To wipe the smirk from his face
Felt fantastic
big fat
quick tight
fists like dream hands,
eyes rolling into the back of my palms
ramming against the fence
that shook as he rebounded
some small ecstacy as they moved
he must of struck back -
my eye swollen
O violent violence
His face like a bag of smashed tomatoes
The long broken uhhh
Then these couple o Lady Macbeths
Swollen and bruised
Knuckles grated on teeth
Skin looking like Parmesan
I left the house
happy with what I'd done
When I heard he went to hospital
A sickening crack fissured my stomach
The girdle tightened around my belly
One of the guilty pair wrote him a letter
The other shrank cowering in a pocket
Like a nightmare under the bed in the day
I heard the police took pictures
But he did not press the matter
The act a play
That sticks with you
Where you wish
The theatrics had
Not gone in so long
Had not gone so far
A strange porno
Of masculine pleasure
Like stamping on a cat
That perhaps only scratched
It is easy to embellish
Our personal atrocities
FROM THE ROOF OF THE TEMPLE (DRAFT 2)
From the roof of the temple,
strands of mossdark catch on zephyrs.
Above the patches, gelled brownfield
lacquered onto forehead with furrows
— a crater pocks the centre, old trauma
and surprise deepens the valleys where
slouching graywhite caterpillar twins
bend in crescents, pillared
between cave mouths
lids peeled back on the filled marbles
humbug brown sucked sweets inside
watery yolked eggs, a droplet condenses,
flutes down the raised rouge blue marble,
past the raised protuberance, the barrow-
bridge that settles in tunnels, the land here
raises with intake of wind bursted
from a soft wet red, marked by
little cuts like timekeeping on a wall
and below a dapple darker red curved
inward into a crevasse
slumps in skinfall
where light downy hair bends
where the comb of wind caresses
the dimpled outcrop
then the great overhang,
then the great overhang.
strands of mossdark catch on zephyrs.
Above the patches, gelled brownfield
lacquered onto forehead with furrows
— a crater pocks the centre, old trauma
and surprise deepens the valleys where
slouching graywhite caterpillar twins
bend in crescents, pillared
between cave mouths
lids peeled back on the filled marbles
humbug brown sucked sweets inside
watery yolked eggs, a droplet condenses,
flutes down the raised rouge blue marble,
past the raised protuberance, the barrow-
bridge that settles in tunnels, the land here
raises with intake of wind bursted
from a soft wet red, marked by
little cuts like timekeeping on a wall
and below a dapple darker red curved
inward into a crevasse
slumps in skinfall
where light downy hair bends
where the comb of wind caresses
the dimpled outcrop
then the great overhang,
then the great overhang.
EVERY HANGING APPLE
Every hanging apple
still on the tree
bitten down to its core
the limbs shake
spilling the pips
onto wet roots
they soak into the soil
what
here can
grow.
still on the tree
bitten down to its core
the limbs shake
spilling the pips
onto wet roots
they soak into the soil
what
here can
grow.
THE FEAR OF DISTANCE
Caged in different houses
I grow ratty, my hair bristles.
Looking through the jabs of rain
Distance makes for strong bars
And who fucking likes talking
On the telephone, you surely cannot
Be excited by polite conversation
The how are yous, the I'm fines
are deadening. Text? Grim.
A four-letter word for nothing
Poke at the cartoon of a smile
The phone itself is the rat
Scuttling around meeping. I need
activity but the news
is no firework, masturbation
seems inappropriate, books - my eyes
fall off the page
No. There is no answer and I wait.
But the cage. The cage it shrinks
and the bars grow hot
How I want
Presence and nothing more
Will do.
I grow ratty, my hair bristles.
Looking through the jabs of rain
Distance makes for strong bars
And who fucking likes talking
On the telephone, you surely cannot
Be excited by polite conversation
The how are yous, the I'm fines
are deadening. Text? Grim.
A four-letter word for nothing
Poke at the cartoon of a smile
The phone itself is the rat
Scuttling around meeping. I need
activity but the news
is no firework, masturbation
seems inappropriate, books - my eyes
fall off the page
No. There is no answer and I wait.
But the cage. The cage it shrinks
and the bars grow hot
How I want
Presence and nothing more
Will do.
STARS BURN SILENT AND FURIOUS
By the greasy open window
pane cataracted from
staring into the dirt drift
of stormbreak
the poor eye doesn’t blink
recording forgetting
We sit in the dusk smouldering
The bottle is the first to go
charring on the wall
wine time is surely over
as the glasses are crushed
the kitchen packs itself up
carries the boxes out the window
in your black halterneck, you are luminous
a floating head, I can only imagine
my own, as our house of light fades
the only thing to do is
not look away
Then real night arrives,
lays out
a groundsheet
we both disappear
the blinds are drawn
our eyes have grown tough; insensitive
an uncertainty:
what existed in the light
still remains in the dark
while overhead outwindow
stars burn silent and furious
UNFURL
The sea metallic,
the eye sails out
does not return
I look out into the horizon
And its smooth curve
irons out the world within me
the eye sails out
does not return
I look out into the horizon
And its smooth curve
irons out the world within me
PORTRAIT OF WORK
Above the base of my bed
hangs a portrait of a dreamhead
a shadowblack surface, features
white worms of paint
conjoin into a face, terrifying
the eyecores that escaped
from my own vision
lip delineated in a smile snarl
I am unsure what it means to me
For some time now
the frame hangs askew
I must have bashed it
returning home one night
the face is turned in a questioning tilt.
Every night (even last) I told myself
I would set it to order, centre it again
said the words aloud
but did not move to amend
in the mornings, life gets in the way
so for months - the same, it hangs akilter
I could rectify the slant now
instead, it seemed important
to write this out
hangs a portrait of a dreamhead
a shadowblack surface, features
white worms of paint
conjoin into a face, terrifying
the eyecores that escaped
from my own vision
lip delineated in a smile snarl
I am unsure what it means to me
For some time now
the frame hangs askew
I must have bashed it
returning home one night
the face is turned in a questioning tilt.
Every night (even last) I told myself
I would set it to order, centre it again
said the words aloud
but did not move to amend
in the mornings, life gets in the way
so for months - the same, it hangs akilter
I could rectify the slant now
instead, it seemed important
to write this out
DARK OF DAWN
Well but some of us worry about
the coming night, the stuff of
shadowland, stareyes, moonaxe
creeps who coalesce in every alley
the moving limbs of the pines
sure that's spooky but
my fear is more palpable —
the dawnlight
the committee
gathering around the bed
to weigh the heart of it - sins
dreamt up or otherwise
against a feather
always I am found fat
I have no murder to speak of?
Tho at this hour, all are condemned,
no thing is pure
no one innocent
the coming night, the stuff of
shadowland, stareyes, moonaxe
creeps who coalesce in every alley
the moving limbs of the pines
sure that's spooky but
my fear is more palpable —
the dawnlight
the committee
gathering around the bed
to weigh the heart of it - sins
dreamt up or otherwise
against a feather
always I am found fat
I have no murder to speak of?
Tho at this hour, all are condemned,
no thing is pure
no one innocent
GIVING
The bell plays its major
third descending and
I can hear him sobbing
when I pad down the hallway.
His face is twisted, splayed
by the glass whorls in the door
I open:
The face isn't too different.
He clutches a grey package
the plastic is coming away
but I cannot see inside
“I’m truly
so very sorry”
he speaks from his creases,
I frown - rather dramatic
for a plain-clothed postman.
