves
like a little animal
when she smiles
has eclipsed all the far-off lights
down the eastern road
to the seashore
.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
virus
I expected the Trojan Horse
(that was par for the course)
but the Trojan Rhino
was a new one on me
it jumped right out
of my infected PC
ran across the lino
and ate my TV
.
(that was par for the course)
but the Trojan Rhino
was a new one on me
it jumped right out
of my infected PC
ran across the lino
and ate my TV
.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Pulpo
the same city on the same day—Carl Sagan
after coitus a tentacled lovecraft that wriggles pink
wild panicked in the retreat it is sea purple that cannot speak
he disengages inked blue from his girlfriend
carries her to the red bathroom and turns her inside out
hangs her on the violet girlfriend armature to drain where
he watches the dirty stuff all disassembled start to live
start to cluster and squeal with multiple heads
vast echoes down the basin the waste the hollow halls
that fill with smoke and
in these spaces Pulpo comes to himself
in the wash in the froth
laughing to the elbows
he washes her out with warm water whereupon
careful to avoid oily soaps that could damage
her delicate tissue
he looks at her there in the basin rolled
inside out oh oh Pulpo what of you
now that your batgirl is
]inside out like Ed Gein like blue soldiers at Shuffling Lances
to hang those interiors high and right and not to slide[
down the lift shafts Pulpo heads in hand bellow
the dropping lift frets mostly
for how not the pus octo on the crash the most
famous successful male sex toy in the world
but what good is that wriggled itself to death
there in the blood
Y chromosome basin
somewhere overt the rainboat?
(they say eight legs walking over your eyes will cure it)
Pulpo, it ain't just about the slamming impact on the wharf
even now it is more than that, Pulpo
)you know Love best when you find it afterwards
just about twitching in starlight floating away(
LOL:WTF:LOL
.
after coitus a tentacled lovecraft that wriggles pink
wild panicked in the retreat it is sea purple that cannot speak
he disengages inked blue from his girlfriend
carries her to the red bathroom and turns her inside out
hangs her on the violet girlfriend armature to drain where
he watches the dirty stuff all disassembled start to live
start to cluster and squeal with multiple heads
vast echoes down the basin the waste the hollow halls
that fill with smoke and
in these spaces Pulpo comes to himself
in the wash in the froth
laughing to the elbows
he washes her out with warm water whereupon
careful to avoid oily soaps that could damage
her delicate tissue
he looks at her there in the basin rolled
inside out oh oh Pulpo what of you
now that your batgirl is
]inside out like Ed Gein like blue soldiers at Shuffling Lances
to hang those interiors high and right and not to slide[
down the lift shafts Pulpo heads in hand bellow
the dropping lift frets mostly
for how not the pus octo on the crash the most
famous successful male sex toy in the world
but what good is that wriggled itself to death
there in the blood
Y chromosome basin
somewhere overt the rainboat?
(they say eight legs walking over your eyes will cure it)
Pulpo, it ain't just about the slamming impact on the wharf
even now it is more than that, Pulpo
)you know Love best when you find it afterwards
just about twitching in starlight floating away(
LOL:WTF:LOL
.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
fat Mahdi with concubines in retreat
More Head spoke of a general Gordon who unspeared by running
the time back from Mahdis
to where they ran as ichor and afreets into the sand
the spear was a cold thing that schlupped out of his chest
into the arms of an unravelling young man dark and sweating
who rewound down the steps from the embassy
out into the desert where the words flew from his ears
into the mouth of the Mahdi black and whirling
who in another time would grow fat and apostate
but in this would fade in equal proportion
to the words that flew back in
with such diminishing and disempowering
that he shrank back even then into the far Afrique Interior
where he slowly ceased and shifted, silted and shut up
like a motorcycle a mammoth a monolith half buried in dunes
a skeleton laid across it
all its tools buried in the wind below
ribcage-deep lightfalls in the blow bells of hell
.
the time back from Mahdis
to where they ran as ichor and afreets into the sand
the spear was a cold thing that schlupped out of his chest
into the arms of an unravelling young man dark and sweating
who rewound down the steps from the embassy
out into the desert where the words flew from his ears
into the mouth of the Mahdi black and whirling
who in another time would grow fat and apostate
but in this would fade in equal proportion
to the words that flew back in
with such diminishing and disempowering
that he shrank back even then into the far Afrique Interior
where he slowly ceased and shifted, silted and shut up
like a motorcycle a mammoth a monolith half buried in dunes
a skeleton laid across it
all its tools buried in the wind below
ribcage-deep lightfalls in the blow bells of hell
.
the lights wink out
on the mountainside a dead channel suddenly opens
on the cracked radio
a thin human voice calls out
come back you say
through your broken legs
but it is gone and will not speak again
it is in moments of dread that we feel our gods
Vox AC30
Marshall Stack
Fender Twin
Orange
what could you want
you jellyfish of purple cold?
.
on the cracked radio
a thin human voice calls out
come back you say
through your broken legs
but it is gone and will not speak again
it is in moments of dread that we feel our gods
Vox AC30
Marshall Stack
Fender Twin
Orange
what could you want
you jellyfish of purple cold?
