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



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


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
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


Carole Kinku

so sweetly
tonight the light


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


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

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

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