He hands me his unbearable
gift and stands there
I thank him and close the door
Tearing at the small hole
in the brown plastic
I see this was never meant for me
my eyes are a little irritated
and my breathing is a little heavy
I open the door and he is gone
I head
across the road
concrete cold beneath
my barefoot
to the door
of my neighbour
inhale the winter
and now I must
knock
third descending and
I can hear him sobbing
when I pad down the hallway.
His face is twisted, splayed
by the glass whorls in the door
I open:
The face isn't too different.
He clutches a grey package
the plastic is coming away
but I cannot see inside
“I’m truly
so very sorry”
he speaks from his creases,
I frown - rather dramatic
for a plain-clothed postman.
He hands me his unbearable
gift and stands there
I thank him and close the door
Tearing at the small hole
in the brown plastic
I see this was never meant for me
my eyes are a little irritated
and my breathing is a little heavy
I open the door and he is gone
I head
across the road
concrete cold beneath
my barefoot
to the door
of my neighbour
inhale the winter
and now I must
knock
THUNDER THEN
Thunder then, bursts like a grape
over a grey sky with grey concrete
rising up into it, no horizon just grey
But then, thunder - crack and boom
Which breaks both into two
WISHBONE
In the red morning I lean
over her bed and plant
lips on her chicken skin
and she looks confused
smiles at the touch,
touches my own cheek
with her sandpaper hand
though her eyes look through me.
“I can hear him coming”
she's been saying this for weeks
either her hearing is extra sharp
or his approach is awfully slow
and what a blessing old boney is
to still make me choke on it.
This I will likely forget, think
of myself in this black time
full only of laudable feels, forget
like she - where even the birds
to her have become things.
The television makes baby sounds
and she coos at it. The thing.
Me, I’m mere sense, a cool and pleasant
touch. Her clear eyes say nothing.
What a wonder, the mind that works
presently so quickly, will one day
swallow friends, lovers, chickens
colour and television, all thing.
AT MY FOOT SCREAMING BLOODY
At my foot screaming bloody
A giant omphalic head
”move” it seems to say ”move”
Between painting my boot with spittle
But alas, not today, funny head. I kick
The head and watch it roll
Onto the black rock of main road,
It is passed around by the traffic
For a short while, then bored,
An early 90s Sky Blue
Vauxhall Estate crushes
The head like a watermelon
The front wheel is covered in saliva
”U move” I jeer
GARDEN LEAVE
Old Beth salt baked in bed,
bleached jetsam in moon glow,
he cracks up, snaps towards arrowslit
eyes reeling in his head.
Old Beth, bored old king
(end it all now if he could)
casts his eye out to Birnam Wood
pulls it closer on a string.
Old Beth, he can't watch but he sees
Birnam oaks grow axe, sword —
limbs grow on Birnam sycamores
by morning, camped out - an arboreal army.
The land creaks with the new weight.
Old Beth, perhaps smirks and counts his rings
along with his blessings
SISYPHUS, REVISITED
And on his muscle bursting
Journey up from that muddy basin
Skidding and cursing his labour
His tenseness calcifying
Chalked up in white pain
Over basalt, limestone, granite
He came to the apex
For a moment, he looked out
Over the whole majesty of the land
Light playing over the green fields
Light rolling over the turquoise water
He forgot his task, but dimly
remembered he had one
And began shuffling
his trouble back down
The load somewhat bearable
The journey somewhat lighter
I'VE LAID AWAKE
Well I’ve laid awake
Too stupid too sleep
Brain pacing out
The classic old ruminants
Which of these i’s is I
Why so much darkness
To so little light
How each morning
Begins so prepared
To have it unravel and lost
By the days end
As the sodium street lamps
Pour through the window
I don’t know
THREE GUESSES
My old friend and I
We’re standing sweating
beneath a bald oak
He’s got his hand on my hip
“Lightning” he says
I shake my head, “age”
He puts his hands over my eyes
Everything burns but the tree
THE INTERPRETER FOR WATERFALLS
All rush and pomp
strongman sisyphus
Cant. Stop. Flexing.
the crowd up top
shushes us moaners in the pit
but we got the best seats
here, the baying froth mouth
roars at the green rock
like rotten teeth in the mouth
of a preacher, ushering out
incomprehension,
but still - it moves
it’s pure and in this summer swell,
invites us all to join in -
Let it all roll down
DUCK I HAVE JUST COME DOWN
Duck I have just come down
From up near Southey Woods
The land surely held its breath
Only sound was my crunch
Of beech nut of puddle pock of slump
And the kites bloody in the sun
Like the pleasure aircrafts of rats
Scudding above the oaks
I felt for a moment I was their quarry
HOOL
Scree of gavel beak
upends the quiet
Where? There. That silver star fluttering
moon clinging to her dapple down robe;
while below in a white garden, channels
follow the rule of law - ordered
and arrested in her black beads
The trial begins:
who will bear witness
in this silence?
The tree court rustles
ushers in a verdict
there can be no defence.
The night judge hovers
Over a death sentence
Then snaps shut her wing cage
O swift justice
On a small matter of hair, bone.
The defendant is a torn off head
She returns home
To her young wigs
makes herself known
An utterance that
pronounces rude life
weep as they feast
the judge preens
Shrugs off the cold
upends the quiet
Where? There. That silver star fluttering
moon clinging to her dapple down robe;
while below in a white garden, channels
follow the rule of law - ordered
and arrested in her black beads
The trial begins:
who will bear witness
in this silence?
The tree court rustles
ushers in a verdict
there can be no defence.
The night judge hovers
Over a death sentence
Then snaps shut her wing cage
O swift justice
On a small matter of hair, bone.
The defendant is a torn off head
She returns home
To her young wigs
makes herself known
An utterance that
pronounces rude life
weep as they feast
the judge preens
Shrugs off the cold
THE BONE OF A FLOWER
The bone of a flower
nature’s chain
cracks in my hand
somewhere inside
the green armour
plates lock against plates
life leaks a wet trembling
For now, juices still run
feed the whiteness of the head
feed the yellowness of the head
this matchstick going off
slowly in my hand
I think I hear it
a hollowing wind
playing up the cuticle pipe
such a minor note
I hold it more gently
as it slowly runs out
we have no silence here
the boom of lifeblood
gives way to brown
The bone of flower
curling into something
other than life, the downy
hair bristles, a petal falls
as if by command
how long do we wait
nature’s chain
cracks in my hand
somewhere inside
the green armour
plates lock against plates
life leaks a wet trembling
For now, juices still run
feed the whiteness of the head
feed the yellowness of the head
this matchstick going off
slowly in my hand
I think I hear it
a hollowing wind
playing up the cuticle pipe
such a minor note
I hold it more gently
as it slowly runs out
we have no silence here
the boom of lifeblood
gives way to brown
The bone of flower
curling into something
other than life, the downy
hair bristles, a petal falls
as if by command
how long do we wait
SINK INTO SKIN
I go through the motions
From red to pale to yellow
I grow puffy I shrink sallow
The skin peels from my head
Like the bark of a cherry tree
I crawl like a worm across the bed
Shrivelling black in my own heat
But can you please stop snivelling
Your nose running down the train
Your eyeballs roll in the toilet bowl
The world needs me I must get up
The whole world needs me I must get up
The stars burn themselves up, as can I
From red to pale to yellow
I grow puffy I shrink sallow
The skin peels from my head
Like the bark of a cherry tree
I crawl like a worm across the bed
Shrivelling black in my own heat
But can you please stop snivelling
Your nose running down the train
Your eyeballs roll in the toilet bowl
The world needs me I must get up
The whole world needs me I must get up
The stars burn themselves up, as can I
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a modern and a classic slur collection
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Finally, there’s your place on the hill
(boundary constraints being as they are
sadly are out of our control)
but we’ve made the most of the land
so while there are now hundreds of plots
across the Calvary resort,
installed LCD walls create a sense of solitude
so you can really lose yourself in the moment.