.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Jazz and the flying trapeze
Diana Krall suddenly became the synchronous other-end-arc
of a feedback loop when someone sent me a link from Italy
that could be closure and finality
the beginning of this is obscure and ragged
it is difficult to use it as information
her chords and melodies hammer and collide
throughout this.don't think they are not there.they are as birds
dropping in flight.clouds of ash flooding the troposphere.flowers with bent heads
but two references to the unknown in a few days
means everything and nothing
I think of my uncle in a Lancaster bomber in 1943
young as black rainfall
think of Modernism and high boots sheening out
think of Sinatra and McCoy Tyner
the thrash of those marches
lost children in parks of dream
the attempt to hold them, to stop time
I am clutching in the night for omens
drowning face down in a reflected moon
reaching for poems that are too far away, too deep, too soon
.
of a feedback loop when someone sent me a link from Italy
that could be closure and finality
the beginning of this is obscure and ragged
it is difficult to use it as information
her chords and melodies hammer and collide
throughout this.don't think they are not there.they are as birds
dropping in flight.clouds of ash flooding the troposphere.flowers with bent heads
but two references to the unknown in a few days
means everything and nothing
I think of my uncle in a Lancaster bomber in 1943
young as black rainfall
think of Modernism and high boots sheening out
think of Sinatra and McCoy Tyner
the thrash of those marches
lost children in parks of dream
the attempt to hold them, to stop time
I am clutching in the night for omens
drowning face down in a reflected moon
reaching for poems that are too far away, too deep, too soon
.
snowy fugues in 6/8 time
this inequality of purpose
creates a gyring motion out of which he spins
find himself out of shape, pressed flat, immobile
it is as though a car drives too fast
along a narrow country lane
and you are forced to squeeze yourself
against the hedge
it is as though you came into contact
with a form of energy of a different order
than your own
look into the eyes of someone
who has no interest
know again that your currency
has only marginal value here
that anything can not happen in this denatured tissue
something blew by
looked briefly in at the night window
then moved on full of its reflections
the people in the house stood at the window
for some time afterwards wondering
everything is still and dark and empty outside
whatever it was out there grows more distant
at every moment
in swoops across the fields
where the recent snow melts quickly
and is soon forgotten
.
creates a gyring motion out of which he spins
find himself out of shape, pressed flat, immobile
it is as though a car drives too fast
along a narrow country lane
and you are forced to squeeze yourself
against the hedge
it is as though you came into contact
with a form of energy of a different order
than your own
look into the eyes of someone
who has no interest
know again that your currency
has only marginal value here
that anything can not happen in this denatured tissue
something blew by
looked briefly in at the night window
then moved on full of its reflections
the people in the house stood at the window
for some time afterwards wondering
everything is still and dark and empty outside
whatever it was out there grows more distant
at every moment
in swoops across the fields
where the recent snow melts quickly
and is soon forgotten
.
Monday, January 03, 2011
in heaven before your head hits the wall
you have a gun to the head
of the Son of God
it is ten seconds before 0 AD and you are there
you are a laughing waterfall in this scene
that tumbles over rocks
dark-eyed and intense
but still inside
with that calm
of the high mountains
sunbeams swirl about you
everything is wild and full of omens
everything in this moment says yes
now, love-child, blow his brains
into wine-dark mist
.
of the Son of God
it is ten seconds before 0 AD and you are there
you are a laughing waterfall in this scene
that tumbles over rocks
dark-eyed and intense
but still inside
with that calm
of the high mountains
sunbeams swirl about you
everything is wild and full of omens
everything in this moment says yes
now, love-child, blow his brains
into wine-dark mist
.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Saturday, January 01, 2011
the carphouse of love of trees of bitching grassy teeth
we are all fucked up
but some of us are fucking back—Madeleine Shine
the parakeet killer in the treehouse
replete with love stirs himself
to finish the job a little tighter a little more
and this bitch will stop forever
out there the night the day the fields unfold
this love that bubbles up from the saproots below
well it sings and howls
we are having a family party fishing
around a tank adorned with blue and pink ribbons
when we catch one we slide it back in
watch it hang there big and stupid as a dead angel
sinking slow in the trauma and fog
I have forgotten myself again
I am far above the ground
in the treehouse where I first carved your love-teeth
.
but some of us are fucking back—Madeleine Shine
the parakeet killer in the treehouse
replete with love stirs himself
to finish the job a little tighter a little more
and this bitch will stop forever
out there the night the day the fields unfold
this love that bubbles up from the saproots below
well it sings and howls
we are having a family party fishing
around a tank adorned with blue and pink ribbons
when we catch one we slide it back in
watch it hang there big and stupid as a dead angel
sinking slow in the trauma and fog
I have forgotten myself again
I am far above the ground
in the treehouse where I first carved your love-teeth
.
Tarot electric disease
we are all in the gutter
but some of us are looking at two years—Stephen Fry
oh my memory has changed around this
it comes back as electric shocks and psychism
I am no longer unkind and can now feel love
up and down the horses dance in starlight
& etc cliché
memory and change together say stuff of reflexive therapy
and disaster
all that night that stood between us
this myth of the stolid farmer who stands by a hedge
looking
and then ashtrays overflowing
music that spills from the radio and crawls all over the floor
like a person whose madness suddenly encroached
uh uh
freak the night the night that keeps leaking
you and I eye to eye
oh I say oh
I can't help attacking you
like that we squirm together attacked and in love with weather
my hand on your breast casual as rabbits but with an edge
all dead now look through new telescopes
my voice has dropped an octave tonight
old man river river
into the flood I will fall
the killer at dawn shaking his shift
worries about crumbs and stains
the boy in the cloud writes of his father's huge shoes
begone stink of outer places
.
