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27 October 2012

narrow sky

cold wind
rushing bold between buildings
teaching the city how how
hard edged
accumulating shadows
on the floor
leaves like forgotten cornflakes
like tissues
stuffed in her pinafore
that 
one 
green 
leaf
this season 
confesses to the kerb
to the demi god grotesque
ness
of shopping centre chivalry 
on the altar
an eyebrow bar cappuccino 
double skinny latte buy one 
get one free Disney 
Princess
prays on her knees
for more
more
more
gathered in intricate dusk
light complex
compelled
into winters momentum
cars collide meta
phorically
impatient cocoons
moon a mountain
in the narrow sky of I
I
I was meant to tell you
me
me
me
just a slither
severed
into sentences

19 October 2012

blind sky

she hangs monocles
carefully on the dawn's
thin skin
three hundred
and three
at the pit head winding drums
turn
endless rotations
hoists
freshly greased
with pig fat
pull fish hook
rock
out of w i d e
mountain mouths
vast loads
of sharp
stone
endless bullets
soon to be hung
from crinoline cathedrals
shards of jet
laid in white sand
almost
blind
the sky
demands
a world
it can understand
demands
her fingers
her
femur
augmented into connecting rods
bones
her bones
cranking the shaft
hanging
from a pivot
part
of the machine
osseous tissue
turning axles as
sheave wheels cackle
into dark mists

16 October 2012

no pyres

for how long
for how much longer
Tuesday quietly
on her knees
breeze softening
the edge the edges
of of
softening the edges
of of 
gone is the old bark
gone is our skin
thin and meaningless
my carcass
kissing your carcass
dead mouths 
feeding new roots
up and out and in and through
the layers
layers
dissonant filigrees 
casting off light
using the dark 
paper of our skin
to wrap these words
in layers
layers 
lost geographies converge
along ley lines and hard words
our fence post choices
this wild
wild garden

06 October 2012

eating apples with Žižek


into the casthouse 
eating apples with Žižek
cleansing substance 
licking the bone
clean
pouring ourselves into actuality
melting a hundred thalers
to Kant's dismay
swallowing pig ore as we are made
in the up flow
our slow
declining difference
in Machynlleth
water bailiffs beg the riverbed
to bleed
just colour
when there are no words
pink ribbon
wrapped around the school gate
view point A and view point B
ricocheting endlessly 
across the ache 
of a missing child
parallax
my finger 
falls down the map
tracing A roads 
through the Brecon Beacons 
down
to the stingray shape of home
twice removed 
where Burnyeat & Brown 
sank the pit 
along with part of her heart
and part of his




a little context if you want it, just click on the line you are interested in :


stingray shape of home

missing child/Machynlleth
Žižek(my current read)
a hundred thalers 
casthouse

03 October 2012

time irreverent

different depths of the lung
how it climbs
out
dear god brother
in the twisted knots of our years
lets wear our hair
dreadlocked and loud
we are all of our ingredients
your children will be all of theirs
let's clean the halls of our youth
with similarly greasy hands
I can't undo
time and what it took
or the arms length gasp of breath
as I released myself into
the sharpest edges of the truth
I remember fig trees
the smell of them
and the chunk of skin
missing between your toes
I was 7
years old
just as I am
now

tip of it

sold
to the gut of my myth
roundabouts make strange compasses
steering the ship of my mind
around a concrete sea without
noticing
the illusion
in the desert of this city
left hand lane
indicator throbbing like a thin
alphabet a slow
pulse
two thirds full
the glass
on an empty table
if its inside out it's
outside in
Hebraic alterations
unstitching the language
we used we
used
concentrating on the magma
airborne ash and shattered rock
broken fire
I levitate
around the Greek root
as it pollinates through time into
the word that's on my tongue
the tip of it

02 October 2012

sometimes

sometimes
the boy you wrote a poem for
dies anyway
sometimes
the homeless man
sleeping in a car park
the one you rang about
the one that was placed
in a shelter near Shepherds Bush
ends up two weeks later
sleeping in an alleyway the other side
of the building
sometimes
you wait with someone as they die
and they go
in the middle of the night
when you are not there
and you say
you say to a friend
"these rivers 
must lead somewhere"
sometimes
the fairy tale ending
is a fairy tale
sometimes
your on the 09:39 from Waterloo
non stop between Clapham and Farnborough
and your late
because the train hit the boy or the boy hit the train
and you try to make sense
of all the things that ended
and began again
sometimes 
you smile when nothing is comfortable
violating symmetry
and you hope
into the empty dark you made
until the sky
laughs at you 
with fistfuls of rain