Nails are five apiece
crafted Nordic light pine
soaped African mahogany.
Pay by the weight
or by the hour
And the new just in: Pink Polymer
industrial strength. RAL colour options
beauty that never fades,
a present to last you a lifetime —
perfect for the millennial births
(though we only rely on word of mouth
— we can’t go advertising to kids)
Now, if you’d like our immersive package,
we offer a rabble of jeerers for the walk
each with preloaded insults —
a modern and a classic slur collection
all depends on your predilection
Finally, there’s your place on the hill
(boundary constraints being as they are
sadly are out of our control)
but we’ve made the most of the land
so while there are now hundreds of plots
across the Calvary resort,
installed LCD walls create a sense of solitude
so you can really lose yourself in the moment.
Nails are five apiece
ZURONG, 901
It is said
Qi Ji, the hermit monk
scratched his poems
with a stalk of bamboo
onto the hides of his cattle
it is utterly unknown
what his audience thought of this
there are no records - but once,
a single bristle
flecked over
a herd of canvas
poems lived and changed
dependent
on the time of day
in the late afternoon
at the bottom
of Mount Zurong
Qi Ji waits
for the clouds to break
he waits for the rain
to accept his work
he waits for the rain
to begin again
Qi Ji, the hermit monk
scratched his poems
with a stalk of bamboo
onto the hides of his cattle
it is utterly unknown
what his audience thought of this
there are no records - but once,
a single bristle
flecked over
a herd of canvas
poems lived and changed
dependent
on the time of day
in the late afternoon
at the bottom
of Mount Zurong
Qi Ji waits
for the clouds to break
he waits for the rain
to accept his work
he waits for the rain
to begin again
ARGENTON SUR CREUSE
Open the night's wound
car beams on heavy
disconcert, disorientate
on exiting a vehicle to the rush
of the heady river, storm in the wheel
a watermill now turns for art's sake
high beams flow against the wall
sending the bats flying on out
stringing themselves to the light
dance to the rush of the river
and the rush of the river
car beams on heavy
disconcert, disorientate
on exiting a vehicle to the rush
of the heady river, storm in the wheel
a watermill now turns for art's sake
high beams flow against the wall
sending the bats flying on out
stringing themselves to the light
dance to the rush of the river
and the rush of the river
OLD COMPLICATIONS
Pity the man
chewing on an angel bone
Archaeopteryx, limestone roux
teeth like Carara marble
after the daily punishment
of a whole bowl of oranges
what is the worth
of a stomach full of teeth
ground down to grist
a calcium paste, good ground
for soil, great for cattle
here, set into stone
a wing claw
like an outflung hand
what difference does time make?
All.
chewing on an angel bone
Archaeopteryx, limestone roux
teeth like Carara marble
after the daily punishment
of a whole bowl of oranges
what is the worth
of a stomach full of teeth
ground down to grist
a calcium paste, good ground
for soil, great for cattle
here, set into stone
a wing claw
like an outflung hand
what difference does time make?
All.
THE SET UP
Bent-double
arms clutch his sides
for a place to stop
the laughter, alas
not tonight! the joke
is a creature bent-double
arms clutching its sides
for a place to stop
the laughter. Alas.
It pours itself out
From a lung unending
arms clutch his sides
for a place to stop
the laughter, alas
not tonight! the joke
is a creature bent-double
arms clutching its sides
for a place to stop
the laughter. Alas.
It pours itself out
From a lung unending
HE, THE FUSCHIA
He, the Fuschia
purple-head, pink-nose,
neck dangling low
you wonder how anything
so lame can withstand
even the evening breeze
and he's nothing special
amongst his nodding horde
so with darting eyes
you pluck him
stow him away
in the watch pocket
of your blue jeans
forget him entirely
find him leeched;
divested of means
in the week's wash
a faint magenta
staining your jeans
SLEEP EYES GET STUCK
sleep eyes get sticky,
Sappy with sight
They get stuck to things
Come unstuck in socket
And rotate around the head
As one walks into paths, roads
No time to watch yourself
They get stuck to things:
Umbrellas moss gridded walls
shaggy Leaves wet rags glossy park
benches anything really
That takes their fancy they
Find amusing brightdark horrible mildly
Engaging o look a purpleblue finger
Of budlia, o look a hot pink shoe
The eye leapfrogs through its witness
Sappy with sight
They get stuck to things
Come unstuck in socket
And rotate around the head
As one walks into paths, roads
No time to watch yourself
They get stuck to things:
Umbrellas moss gridded walls
shaggy Leaves wet rags glossy park
benches anything really
That takes their fancy they
Find amusing brightdark horrible mildly
Engaging o look a purpleblue finger
Of budlia, o look a hot pink shoe
The eye leapfrogs through its witness
ALL THE WAY DOWN [RED SPIDER]
Under dust
Flecks from fifty years of lives
Under blue paint
A momma painted duck egg
Came out aqua
Under concrete
Planted by gin-drinking
Gin-making men
Under mud
Mr double-edge
Earthworm turns
Loving the darkness
Under stone
Under hot stone
Under liquid stone
Wondering does it
Glow still down there?
We find him
Poor little shit
Crying over
lost love
Flecks from fifty years of lives
Under blue paint
A momma painted duck egg
Came out aqua
Under concrete
Planted by gin-drinking
Gin-making men
Under mud
Mr double-edge
Earthworm turns
Loving the darkness
Under stone
Under hot stone
Under liquid stone
Wondering does it
Glow still down there?
We find him
Poor little shit
Crying over
lost love
EVENSONG [RED SPIDER]
Woman never child
Eve dreamt,
had her very first play. A nightmare
No. Night doesn’t come around here
And Adam has yet to name the horses.
Backdrop: undeniably Eden
but the where within? Without:
Unknown
in the undergrowth.
She saw herself played
on stage, pulled on wires
Puppeteer hidden in wings
drawn toward a system of strings
jewels raining from plucked notes
of such melody, her own eyes filled.
She reached out, touched the net
notes leaked down discordant
the song cage cleaved in two
and broke her from sleep,
Adam
man never child,
drowsily
reached an arm around her
grunted “Hmph?”
“Hmm,
I have tasted something new— -
- - Paradise grows empty.”
Eve dreamt,
had her very first play. A nightmare
No. Night doesn’t come around here
And Adam has yet to name the horses.
Backdrop: undeniably Eden
but the where within? Without:
Unknown
in the undergrowth.
She saw herself played
on stage, pulled on wires
Puppeteer hidden in wings
drawn toward a system of strings
jewels raining from plucked notes
of such melody, her own eyes filled.
She reached out, touched the net
notes leaked down discordant
the song cage cleaved in two
and broke her from sleep,
Adam
man never child,
drowsily
reached an arm around her
grunted “Hmph?”
“Hmm,
I have tasted something new— -
- - Paradise grows empty.”