but some of us are looking at two years—Stephen Fry
oh my memory has changed around this
it comes back as electric shocks and psychism
I am no longer unkind and can now feel love
up and down the horses dance in starlight
& etc cliché
memory and change together say stuff of reflexive therapy
and disaster
all that night that stood between us
this myth of the stolid farmer who stands by a hedge
looking
and then ashtrays overflowing
music that spills from the radio and crawls all over the floor
like a person whose madness suddenly encroached
uh uh
freak the night the night that keeps leaking
you and I eye to eye
oh I say oh
I can't help attacking you
like that we squirm together attacked and in love with weather
my hand on your breast casual as rabbits but with an edge
all dead now look through new telescopes
my voice has dropped an octave tonight
old man river river
into the flood I will fall
the killer at dawn shaking his shift
worries about crumbs and stains
the boy in the cloud writes of his father's huge shoes
begone stink of outer places
.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
the parade of lagomorphs
and when he answered "your duty to your husband and children",
she demurred—Germaine Greer
fifty even forty years ago these women
are more or less dead [betrothal-scarring-wed of facial coverings//]
at this age sexless damp dishrags
of resentment in bags worn thin and blue as veins in Saxon-skin
by husbandry and the pounding of sheets
in some interior scullery just about kicking in dead sleet
petals and sand and sawdust and hacking spit
now look at them texting up as all outer pimped as reality TV
as though their duty to waste and shrink was somewhere cancelled
redacted between cream and the clash
gesture/furnace/glower at them expectant and sexual every one rodded up
with a pink battery roscoe of Thatcher-Solanas tripstick
somehow some right to fuck forever night etc
when did all these women/whore-hen/harrier of forest law/bust a flutter
from the blood-gutter so loose into all expectation?
[alle the nighte we heard that lytel demon mutter
and we there watched him from the pantry licke at the newe butter]
.
she demurred—Germaine Greer
fifty even forty years ago these women
are more or less dead [betrothal-scarring-wed of facial coverings//]
at this age sexless damp dishrags
of resentment in bags worn thin and blue as veins in Saxon-skin
by husbandry and the pounding of sheets
in some interior scullery just about kicking in dead sleet
petals and sand and sawdust and hacking spit
now look at them texting up as all outer pimped as reality TV
as though their duty to waste and shrink was somewhere cancelled
redacted between cream and the clash
gesture/furnace/glower at them expectant and sexual every one rodded up
with a pink battery roscoe of Thatcher-Solanas tripstick
somehow some right to fuck forever night etc
when did all these women/whore-hen/harrier of forest law/bust a flutter
from the blood-gutter so loose into all expectation?
[alle the nighte we heard that lytel demon mutter
and we there watched him from the pantry licke at the newe butter]
.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
harmonic precession (notes)
- new grass through late snow
- an error of 1/1000 of a second in the GPS time differential between satellite and receiver will result in a position displacement of up to 160 miles
the insect attack rate is the frequency at which you feel the departure of your fetch in the mornings out through the cracked green glass across the fields sweeps of rain grey like dead skin in a ditch long as Lustig beating with a hammer a devil in a bag it all circles in scatters of film penetrating the membrane the blows from without hair like corn trodden full of ergot a body found there in the tyre ruts flat and black and dispirited
[your currency is no longer legal tender here it is not intrinsically devalued just not desired, which is the same thing when the hammers ring and the corncrakes sing] when the mummer time is coming & the streets are softly keening all around the booming weather will we grow
glassy-O
her absence of inhibition does not indicate sexual intimacy only the loss of all acknowledgement of you as a mature male you are now in some overlapping Venn category with small children and animals and houseplants so why should she notice if she is semi-naked before you?
this requires an adjustment that only a few only a few people find impossible
Hwæt! if there is no life left in this brass god if another front gathers from the west if the cold wet air mass has overtaken and occluded the preceding relative warmth forcing it upwards into lumps and spikes depicted in iso-violet convention
between the hit or miss governor and the cones are three aluminium valves each resembling a round Greek shield in miniature each functioning as the mouth of a tiny god from which issue steam and several more or less toxic gases
hollow hollow all the beaten bag sounds from that dry devilskin
hot coals forced down the throat of the wolf in that mechanised myth
hollow hollow
imagine her there imagine the shift the sensation of it legs apart knees raised as for congress or delivery beneath the covers slide into focus the eclipse the usurpation the sudden brightness of a new comet all the pieces of you rain invisible as ash falling at night into wet fields your bag full of silver puffs out red spores
and if this is that as their white bellies flop in the shallows
then down & around & below & O all the bells of the barrelling Dead
.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
love as practiced in the south
this night she had calm all over her
that quiet inhuman settlement
that they have before they jump
but she was approximate
I reached out for her there
she took my hand and came back
we ate a boiled cat together in the kitchen
then laughed till sunrise
now at noon she reads my tea-leavings
postcards fly in and out
and we mind them not
that quiet inhuman settlement
that they have before they jump
but she was approximate
I reached out for her there
she took my hand and came back
we ate a boiled cat together in the kitchen
then laughed till sunrise
now at noon she reads my tea-leavings
postcards fly in and out
and we mind them not
Monday, December 13, 2010
SHINE
after a few weeks of this new start
though she could see he was trying
she could also see that it wasn't working
oh she loved him and everything
but she couldn't keep living through this
like this for ever
& so one night when he was fucked up
she slipped the gun
into his open mouth
and blew his head all over the wall
behind the bed
where they had made their babies
she sat there afterwards for a while
cried a little
then made some cocoa
read a Stephen King novel
until she fell asleep next to him
in the night she cuddled him
in his dark uncomplicated wetness
.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
poked with a stick
four and a half centuries
since last a poking with a stick
all the windows broken back then
paint covers the car
the police flee the scene
their faces frozen in horror
all over the papers
no one talks of anything else
everyone slowly grasps
the vulnerable human that lowers its window
waving like it is somehow still safe
morning coming up through the smoke
scenes of feral children eating rancid offal
in the tricoteuse trees
no one feels anything at all until later
oh everyone's god, this moment
.
since last a poking with a stick
all the windows broken back then
paint covers the car
the police flee the scene
their faces frozen in horror
all over the papers
no one talks of anything else
everyone slowly grasps
the vulnerable human that lowers its window
waving like it is somehow still safe
morning coming up through the smoke
scenes of feral children eating rancid offal
in the tricoteuse trees
no one feels anything at all until later
oh everyone's god, this moment
.
or be damned
if we don't kill Julian Assange
any one of us could be fucked in the ass
at any time
during our sleep
even the most innocent rapist or child molester
or otherwise affrighted hare dancing in stolen skin
on the wide sunset
could find himself exposed needlessly
while washing his car one sunday am
looking thoughtfully into the hose rainbows
still full of TV and wine
suddenly a neighbour walking past looks askance
like the world was all changed and gone wrong
all of us fearful now
or perhaps
.
any one of us could be fucked in the ass
at any time
during our sleep
even the most innocent rapist or child molester
or otherwise affrighted hare dancing in stolen skin
on the wide sunset
could find himself exposed needlessly
while washing his car one sunday am
looking thoughtfully into the hose rainbows
still full of TV and wine
suddenly a neighbour walking past looks askance
like the world was all changed and gone wrong
all of us fearful now
or perhaps
.
give it up
it is hard to know
the qualitative difference
outside of psychology
of penetration
or penetration
but in the twilight
one feels more like saying
yes I've been travelling over mountains
baby trying to get to you
slide slide
night and day running all the way
lay back open up
this is not any extra
exhortation only the wild dogs in the river
wanting interior commands
wanting to know
what gives
.
the qualitative difference
outside of psychology
of penetration
or penetration
but in the twilight
one feels more like saying
yes I've been travelling over mountains
baby trying to get to you
slide slide
night and day running all the way
lay back open up
this is not any extra
exhortation only the wild dogs in the river
wanting interior commands
wanting to know
what gives
.
nearly walked in halioclines
as though descending into a heat sink
or synch of coldness reached by the going of stairs
the falling not the rising or the strings or nosings
or any others
he spent minutes in her wardrobe amongst her hangings
while she searched herself
it had a fascination like voyeurism or psychosis
like the fix of watching one's reflection in a toilet
all the while the music
this was moments before he inserted the neck of a wine bottle
into her and upended it
then used her as a drinking vessel
knowing her fierce and vivid spirit
would appreciate this intrusive act
of friendship and trust
of the thing in the wardrobe
was nothing much remembered then
the car half on the pavement revving until the engine
nearly blowing his hands in her hair then
this she said this I want to do in the long steam
but only he said yes like everything stretched and beat
in the steam of twilight bells as the day sinks it all
.
or synch of coldness reached by the going of stairs
the falling not the rising or the strings or nosings
or any others
he spent minutes in her wardrobe amongst her hangings
while she searched herself
it had a fascination like voyeurism or psychosis
like the fix of watching one's reflection in a toilet
all the while the music
this was moments before he inserted the neck of a wine bottle
into her and upended it
then used her as a drinking vessel
knowing her fierce and vivid spirit
would appreciate this intrusive act
of friendship and trust
of the thing in the wardrobe
was nothing much remembered then
the car half on the pavement revving until the engine
nearly blowing his hands in her hair then
this she said this I want to do in the long steam
but only he said yes like everything stretched and beat
in the steam of twilight bells as the day sinks it all
.
Monday, December 06, 2010
if I could be someone else
only last night in the little house
surrounded by ice
the radio began
and it ran and ran
with a story of a man
whose mother died when he was so young
that later his heart exploded while he was driving
on the way to an interview
where he could have become an adult
he never made it there
just everything blew up
across the road
at 9am all his heart coming down like rain
settling out like sad music
high trees on either side
like tall people watching
all of them grieving and concerned
their grief reaching like long dark hands
such was the moment and the shutters blowing
in a sudden wind that came in from the East
his car stopped waiting
wondering what might happen now
all of him just spread there like a soldier
who never got that far
just an exploded star
that came from afar
such are the messages from life and the sky
for one small human
that drove too high
I have made dreadful mistakes
and my heart fearful aches
to watch the outtakes
who doesn't wish
there was a god down the road
watching
while he made human cakes
for all our sakes?