MAN GET HOME
man get home
shut door
chuck key
in key bowl
shuffle out coat
hang on peg
shoes - skitter
down hallway
like broke
bowling balls. Prize
son come running
he puts him on, plops
him on neck
wife gives a wink
he goes for a hug
but tut-tuts
got oil
on her hands
he goes for a peck
she wears
her lips shuffles
on his skin
this is love
glub glub glub
shut door
chuck key
in key bowl
shuffle out coat
hang on peg
shoes - skitter
down hallway
like broke
bowling balls. Prize
son come running
he puts him on, plops
him on neck
wife gives a wink
he goes for a hug
but tut-tuts
got oil
on her hands
he goes for a peck
she wears
her lips shuffles
on his skin
this is love
glub glub glub
DWELLING
I was sodden, mushroom-boned,
utterly sleeked from the deluge.
On a new trail in the wood
sat a derelict shack,
door barely high enough
to take my shape. Entered
Without really knowing why.
Within: stink of earthrot,
rain on my nape.
A scabby window,
light pickled
in the pane.
On the table, half a sheep skull,
the gore curdling on a comic book.
Shelved, a tinfoil ring, it tickled cold
as I looped my little finger,
the perfect fit.
On a rusted circlet of wire,
a fist of keys but what here
had been locked?
All danger was gone,
just take what you want.
A sardine tin filled with brown hair,
A flute whittled from a clavicle
(that I definitely
did not put to my lips)
a ragbook stickered
with The Property of...
And underneath, Jack
all the interior
blotted black -
Rusty bottletop glasses,
Through them, only grime.
Shelves peppered with pigeon shite
But curiously no pigeon
The wood burner was still warm, hearth
Coughed ash on investigation
My eyes watered.
I tried to take it all in
I would not be coming back
I drew up a stool and waited
SMALL DECISIONS
I stretch out onto the frame
the seat is still wet from last night’s
summer rain. Well, what’s a wet arse
between old friends. I push on the pedal
and the metal creaks like an old bed
the concrete is still dark and steam rises
lemon light paints my arms
the rowan tree ripples its leaves
I could take this day anywhere
I’ll ride it to work.
the seat is still wet from last night’s
summer rain. Well, what’s a wet arse
between old friends. I push on the pedal
and the metal creaks like an old bed
the concrete is still dark and steam rises
lemon light paints my arms
the rowan tree ripples its leaves
I could take this day anywhere
I’ll ride it to work.
NATIVITY SCENE [RED SPIDER]
We walked all night through blue desert
Coral crunch of bleached ribs and skulls
On the shoreline of every village
The moaning of loss made the breeze
We followed the winking pole star
Our capes grown crude with sweat
Doused ourselves with myrrh
Snorted vapours of frankincense
In the dimness of the stable, we three were
Greeted by a mass of terrified eyes -
Bulbous horses as wide as a human's.
We adopted a solemn pose, "we are here
only to observe and to bring gifts"
They quietened, the woman pointed
to a box more coffin than crib
I looked in and failed to recognise
What should be a child
Eight limbs
Rude red body
My knees gave out
I sank in forced prayer
to whatever god
Made this in his image
Coral crunch of bleached ribs and skulls
On the shoreline of every village
The moaning of loss made the breeze
We followed the winking pole star
Our capes grown crude with sweat
Doused ourselves with myrrh
Snorted vapours of frankincense
In the dimness of the stable, we three were
Greeted by a mass of terrified eyes -
Bulbous horses as wide as a human's.
We adopted a solemn pose, "we are here
only to observe and to bring gifts"
They quietened, the woman pointed
to a box more coffin than crib
I looked in and failed to recognise
What should be a child
Eight limbs
Rude red body
My knees gave out
I sank in forced prayer
to whatever god
Made this in his image
NOW LISTEN HERE
Listen here you thing
Give me back that coat
I bought for you
In our black summer
Remove those purple socks
Nanna made for you
That worst christmas of all
Strip those pants
You’ve been wearing all year
I can see everything
Lose those green eyes
Foisted into those pits by mother
You’re beginning to look stupid
In father’s big feet
Stop clowning around now
And that new flesh
And those old bones
Get them all off
Time is a-wasting
Now you - isn’t this better
A little bit of nothing at all
Give me back that coat
I bought for you
In our black summer
Remove those purple socks
Nanna made for you
That worst christmas of all
Strip those pants
You’ve been wearing all year
I can see everything
Lose those green eyes
Foisted into those pits by mother
You’re beginning to look stupid
In father’s big feet
Stop clowning around now
And that new flesh
And those old bones
Get them all off
Time is a-wasting
Now you - isn’t this better
A little bit of nothing at all
FLY TIME
A grey globe of cancer
Metastasised in the noon
Smoked full of joy
Inhaling dust it was soon
To become
The oleanthus gently buzzed
And curled out its leaves
A wasp buzzed inside a fig
Like a memory in a locket
The flies settled on an ankle
A knee, until the whole body
Was a regatta of flies
like pensioners
on a cruise
a fig tree bobbed
thick with fruit
that knocked as
a light wind grew
Metastasised in the noon
Smoked full of joy
Inhaling dust it was soon
To become
The oleanthus gently buzzed
And curled out its leaves
A wasp buzzed inside a fig
Like a memory in a locket
The flies settled on an ankle
A knee, until the whole body
Was a regatta of flies
like pensioners
on a cruise
a fig tree bobbed
thick with fruit
that knocked as
a light wind grew
INTERPRETER FOR WATERFALLS
All rush and pomp
strongman sisyphus
Cant. Stop. Flexing.
the crowd up top
shushes us moaners in the pit
but we got the best seats
here, the baying froth mouth
roars at the green rock
like rotten teeth in the mouth
of a preacher, ushering out
incomprehension,
but still - it moves
it’s pure and in this summer swell,
invites us all to join in -
Let it all roll down
strongman sisyphus
Cant. Stop. Flexing.
the crowd up top
shushes us moaners in the pit
but we got the best seats
here, the baying froth mouth
roars at the green rock
like rotten teeth in the mouth
of a preacher, ushering out
incomprehension,
but still - it moves
it’s pure and in this summer swell,
invites us all to join in -
Let it all roll down
ICONOCLASM
In Mosul, the men peruse the cases
hunting for something big enough
to make an impact on social media,
dragging their hammers, cameras,
knuckles along the porcelain floor
one points at a fat alabaster
a giant petrified spider
"we'll start with this one."
Shouting blessings
they raise their hammers
they begin rolling,
reeling the rod of their arms
and pummel,
they reel the rod
of their arms
and pummel
the room fills with dust
uploaded and watched by countless wide
eyes open across the globe.
Armchair archaeologists begin
piecing together the identity
of this time-worn statue
the long pincers, several legs
More appendages, the winking eye
Like some spider and it’s shadow
Caught in the mind, National Geographic
Here we come;
“Thanks” bows red spider
"The more you destroy me
The closer I get"
hunting for something big enough
to make an impact on social media,
dragging their hammers, cameras,
knuckles along the porcelain floor
one points at a fat alabaster
a giant petrified spider
"we'll start with this one."
Shouting blessings
they raise their hammers
they begin rolling,
reeling the rod of their arms
and pummel,
they reel the rod
of their arms
and pummel
the room fills with dust
uploaded and watched by countless wide
eyes open across the globe.