and the music comes in
and it is striding and mournful
like a little angry god
with a hole in his head
where the seasons went
and where at times he would gather himself
and wish as hard as he could
that things had been made better
we are incrementally composed
of all the people and things
we have ever loved and hated
this is soft Politics
and every time is morning
washing up on the long beach
like a lover's hair in your dead hands
and her not yet ready
to ease them out
just lying like that
listening to the waves
neither of you moving
one that can't now
one that wants to lie forever
not moving in case something changes
this is how it will be
when your heart finally hits your head
whoever you are I want you there
to do that like one big word
gasping in the quiet morning all over me
loving this sandy death
that came in at last from the radio
the only question ever
is how to love (d*))000£
.
surrounded by ice
the radio began
and it ran and ran
with a story of a man
whose mother died when he was so young
that later his heart exploded while he was driving
on the way to an interview
where he could have become an adult
he never made it there
just everything blew up
across the road
at 9am all his heart coming down like rain
settling out like sad music
high trees on either side
like tall people watching
all of them grieving and concerned
their grief reaching like long dark hands
such was the moment and the shutters blowing
in a sudden wind that came in from the East
his car stopped waiting
wondering what might happen now
all of him just spread there like a soldier
who never got that far
just an exploded star
that came from afar
such are the messages from life and the sky
for one small human
that drove too high
I have made dreadful mistakes
and my heart fearful aches
to watch the outtakes
who doesn't wish
there was a god down the road
watching
while he made human cakes
for all our sakes?
and the music comes in
and it is striding and mournful
like a little angry god
with a hole in his head
where the seasons went
and where at times he would gather himself
and wish as hard as he could
that things had been made better
we are incrementally composed
of all the people and things
we have ever loved and hated
this is soft Politics
and every time is morning
washing up on the long beach
like a lover's hair in your dead hands
and her not yet ready
to ease them out
just lying like that
listening to the waves
neither of you moving
one that can't now
one that wants to lie forever
not moving in case something changes
this is how it will be
when your heart finally hits your head
whoever you are I want you there
to do that like one big word
gasping in the quiet morning all over me
loving this sandy death
that came in at last from the radio
the only question ever
is how to love (d*))000£
.
add lizard
this wind could you believe it
your face like a tree
looking out
the linden trees all astir
another moment I can't believe
and the drains all aghast
the fairies of language have settled here
(oh ah)
we are knocking about together
seeing how it feels
bellyup chumbawamba dancecrack
so much
was ill was not
sonnet
was pill was snot
scotch bonnet
slide see slide
see saw
see rupture see tear
#
.
though snot
your face like a tree
looking out
the linden trees all astir
another moment I can't believe
and the drains all aghast
the fairies of language have settled here
(oh ah)
we are knocking about together
seeing how it feels
bellyup chumbawamba dancecrack
so much
was ill was not
sonnet
was pill was snot
scotch bonnet
slide see slide
see saw
see rupture see tear
#
.
though snot
Thursday, December 02, 2010
(Val Lewton & the locked petticoat hurt) a submarine film review
the entire crew thrown askance by the presence of a female
things they wouldn't do they wear stalking "cologne"
reeks along the companionway bringing down cartoon deer
"cologne" of couscous algorithm for spermatic submarine
penetration she flutters trapped at the centre of this myth
&&& the difference in vapids between the shift the shroud
&&& the hurt everything depends on some intervention
of extraneous men who all of a sudden act strange run up challenges
hey where you from New York??? the man with a gun in his face
fuck you all you pigs
refuses to back off he says silent no I am of the desert places I
and my father I am panicked I will not scream or die the man
at the centre
of this myth dies like the woman in the former though his dying
must be what kumquat oh erectile &
oh pyro spirotechnic (for it is wished that it be known
these earlier (underline) toys themselves)))
[in earlier (underline) myth the dying is concomitant and always a secret
launched into a red future to encrypt in reverse the enigma
tic pulse—Dormier Duval: Dark Always Is The Way]
.
things they wouldn't do they wear stalking "cologne"
reeks along the companionway bringing down cartoon deer
"cologne" of couscous algorithm for spermatic submarine
penetration she flutters trapped at the centre of this myth
&&& the difference in vapids between the shift the shroud
&&& the hurt everything depends on some intervention
of extraneous men who all of a sudden act strange run up challenges
hey where you from New York??? the man with a gun in his face
fuck you all you pigs
refuses to back off he says silent no I am of the desert places I
and my father I am panicked I will not scream or die the man
at the centre
of this myth dies like the woman in the former though his dying
must be what kumquat oh erectile &
oh pyro spirotechnic (for it is wished that it be known
these earlier (underline) toys themselves)))
[in earlier (underline) myth the dying is concomitant and always a secret
launched into a red future to encrypt in reverse the enigma
tic pulse—Dormier Duval: Dark Always Is The Way]
.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Do people come back from Hell?
If you were in Hell and the Pope decided that the particular offence you had been damned for was no longer that bad in your particular case, would that mean you had to be released and allowed into Heaven? And would you be entitled to some compensation? Perhaps even therapy for the probable post-traumatic stress? I mean who goes through x years of unbearable torture without some psychological fallout? If you weren't rehabilitated in some way you could be a liability always starting fights with the cool floaty people in Heaven,, which they might not find very heavenly, and which could lead to complaints and 'problems' in the place without problems.
But maybe if your sins are still pending a final decision as to their scale of mortality etc, you don't go to Hell but rather to some sort of holding complex until the decision is made. This might be 100 or 1000 years in the future, but of course God will know that it's going to happen and won't let you be subjected to any torture for something which He will eventually turn out to have approved of when his various popes realise it. This holding complex will therefore necessarily be a nice place that isn't too different from Heaven.
While we're at it there's something else I'd like to know. If the crucifixion of Christ brought about a new covenant between humanity and God, whereby humans could now be redeemed of their sins and granted safe passage to Heaven upon repentance and acceptance of Christ, then wasn't it sort of the responsibility of God to advertise this to all humans at the point when it became available? I mean why did he only let a few people know about it? I know they told other people and gradually over 2000 years a lot of people found out, but a lot of people died in that time without knowing and must have gone to Hell. Actually, some people still don't know up in the highlands of Papua New Guinea or deep in the rainforest in South America. So are some people still going to Hell every day because they haven't been told they don't need to any more?
I don't mean to be awkward or anything, but this doesn't seem quite fair to me. Are there any theologians out there who can explain these things to me?
And, if God is omnipotent, can He prove He doesn't exist?
.
But maybe if your sins are still pending a final decision as to their scale of mortality etc, you don't go to Hell but rather to some sort of holding complex until the decision is made. This might be 100 or 1000 years in the future, but of course God will know that it's going to happen and won't let you be subjected to any torture for something which He will eventually turn out to have approved of when his various popes realise it. This holding complex will therefore necessarily be a nice place that isn't too different from Heaven.
While we're at it there's something else I'd like to know. If the crucifixion of Christ brought about a new covenant between humanity and God, whereby humans could now be redeemed of their sins and granted safe passage to Heaven upon repentance and acceptance of Christ, then wasn't it sort of the responsibility of God to advertise this to all humans at the point when it became available? I mean why did he only let a few people know about it? I know they told other people and gradually over 2000 years a lot of people found out, but a lot of people died in that time without knowing and must have gone to Hell. Actually, some people still don't know up in the highlands of Papua New Guinea or deep in the rainforest in South America. So are some people still going to Hell every day because they haven't been told they don't need to any more?
I don't mean to be awkward or anything, but this doesn't seem quite fair to me. Are there any theologians out there who can explain these things to me?
And, if God is omnipotent, can He prove He doesn't exist?
.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The Duodeniad
La Rage—sing, goddess, of the Rabies of Achilles
the Pope now has an HIV-infected Gay lover
—this has led to a considerable softening of his position
regarding the use of condoms
words that won't wash out: tubetrain/rucsack/Krak des Chevaliers
the Chinese eat cats like crackers
but that's nothing to the French
who drown young beaked boys in Armagnac
they bury in woodland in Spring let it all mulch down to thick soup
they swear by the fortifying properties
his vegetal body his machine massif
his midriff his central nervous plexus a clock
a barometer to be tapped and adjusted
it tracks responsively the snaking isobars set it in train
like a Victorian clockwork golem
trained to follow a bannister commit strangulation upon
a sleeper on the highest floor he intends instead
the meridians of psychic commerce every time that she
walks in the room rage sing of rage golem sing of
Aung San Suu Kyi at one end of a telescope
a little uniformed general with his mouth grinding the other
like a cat with nothing else
rage sing of rage he says all silly with a new bike and hat
North Utsire/South Utsire: a sea giant moderate to good
occasionally poor at first
who could love your face so full of interior disfigurement?
the Vatican explains that on a case by casis it has never opposed
the use of condoms if you have been kidnapped by Islamist baboons
force you to commit acts of disgusting coitus on a monkey
but regret that you will still attend the 7th Hell on the grounds
that to be able to commit said act you must have had something
going on
we took me and some friends took control of the world sometime yesterday
in ways too subtle to yet be understood
I have decided not to give up wanking
there is a pleasant place just outside Hell where you wait
until the Pope catches up
it's all just a formality now
papers and ID please how often did you do it
were you married no well in here please
try to cool it in the waiting room there will be opportunity later
the Vatican explains that it has never been opposed to the use of
trained monkeys for sex
The Papa has issued clarification-condoms
Hunkpapa winewall at the margo
in eery breathbasks
.
.
the Pope now has an HIV-infected Gay lover
—this has led to a considerable softening of his position
regarding the use of condoms
words that won't wash out: tubetrain/rucsack/Krak des Chevaliers
the Chinese eat cats like crackers
but that's nothing to the French
who drown young beaked boys in Armagnac
they bury in woodland in Spring let it all mulch down to thick soup
they swear by the fortifying properties
his vegetal body his machine massif
his midriff his central nervous plexus a clock
a barometer to be tapped and adjusted
it tracks responsively the snaking isobars set it in train
like a Victorian clockwork golem
trained to follow a bannister commit strangulation upon
a sleeper on the highest floor he intends instead
the meridians of psychic commerce every time that she
walks in the room rage sing of rage golem sing of
Aung San Suu Kyi at one end of a telescope
a little uniformed general with his mouth grinding the other
like a cat with nothing else
rage sing of rage he says all silly with a new bike and hat
North Utsire/South Utsire: a sea giant moderate to good
occasionally poor at first
who could love your face so full of interior disfigurement?
the Vatican explains that on a case by casis it has never opposed
the use of condoms if you have been kidnapped by Islamist baboons
force you to commit acts of disgusting coitus on a monkey
but regret that you will still attend the 7th Hell on the grounds
that to be able to commit said act you must have had something
going on
we took me and some friends took control of the world sometime yesterday
in ways too subtle to yet be understood
I have decided not to give up wanking
there is a pleasant place just outside Hell where you wait
until the Pope catches up
it's all just a formality now
papers and ID please how often did you do it
were you married no well in here please
try to cool it in the waiting room there will be opportunity later
the Vatican explains that it has never been opposed to the use of
trained monkeys for sex
The Papa has issued clarification-condoms
Hunkpapa winewall at the margo
in eery breathbasks
.