Armchair archaeologists begin
piecing together the identity
of this time-worn statue
the long pincers, several legs
More appendages, the winking eye
Like some spider and it’s shadow
Caught in the mind, National Geographic
Here we come;
“Thanks” bows red spider
"The more you destroy me
The closer I get"
OF COURSE IT WAS GOLDEN
Of course, it was all golden
And of course, it shone
This is the way of it
Because it is gone
DAMN RACKET
A musty piano in the corner
that when you play any plain
damn thing sounds
like a voice talking in another
room. A mind in elsewhere
I lay like a cat in the slink of sunlight
vision flutters, my eyes grow heavy
the piano moves closer
tickling my ear till I’m in its belly
unwoven on the little song
that when you play any plain
damn thing sounds
like a voice talking in another
room. A mind in elsewhere
I lay like a cat in the slink of sunlight
vision flutters, my eyes grow heavy
the piano moves closer
tickling my ear till I’m in its belly
unwoven on the little song
BOOK HAT
It is half asleep
the other half
tries to detach its head
beneath a cairn of books
nothing doing, trapped.
Wedged between Auden
and Zadjewski. It worries drool
might stain the pages
funnies at his new literary hat
he wears his taste on his head
some of the worlds greatest minds
are on the top of his
it can make one unstable
it can make it difficult to move
the other half
tries to detach its head
beneath a cairn of books
nothing doing, trapped.
Wedged between Auden
and Zadjewski. It worries drool
might stain the pages
funnies at his new literary hat
he wears his taste on his head
some of the worlds greatest minds
are on the top of his
it can make one unstable
it can make it difficult to move
THE BLUE POLICEMAN
The blue policeman
In his midnight blue police suit
There is just no capturing
The order exuded from him
The way the ocean at night
Looms in the dark.
He has a red vein pulsing
In his sallow yellow skin
He raises his nightstick cooly
No silly, not anger but duty
We all have to do
All kinds of work
Such is our nature
His nature is a midnight blue -
More shade than colour
The nightstick has come down
No silly, not in anger in duty
We all make mistakes at work
If a horse tramples a stable boy
You don’t shoot the horse
You put the poor thing
Out of its misery
In his midnight blue police suit
There is just no capturing
The order exuded from him
The way the ocean at night
Looms in the dark.
He has a red vein pulsing
In his sallow yellow skin
He raises his nightstick cooly
No silly, not anger but duty
We all have to do
All kinds of work
Such is our nature
His nature is a midnight blue -
More shade than colour
The nightstick has come down
No silly, not in anger in duty
We all make mistakes at work
If a horse tramples a stable boy
You don’t shoot the horse
You put the poor thing
Out of its misery
SHE HERE ZADE
Like mad Sheriyar
Each night confused.
Wildly masturbating
Pulling off his head
Only to begin again
The next
Each night confused.
Wildly masturbating
Pulling off his head
Only to begin again
The next
IN MIGHTY ATHENS [RED SPIDER]
In mighty Athens grunts ornery Zeus
Disguised as hog, the Allfather lays caked
In mud. The day finds him loose.
From last night’s swill, his belly ached
But his mood pinks with the sight
Of a red spider at work on the wall
Spinning messages in the light
His crusted jaw cracks as he bawls:
"O sweet, bright fair maiden,
I find my heart caught in amour
by your labour, O love's creation,
But let me change your form
So we may grunt as one in this swill
Until pleasure spent, we have had our fill"
"A tempting offer, thunder-king Jupiter
but I'm going to have to decline
Morning grows redolent with pig-shit
And a poor web draws no flies"
Zeus bristled, rose on his hinds
and declaimed with his trotter:
"I Myself am a Weaver of worlds
Leader of gods, Hunter of women,
the constellations fold, knit and purl
at my Command, such is my ken
your threadbare web girl
rather pales in comparisén"
Not put out or put off, she continued
her work, snipping a thread with her jaws
"Oh lord, I have lain with gods greyer than you,
those less obsessed by the size of their bolts
yet you seem to think it is I at fault?
you sir, are old and nothing new"
"Listen you, ugly barren over-limbed whore,
sticky siren of beam and rafter
I'm done with niceties, I'll fry your
red skin black if you don't give me what I'm after"
She sighed and on a strand went down to the pig
She sat on his snout and softly spoke
"Perhaps I was wrong on you, master of skies,
Perhaps we should join ourselves on this dirt bed
But should we act according to our instincts, I sympathise
For after our fooling around, my kind take heads"
She shuffled towards the swine's eye and grew in his vision
It seemed like Zeus had made his decision.
Disguised as hog, the Allfather lays caked
In mud. The day finds him loose.
From last night’s swill, his belly ached
But his mood pinks with the sight
Of a red spider at work on the wall
Spinning messages in the light
His crusted jaw cracks as he bawls:
"O sweet, bright fair maiden,
I find my heart caught in amour
by your labour, O love's creation,
But let me change your form
So we may grunt as one in this swill
Until pleasure spent, we have had our fill"
"A tempting offer, thunder-king Jupiter
but I'm going to have to decline
Morning grows redolent with pig-shit
And a poor web draws no flies"
Zeus bristled, rose on his hinds
and declaimed with his trotter:
"I Myself am a Weaver of worlds
Leader of gods, Hunter of women,
the constellations fold, knit and purl
at my Command, such is my ken
your threadbare web girl
rather pales in comparisén"
Not put out or put off, she continued
her work, snipping a thread with her jaws
"Oh lord, I have lain with gods greyer than you,
those less obsessed by the size of their bolts
yet you seem to think it is I at fault?
you sir, are old and nothing new"
"Listen you, ugly barren over-limbed whore,
sticky siren of beam and rafter
I'm done with niceties, I'll fry your
red skin black if you don't give me what I'm after"
She sighed and on a strand went down to the pig
She sat on his snout and softly spoke
"Perhaps I was wrong on you, master of skies,
Perhaps we should join ourselves on this dirt bed
But should we act according to our instincts, I sympathise
For after our fooling around, my kind take heads"
She shuffled towards the swine's eye and grew in his vision
It seemed like Zeus had made his decision.
WAR GAMES [RED SPIDER]
A peppering of shot
a dash of mustard gas
hardly whets the appetite -
pesticides to man and beast
He much preferred
the older clashes, better
those soft souls, brain-
bashed by maul,
the flashes of steel sword
were cutlery passing to
and through rind
But we are here, we are now.
With heaps on the field
left to cook in June sun.
chunks of lieutenant
like the slow yellowing
of jasmine, the sweetness
turns and turns, bringing
over a host of hovering
angels.
They fuck in the nose
of a corporal, hanging
up on a wire. They make
the nasal passage
their headquarters.
Red spider sets up
his camp and lays back.
Again they have turned
The tables, laid the cloth.
This death-ground
his dinner plate
a dash of mustard gas
hardly whets the appetite -
pesticides to man and beast
He much preferred
the older clashes, better
those soft souls, brain-
bashed by maul,
the flashes of steel sword
were cutlery passing to
and through rind
But we are here, we are now.
With heaps on the field
left to cook in June sun.
chunks of lieutenant
like the slow yellowing
of jasmine, the sweetness
turns and turns, bringing
over a host of hovering
angels.
They fuck in the nose
of a corporal, hanging
up on a wire. They make
the nasal passage
their headquarters.
Red spider sets up
his camp and lays back.
Again they have turned
The tables, laid the cloth.