.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
urgent cupboards unfold
let the hurt run deep
your hands poised there look at them
the big gun fretting at its work
there in the market mid-afternoon
buying wool for the evening
guffawing away into smoke
I looked down at my finger snapped off
the train coming in
the misty postcard light
rain of blood
is this perfect?
here I will diode
and shrink
like bee wolfs
thick and sharp
full of green
in the thick fear I think of breasts
I think I see them
coming at me
why the sad comfort of dripping eaves
as little cold mouths looking out?
this wine goes everywhere
nothing is elated
is there any difference
facing a bullet
standing on tiptoes
looking down at that fall
I am scared by your sex
love is a pattern recognition
I suppose
here in the wild hills we ride red goats
sleep in wet disaster
wake to explosions
you want to be us
you hate us for it
.
your hands poised there look at them
the big gun fretting at its work
there in the market mid-afternoon
buying wool for the evening
guffawing away into smoke
I looked down at my finger snapped off
the train coming in
the misty postcard light
rain of blood
is this perfect?
here I will diode
and shrink
like bee wolfs
thick and sharp
full of green
in the thick fear I think of breasts
I think I see them
coming at me
why the sad comfort of dripping eaves
as little cold mouths looking out?
this wine goes everywhere
nothing is elated
is there any difference
facing a bullet
standing on tiptoes
looking down at that fall
I am scared by your sex
love is a pattern recognition
I suppose
here in the wild hills we ride red goats
sleep in wet disaster
wake to explosions
you want to be us
you hate us for it
.
Fitzroy's Moral Collapse
alle kunst ist umsunst wenn der engel auf dem zundloch brunst
(all technology is in vain if the angel urinates on your musket)
—Austrian folk poem
it is stifled during that first marinading of the Congo
that a humongous Black Man encroached all in fur-lurks
in the ochres for white women
in vapid trails of fortnum ectoplastic whereupon
He wouldst rush to gripe upon their birdbones in transports
of shuddering & lissome delight
.....................................for such Christian middens
.....................................whose vapours always uppermost
& inveigled & even & unto the lateness of the Ireland
such fettled behoof is as those sauvages
squint inholy trees of trinity affront the passages of
.....................High English Women
....................upon whom to inrush
with many urges—eek now it is spake in sech North Americanas
where chestheaded men still lilt and loll in the frontwoods
of Vermouth and Moorish Caliphorn in long quackgrasses
as shy big birds parlay wildly for the extrusion
................................of bonneted females
................................from their wagons below
whence errant junglee wildness of this order saw also
Darwin observe in his fritter such a general finching
of life and aquatic erotortoise during his inchaunting
of the galapageese as would give him cause to flutter
and take heart—in the guise of a vast bird
..................he would stoop into Fitzroy's cabin there
..................to demand more pumpkins
be allocated to some dying damned lizards
on the foredeck
(where it is recorded that he would prefer to perform
his morning daunce of the galapagine finchfather)
Fitzroy's reply is from scripture & to the äffect that such
lézardice has now no place in the lives of elder men
whose wives yet abide
in their flossing bosoms of yeastertide
this in its askance
is his moral claps
(Published in Burning Gorgeous anthology 2010)
.
(all technology is in vain if the angel urinates on your musket)
—Austrian folk poem
it is stifled during that first marinading of the Congo
that a humongous Black Man encroached all in fur-lurks
in the ochres for white women
in vapid trails of fortnum ectoplastic whereupon
He wouldst rush to gripe upon their birdbones in transports
of shuddering & lissome delight
.....................................for such Christian middens
.....................................whose vapours always uppermost
& inveigled & even & unto the lateness of the Ireland
such fettled behoof is as those sauvages
squint inholy trees of trinity affront the passages of
.....................High English Women
....................upon whom to inrush
with many urges—eek now it is spake in sech North Americanas
where chestheaded men still lilt and loll in the frontwoods
of Vermouth and Moorish Caliphorn in long quackgrasses
as shy big birds parlay wildly for the extrusion
................................of bonneted females
................................from their wagons below
whence errant junglee wildness of this order saw also
Darwin observe in his fritter such a general finching
of life and aquatic erotortoise during his inchaunting
of the galapageese as would give him cause to flutter
and take heart—in the guise of a vast bird
..................he would stoop into Fitzroy's cabin there
..................to demand more pumpkins
be allocated to some dying damned lizards
on the foredeck
(where it is recorded that he would prefer to perform
his morning daunce of the galapagine finchfather)
Fitzroy's reply is from scripture & to the äffect that such
lézardice has now no place in the lives of elder men
whose wives yet abide
in their flossing bosoms of yeastertide
this in its askance
is his moral claps
(Published in Burning Gorgeous anthology 2010)
.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
blouse a little stretched and face askance I estimate her shapes of disaster
this new assembly of inexplicable light
this alchemy of far things
churchheads in spate the animal forces
of electric the song as lungs of foam
look for it on the sides and flanks
look for it where the season sleeks
here are fairies again
every winter now
their tracks lead away
from the garden
around the bend in the hill
to the old house at the far place
where the dogs no longer bark at night
fairies in our hair
they struggle a little
before sliding in soft
just the long blown-out lanes
Russian horses in songs of wind
a whole new sky of Corsair ships
black approaches
.
this alchemy of far things
churchheads in spate the animal forces
of electric the song as lungs of foam
look for it on the sides and flanks
look for it where the season sleeks
here are fairies again
every winter now
their tracks lead away
from the garden
around the bend in the hill
to the old house at the far place
where the dogs no longer bark at night
fairies in our hair
they struggle a little
before sliding in soft
just the long blown-out lanes
Russian horses in songs of wind
a whole new sky of Corsair ships
black approaches
.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
Thinking about Nick Clegg...