This death-ground
his dinner plate
HE WAS SO VIOLENT
He was so violent
We put our fingers in his nose
And our fingers in his ears
And blew into his mouth
His head grew to the size
And colour Of a pink zeppelin
He was so violent
We bit off his fingers
Leaving him with clenched stumps
We bit off his feet
And his legs
We made him a red angry torso
And then we left
He was so violent
We opened up his head
And filled it with children’s toys
A baby blue collared chihuahua
The good news bible
He coughed out a furball
And giggled
He was so violent
We summoned a child’s ghost
And possessed his soul
He played the piano
Like a young Mozart
A babbling baby Mozart
We put our fingers in his nose
And our fingers in his ears
And blew into his mouth
His head grew to the size
And colour Of a pink zeppelin
He was so violent
We bit off his fingers
Leaving him with clenched stumps
We bit off his feet
And his legs
We made him a red angry torso
And then we left
He was so violent
We opened up his head
And filled it with children’s toys
A baby blue collared chihuahua
The good news bible
He coughed out a furball
And giggled
He was so violent
We summoned a child’s ghost
And possessed his soul
He played the piano
Like a young Mozart
A babbling baby Mozart
OVATE [RED SPIDER]
The evening before sennight
cloaked men mutter mouthfuls,
rind of moon, earth waxen white
they lead out the glowing bulls
sickle wielders lop jewels
from the corpse crown
of a shrivelled oak and sunwise circle,
henge hugging the mounds
The mumbling grows a tone
the tone grows to a song
flesh spreads on standing stones
do your part and play along
"O bard on your silken string
ovate moon hatcher, your thread
in our ears, O guide, we're listening
O night creeper, white-black-red"
UNDER STARLIGHT, SMOKE
Under starlight, smoke.
A woman kneels snowblue
in a thick deer coat,
already the circling cold
has found entry,
it breathes against her skin
sliding into her bones.
Her three children huddle
teeth drilling in their jaws,
Leaning back against the wind,
she spins her beech pick
through a threaded bow
whistling a sweet note
to the charwood,
to the tinder.
As dusk settles,
An ember answers.
There is nothing outside
the small lip of light.
Life is still
and locked under ice
So she unlocks it lightly
whispering promise
sweet nothings to build
something
A flame hatches
Legs clamber out,
With the crackling tinder
the legs grow stronger
the children moan
as the black heath
grows its limbs and red
A woman kneels snowblue
in a thick deer coat,
already the circling cold
has found entry,
it breathes against her skin
sliding into her bones.
Her three children huddle
teeth drilling in their jaws,
Leaning back against the wind,
she spins her beech pick
through a threaded bow
whistling a sweet note
to the charwood,
to the tinder.
As dusk settles,
An ember answers.
There is nothing outside
the small lip of light.
Life is still
and locked under ice
So she unlocks it lightly
whispering promise
sweet nothings to build
something
A flame hatches
Legs clamber out,
With the crackling tinder
the legs grow stronger
the children moan
as the black heath
grows its limbs and red
BENEATH THE BIRTHDAY SUIT
Beneath the birthday suit
A grinning skull
A card charging bull
Beneath the birthday suit
A shit stained ape
An arsehole in a cape
Beneath the birthday suit
Old man gloom
A burial tomb
A vintage wine with the cork popped out
A sentient mouth with nothing to talk about
A gigantic ass fucking itself
A bucket of blood on the high shelf
A worm in a mask baked on bitumen
The work alarm at five o ten
THREE GUESSES
My old friend and I
We’re standing sweating
beneath a bald oak
He’s got his hand on my hip
“Lightning” he says
I shake my head, “age”
He cups his hands over my eyes
Everything burns but the tree
We’re standing sweating
beneath a bald oak
He’s got his hand on my hip
“Lightning” he says
I shake my head, “age”
He cups his hands over my eyes
Everything burns but the tree
SKY BURIAL
Sitting by the open window,
the hairs on my neck crackle.
heat is condensing in the garden
forcing the drowsy birds into the tree
I sit waiting for a thunderclap
to whip me across the ear
or lightning to split my eyes
At first, nothing comes, just more heat
I am utterly impatient, the cat plays
with my foot, but today
I am in no mood to play,
not with this hallowed task
of window-watching.
The dull weight of low cloud
gathers overhead, this could be it
something is about to happen!
Rain explodes on the earth,
It's glorious, like watching
The demolishing of a skyscraper,
Bricks burst against the gravel
The world rushes down the pane
I gather up the pen, I am ready
ready to loose the ink
upon the page, fill this
blankness with bruises
but the hand clamps
but the head mists in cloud
I push on, sweet wet soil fills my nose,
Droplets cling to the sycamore
like beads of light, but no -
the link between hand and pen
remains broken, no connection
I might as well be holding a daffodil
or a pigeon's foot.
I glare at the black uniball
but it is completely indifferent.
I swap hands try to make a link
the other's no good, a fat punk
asleep at the back of the classroom
sloping off the side of his chair
I wrestle the bastard onto the desk
hammer him with my knuckles
but he just plays dead
This is enough,
I take up the A4 sheet
and hold it out the window
rain trickles down my hand
onto the page, it grows heavier
I feel like a superstitious father
sacrificing his newborn to a sea god
but no, it's just a piece of paper
stained by the invisible work of the rain
the hairs on my neck crackle.
heat is condensing in the garden
forcing the drowsy birds into the tree
I sit waiting for a thunderclap
to whip me across the ear
or lightning to split my eyes
At first, nothing comes, just more heat
I am utterly impatient, the cat plays
with my foot, but today
I am in no mood to play,
not with this hallowed task
of window-watching.
The dull weight of low cloud
gathers overhead, this could be it
something is about to happen!
Rain explodes on the earth,
It's glorious, like watching
The demolishing of a skyscraper,
Bricks burst against the gravel
The world rushes down the pane
I gather up the pen, I am ready
ready to loose the ink
upon the page, fill this
blankness with bruises
but the hand clamps
but the head mists in cloud
I push on, sweet wet soil fills my nose,
Droplets cling to the sycamore
like beads of light, but no -
the link between hand and pen
remains broken, no connection
I might as well be holding a daffodil
or a pigeon's foot.
I glare at the black uniball
but it is completely indifferent.
I swap hands try to make a link
the other's no good, a fat punk
asleep at the back of the classroom
sloping off the side of his chair
I wrestle the bastard onto the desk
hammer him with my knuckles
but he just plays dead
This is enough,
I take up the A4 sheet
and hold it out the window
rain trickles down my hand
onto the page, it grows heavier
I feel like a superstitious father
sacrificing his newborn to a sea god
but no, it's just a piece of paper
stained by the invisible work of the rain
Eg.
Leather hens bash heads
against the coop doors
fused shut, grim things
a dumb desire to mate
under the marrow of barnlight
but there's just no getting out
o holy egg, plopped forth
from magical loins, mottled
flecks of mahogany, a dusting
of arse-feather, rolling down
chicken mesh, already cooling
in the barn's offal gloom
No cluck from these hollowbones
shredding their feathers, this mad preen -
scratching, scoring their own skin - why?
Art thou bored? Frustrated? But you
Have your own space, you have food?
This is more than most, better than many.
Be thankful you are not impaled sisters,
stuffed in ovens or rotating on a spit.
Wingblades like the bars of cages.
Thin. Clipped. Not made for flight.
against the coop doors
fused shut, grim things
a dumb desire to mate
under the marrow of barnlight
but there's just no getting out
o holy egg, plopped forth
from magical loins, mottled
flecks of mahogany, a dusting
of arse-feather, rolling down
chicken mesh, already cooling
in the barn's offal gloom
No cluck from these hollowbones
shredding their feathers, this mad preen -
scratching, scoring their own skin - why?
Art thou bored? Frustrated? But you
Have your own space, you have food?
This is more than most, better than many.
Be thankful you are not impaled sisters,
stuffed in ovens or rotating on a spit.
Wingblades like the bars of cages.
Thin. Clipped. Not made for flight.
COLD HALLS
cold halls of the ceanothus
plundered by humming bees
I get in close, take an eye full
Plant sticks out its purpled globes
Slick with dust
Burdened by their load, they seem
too heavy to fly these furious photons
Stumbling through the breeze
That fence, shade can’t even hold
plundered by humming bees
I get in close, take an eye full
Plant sticks out its purpled globes
Slick with dust
Burdened by their load, they seem
too heavy to fly these furious photons
Stumbling through the breeze
That fence, shade can’t even hold
SISYPHUS, REVISITED
And on his muscle bursting
Journey up from that muddy basin
Skidding and cursing his labour
His tenseness calcifying
Chalked up in white pain
Over basalt, limestone, granite
He came to the apex
For a moment, he looked out
Over the whole majesty of the land
Light playing over the green fields
Light rolling over the turquoise water
He forgot his task, but dimly
remembered he had one
And began shuffling
his trouble back down
The load somewhat bearable
The journey somewhat lighter
Journey up from that muddy basin
Skidding and cursing his labour
His tenseness calcifying
Chalked up in white pain
Over basalt, limestone, granite
He came to the apex
For a moment, he looked out
Over the whole majesty of the land
Light playing over the green fields
Light rolling over the turquoise water
He forgot his task, but dimly
remembered he had one
And began shuffling
his trouble back down
The load somewhat bearable
The journey somewhat lighter
STAR DEATH
The whole horizon grey grey
grey; shoreline littered
with the ghosts of stars.
Brine festers, rotten fish
grows in the nose
like a new barnacle
life here
has fallen
from great height
all shape has been
snapped out, all colour
leeched from limb
scuttled shells blown apart
legs forcibly spread where
the gulls have had their way
the bonnet of a crab
has been popped open
revealing a grey sea engine
shivering in the wind
we crunch on
this violent path
out past the horizon
what catastrophe what
hammering storm
occurred out there last night
to rake the abyssal grey
and pull down the sky?
grey; shoreline littered
with the ghosts of stars.
Brine festers, rotten fish
grows in the nose
like a new barnacle
life here
has fallen
from great height
all shape has been
snapped out, all colour
leeched from limb
scuttled shells blown apart
legs forcibly spread where
the gulls have had their way
the bonnet of a crab
has been popped open
revealing a grey sea engine
shivering in the wind
we crunch on
this violent path
out past the horizon
what catastrophe what
hammering storm
occurred out there last night
to rake the abyssal grey
and pull down the sky?
THE BIG TOP
Lying back
on a black lake
the night's canopy is so close,
the tent goes rippling overhead
on the lightest
touch
of breath
You, a second skin;
film on the eye
condensing
covering
the naked waters
with your nakedness.
Stretch out Eve,
shameless fig leaf
centre-stage
under the borehole
stare of stars
The wet wood
shakes out a breeze
wheeling you, a needle
on the lake's compass,
Directionless.
Constellations unbound,
Orion cartwheels with joy,
Cassiopeia upends her chair,
Little bear hurtles down the horizon.
You drop into their reflection, tonight
The whole of heaven is a circus
Performing for a crowd of one
on a black lake
the night's canopy is so close,
the tent goes rippling overhead
on the lightest
touch
of breath
You, a second skin;
film on the eye
condensing
covering
the naked waters
with your nakedness.
Stretch out Eve,
shameless fig leaf
centre-stage
under the borehole
stare of stars
The wet wood
shakes out a breeze
wheeling you, a needle
on the lake's compass,
Directionless.
Constellations unbound,
Orion cartwheels with joy,
Cassiopeia upends her chair,
Little bear hurtles down the horizon.
You drop into their reflection, tonight
The whole of heaven is a circus
Performing for a crowd of one
SUPERMARKET
I could not sleep
morning had got to me
the first birds, the orange light
promises of creation
I could not sleep so went shopping
The supermarket
still in its half-dark shell
with all the quiet solemnity of a church
waiting for the congregation
I bow my head in prayer
count my blessings, exactly five
what will I make
The few shoppers scuttling the aisles
have faces like unbuttered toast
the floor buffer floats ever closer
as I waver over multipacks of tuna
what will I make
Crinkled cellophane catches the light
like mica flashing in rock
the onion bag crackles in my hand
like birthday wrapping
Here, a woebegone turnip
There, a forlorn squash
my eye collapses into water
I blink it back into solidity now,
I'm crying over the oranges
picking one up to remind myself
what a sphere feels like
what will I make
the day goes like all days go
some concessions, several excuses
so in the blue glow of evening
huddled over the stove
I throw the contents into a pot
and let night boil down
just what I've made
with my day
morning had got to me
the first birds, the orange light
promises of creation
I could not sleep so went shopping
The supermarket
still in its half-dark shell
with all the quiet solemnity of a church
waiting for the congregation
I bow my head in prayer
count my blessings, exactly five
what will I make
The few shoppers scuttling the aisles
have faces like unbuttered toast
the floor buffer floats ever closer
as I waver over multipacks of tuna
what will I make
Crinkled cellophane catches the light
like mica flashing in rock
the onion bag crackles in my hand
like birthday wrapping
Here, a woebegone turnip
There, a forlorn squash
my eye collapses into water
I blink it back into solidity now,
I'm crying over the oranges
picking one up to remind myself
what a sphere feels like
what will I make
the day goes like all days go
some concessions, several excuses
so in the blue glow of evening
huddled over the stove
I throw the contents into a pot
and let night boil down
just what I've made
with my day
AND WHEN IT'S OVER
when it ends
as it is want to do,
when one finally closes
door or lid
on the name of love
a trace still remains
of that certainty
that is without regret
that lends dignity to sorrow
and tightens the suffering
as it is want to do,
when one finally closes
door or lid
on the name of love
a trace still remains
of that certainty
that is without regret
that lends dignity to sorrow
and tightens the suffering
BEDRIDDEN
Silly to be
caught in bed, struck
with the thoughts of time
past, a mist rises up
out from under the duvet
wet white loss-palace
expanding out who knows
where the boundaries now lie
A face looms out - lover?
how long have you remained
in this deep fog? What do you eat?
No answer, in mist
the words
like the distances
lose all sense of place
caught in bed, struck
with the thoughts of time
past, a mist rises up
out from under the duvet
wet white loss-palace
expanding out who knows
where the boundaries now lie
A face looms out - lover?
how long have you remained
in this deep fog? What do you eat?