"I have a set of ethics. If you don't like them I have another set."
—Groucho Marx.
—Groucho Marx.
Friday, November 05, 2010
it's firework night at the bloodhop
them kaisers need the bodies to earth their magic
—Madeleine Shine
(don't get me wrong I would eat a domestic cat
if that was the done thing in that place
I don't needlessly disdain convention)
but this magnetism this transmission
the body tissue radio that mudslides that spasms
hansels and gretels spilt all over chinatown
jerking there in the sweet dirt
down at the boondocks the mark twain the mark once
in shivers of skittish facehawking a lowly cat gawks
—Galileo of course had this covered suggested an experiment
whereby two men with lanterns on distant hilltops
sending signals of light would be a sure way to ascertain
the average size of a male Catholic dissent
man I find this Injun cream make your balls melt off
like stardust in thick rain with cats cryin low distance
an everythin blowin all round respect see respect
it is like some beautiful death like the marines he was talking
semper distemper—like this last time I see him
only in his filth and hat
a one such a one was he when first beheld
now look black owl now fuckin look at me
—ah now soft they survey with temperate currents & it is more of
a shift than is first apparent as though the fingers that disengaged
the cervical suncogs the lesser cogs these engineered fractals of steam
were exholding the fetch the whole field itself barking as they
wonders within from the exo-inner
you can't do anything reasonable
in fog like this—no one can, not now
we are thinner come the breaking it is a mechanical
detachment we practice here in the Origo Colony
(who is boondock?)
this and no more
we are inured at least to animal ruptures
they looked out on a gaseous future landscape
run by wild dogs,he said, all shifty like he was then
I couldn't believe their eyes
.
—Madeleine Shine
(don't get me wrong I would eat a domestic cat
if that was the done thing in that place
I don't needlessly disdain convention)
but this magnetism this transmission
the body tissue radio that mudslides that spasms
hansels and gretels spilt all over chinatown
jerking there in the sweet dirt
down at the boondocks the mark twain the mark once
in shivers of skittish facehawking a lowly cat gawks
—Galileo of course had this covered suggested an experiment
whereby two men with lanterns on distant hilltops
sending signals of light would be a sure way to ascertain
the average size of a male Catholic dissent
man I find this Injun cream make your balls melt off
like stardust in thick rain with cats cryin low distance
an everythin blowin all round respect see respect
it is like some beautiful death like the marines he was talking
semper distemper—like this last time I see him
only in his filth and hat
a one such a one was he when first beheld
now look black owl now fuckin look at me
—ah now soft they survey with temperate currents & it is more of
a shift than is first apparent as though the fingers that disengaged
the cervical suncogs the lesser cogs these engineered fractals of steam
were exholding the fetch the whole field itself barking as they
wonders within from the exo-inner
you can't do anything reasonable
in fog like this—no one can, not now
we are thinner come the breaking it is a mechanical
detachment we practice here in the Origo Colony
(who is boondock?)
this and no more
we are inured at least to animal ruptures
they looked out on a gaseous future landscape
run by wild dogs,he said, all shifty like he was then
I couldn't believe their eyes
.
Friday, October 29, 2010
keyboards like teeth
the killer at the station
clutching the memory of his moth
mother the killer at the playstation
clutching the mammary of his
disease doubletap frenetic as all
get out of here he was here I at least
saw him writhe with such intent I saw him
walks up to a car window sticks the gun
there and smiles at this moment
don't you want to be this free
to abandon all of the future
what a slave the future makes of all of us
how much better to jump ship
to abandon oneself to the army of ants
listen
the crawling comes in
on the stair I hear it
slow creep and hoot
it is only 1876 in this time zone
far too early even to get up yet
everywhere you look in this hot house
dead people
sit up
downstairs their mother
bakes away her breasts
such love as this
arrives by parachute
through thick cloud
even I crawled in to feel
for a moment the heat
you, octopus, you
.
clutching the memory of his moth
mother the killer at the playstation
clutching the mammary of his
disease doubletap frenetic as all
get out of here he was here I at least
saw him writhe with such intent I saw him
walks up to a car window sticks the gun
there and smiles at this moment
don't you want to be this free
to abandon all of the future
what a slave the future makes of all of us
how much better to jump ship
to abandon oneself to the army of ants
listen
the crawling comes in
on the stair I hear it
slow creep and hoot
it is only 1876 in this time zone
far too early even to get up yet
everywhere you look in this hot house
dead people
sit up
downstairs their mother
bakes away her breasts
such love as this
arrives by parachute
through thick cloud
even I crawled in to feel
for a moment the heat
you, octopus, you
.
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