No answer, in mist
the words
like the distances
lose all sense of place
RED SPIDER: EARTH'S CONDUCTOR
The place so deep
It is always night
The place so low
There can be no North
The place so forgot
It is higher than Hell
But lower than Limbo
There red spider sits
At the centre of the web
With each hairy leg
He plucks each strand
Together in sweet music
Each strand vibrates
Along the line; all the way up
To each thing that moves
From the jabbering jawbone
To the whispering crickets
From the rustled leaf
To the jet engine orchestra
An architect of sound is he
RED SPIDER III - PARLOUR GAMES
At an evening dinner
Of roasted hog and apple
A few words were spoken
Better left unsaid
After the words came the retorts
After the retorts came the rebukes
After the rebukes came the challenges
After the challenges came the war
The war was tediously long
In the aftermath, red spider
Did his calculations, the unburied
Dead of 200; draws a multiplier
Of 50 flies with a egg relay
Of 400. He kicked back and relaxed
Life would be good for a while
RED SPIDER IV: ITSY BITSY
Red spider had sunk the lowest of low
All his gutter talk and come to naught
He was cul de sac, the end of the road
Each pipe cleaner leg refused his weight
He had the shakes, the shivers, the rattles, the rasp.
His breath was baited by vespers
We should give him up for dead
And call an end right here.
But then the heat rose and so his soul
His shadowy husk, became a lump of coal
Set aflame, I will not pass this pass again
RED SPIDER I - BEGIN AGAIN
Red spider
Bungling in Eden
missed the ceremony
Adams count, cast of names
That slid his body around things
Into things
Made wet slippery
Made sky blue
Out of frame
Out of sight
Out of mind
He paints an unpretty picture
Squatting, shitting
web in the undergrowth
RED SPIDER VI: HAMMOCKED
Hammocked in his web
Time also seemed caught
Nothing moved, not the wind
Not the cloud, not the sun
The years stretched out
In such a way, some real
Good thinking Was afoot
Measured by the gentle sway
Which is really no time at all
RED SPIDER X: FULL CIRCLE
Red Spider turns on a spit
Friendless - his hosts rotate
Caught in the froth of his many eyes
Dribbling sweat by the fire
Coughing up lungs from plastic
Bottles - they know no better
His tormentors in turn tortured
By gaping holes in their bellies
A grimy hand cracks off a leg
And red spider grows redder
He grows so large and so red
Fat as a hunter's moon
Now hungry in his heat
He swallows the dinner guests
He swallows the fire
He swallows the world
Well, who can blame him
Child: we live in the trembling gut
Of an angry red spider
RED SPIDER: PLOTTING REVENGE
Lower than low, where strata
Becomes blacker than black
And shadow is an environs
Red spider gains an education
The moon this night bowed taut
Hurls fast sharpened bolts
Of pale arrow and one pierces
A shallow pool of rippling dark
The shaft glances off of him
He sees for the first, his beatific
Gruesomeness: hairy head
Tipped with spears, a trillion
Eyes harness and record his image
Through this ghastly mirror
He looks long and deep
Watching his ugliness unmoving
And thinking through burden:
'On whom do I have my revenge?'
RED SPIDER: PARLOUR TRICKS
Red Spider scuffling
Arachnoid in his little
Black booties makes
The line to the big lover
She takes him right
They make it right off
With what words
Did he spin around her?
'You got no flies on you
You're filled with spiders'
Arachnoid in his little
Black booties makes
The line to the big lover
She takes him right
They make it right off
With what words
Did he spin around her?
'You got no flies on you
You're filled with spiders'
RED SPIDER: THE DEAD SO DEAD
He bristles under the bed
Board and wire creak above
A thunder in the firmament
The occupants are having it out
Red spider beholds their giant black
Body's shadows playing on the light
Their panting pushes him
Into the corner wet and salt
The quake subsides, they both
Unmoved, dead so dead,
Like wax sculptures of the dead
He is pretty sure he never has
Never will play
With his food thus.
Board and wire creak above
A thunder in the firmament
The occupants are having it out
Red spider beholds their giant black
Body's shadows playing on the light
Their panting pushes him
Into the corner wet and salt
The quake subsides, they both
Unmoved, dead so dead,
Like wax sculptures of the dead
He is pretty sure he never has
Never will play
With his food thus.
RED SPIDER: BAG OF LIGHT
Sets it in his unfillable sack
Chews on a band of light
His hunger, insatiable
Fizzing with photons
His colour is in part a pink
Appealing as a berry
Prey: to his
Him; theirs.
RED SPIDER: VIRUS
The internet is
The hypochondriac’s best friend
They wake in the mornings
Alarmed by a dry throat
And they are informed
One of those 8 spiders
Swallowed in life
Laid its green eggs
(a fact that is untrue; must be –
What creature
Would think or want
To travel into
A wet, fleshy cave?)
They have a large lunch
And receive a bloated stomach
They’re told ‘tumour – definitely malignant’
By the omniscient online doctor
And imagine this
Red-eyed, black fleshy thing
Feasting on their guts
I’m not a doctor
But I’d call that black, fleshy thing
The Fear.
At night,
They leave the videos of doctors
Reciting viruses in Latin,
Viruses as dead as the language
And lay their headaches
Against the pillow
They get everything
But a good night’s sleep
And wake up
With dry throats.
RED SPIDER V: FERTILITY CULT
The spider queen sat leery in her court
Stigma at the centre of her palatial web
Her cortège of far-flung Arachne comported themselves at her hundred odd feet
“My omniscient queen” The trapdoor kneeled, “I have made you a theatre to depict your glories and ridicule your enemies”
The court rubbed their legs and cheered and the trapdoor was showered in flies
“My omnipresent queen” Tarantula bowed, “I have shaved the bristles of my forebears to craft a brush to keep your netting clean and invisible”
The court rubbed their legs and cheered and tarantula was blessed with many crickets
“My omnipotent queen” Widow curtsied, “here are the many heads of my lovers, to remind the court of our deadly passions and lovemaking”
The court rubbed their legs and cheered and widow was blessed with butterfly wings
Red spider coughed, “what do you have for me?” The queen asked. “I’ve only caught a cold from these gifts empress. I’ve been dogged by ill winds on my web, had no lovers to speak of and grown quite bald”
The court chittered their mandibles. “But here is a droplet from the rotten apples of Eden.”
All remained silent as the queen drank.
And so began the first bloom of the age of the spider.
Stigma at the centre of her palatial web
Her cortège of far-flung Arachne comported themselves at her hundred odd feet
“My omniscient queen” The trapdoor kneeled, “I have made you a theatre to depict your glories and ridicule your enemies”
The court rubbed their legs and cheered and the trapdoor was showered in flies
“My omnipresent queen” Tarantula bowed, “I have shaved the bristles of my forebears to craft a brush to keep your netting clean and invisible”
The court rubbed their legs and cheered and tarantula was blessed with many crickets
“My omnipotent queen” Widow curtsied, “here are the many heads of my lovers, to remind the court of our deadly passions and lovemaking”
The court rubbed their legs and cheered and widow was blessed with butterfly wings
Red spider coughed, “what do you have for me?” The queen asked. “I’ve only caught a cold from these gifts empress. I’ve been dogged by ill winds on my web, had no lovers to speak of and grown quite bald”
The court chittered their mandibles. “But here is a droplet from the rotten apples of Eden.”
All remained silent as the queen drank.
And so began the first bloom of the age of the spider.
RED SPIDER II: NURSERY RHYME
Ravenous Miss Muffet
sat on a tuffet
well into her Kurdish wheys
when along came red spider
And sat down beside her
Frightened Miss Muffet away
Little Miss Muffet
hungry from her buffet
Wanted more from her meal this day
So returned with a rifle
And said not to trifle
With women
or their varied eating habits
And blew the red spider away
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