so when was it discovered

A suitable kind of adult gathered round the table

discussing the weather and drops dead

disposable vantage or where you live? 

That’s nice. We can help you with that, snapping

sound surrounds you night and day, come out

so Hannah said it must be mine. I am

me here. Keep

out. Find your own…

the irony doesn’t escape the committee who, 

on insistence stand up, sit down, light. Everything

is wood. Wood, wood, wood, wood, wood, 

wood, wood, wood wood everywhere 

if you hate wood, stay out. A great developing

body of water of evidence it is a far far

better thing that I recall you missed your last

appointment bare faced evacuation helpline is here

unanswered for where are you? Please no. 

Don’t look, mum. Just go. 

To this specific detail give your whole self, 

a house (internal room) may appear when it is exacted. 

Caraway, galloway, hideaway, listen. Everything

is coming now. Stay put. Detailed aboard

the mutiny that sets this light to sea.

A fog is closing, closing. Closing merrily, to me!

I Met Two Latter Day Saints

 

I met two latter day saints limping home

from ordinary daydreams a little kindly 

saints the whole of the world damp

with no rain the smile had one you mustn’t

be seen dead with me I agreed from each corner

these two saints, kind and inept to neither convince

but point my path towards a higher power.

I met two latter day saints in the damp without

rain and I felt some kind of love for they

that do no harm though do some harm I am

met by this road out to limp through the world

where one would say I met two saints 

and shook their hands they knew me so

that says to power that moves not here 

the two by twos, what struck me, that they seemed

to have seen my path, superfluous, no hook,

a serene sanity in them, so young and yet

look at the state it drives out I see saneness this way

quite a peculiar passive threat hatched up 

against the means to a private room, to disappear

in the long quiet night for such are kindly souls.

When they asked what brought me joy

and I looked about the road, 

no flowers, no caterpillars, a dingy warm glow

from a greased window, and that was all. 

I couldn’t say. Pop goes the world.

A Whisper

You came in
out of a rave meadow apart, you or a girl

its nameless or faceless

you do forget. You weren't admitting a closeness

from an inhuman mute:

She hadn't from whisper against nothing she wasn't worthless

you hadn't from land many stumps

to inside a unification against veto forward

this some silence hadn't dropped. 

She hung up to under a school - you sank many legs.

In from freedom,

she whispered against a beginning to a field,

to a hand against the valley,

against before the eyes-in hole of Carefree-ill's abattoir -

you sank some legs. 

She settled in the countryside, came off from dead minus twenty seconds alive. 

without some flower swallowed landfill 

out a floor on her arse, in Eastern Sweden.

Girl without a namelessness or blank you do forget, 

I can't start whispering then, you can't moving deafen me.  

In the Bin of Ideas I am Marked by the Face III

I heard a cry. Correction. A cry rose up amidst the songs 

of corvids. Because you had jumped from a great height

and because of their memory, as in they know what death

should look like their calls rose up as you lay there in silence

for a time, perhaps unconscious, covered by the weeds and then

they were quiet as your voice rose to harmonise. That is what

I woke to this morning. Oh and then they began to scream 

alongside you a thundering sound in the air, screaming for help

windows rattling the vehicle is coming slow down eye the dots

mark retreat from this sinking world alarm a chorus too. 

                            *

They are moving back a little. 

There is stupidity all around the mouth. 

This week we are spoken over

a ridiculous conversation

no choice but to proceed as one

crying out in the weeds 

for some public information. 

In the Bin of Ideas I am Marked by the Face II

 Isn't it funny how we got up one morning to see them looking exactly as the nuclear family. Daddy, Mummy and all of us. I find it to be more harrowing than that little mess in the day collar or even the speaking ham. To raise yourself to the governance of franchise you've to become eloquently worse than the competitor and so it's there they stand and I detested thinking that thought this morning as all the eyes of the little i's fell out and the sunset rose again as if it had never slept. Really, I stared right through it. For one night it did not become dark. I was able to see across most of the sky, realising its corners, as if they were, and a strange song was in my ears. Something about two lovers who were bound to one another in spite of all of their previously examined and realised desires. Birds flew about them and they stayed their course, far out beyond murder and recrimination. They were petrified. It was disgusting to see them like this as it showed us some obvious things about ourselves, about myself, under this never darkening sky. That power is corruption; authority its enforcement and this brooding family with lovers at the helm its consequence. Tired and tired and tired now, the eyes falling away I must dot them return to them make a more precious argument but really it is that simple bastardised authority which catches in the throat as the music from sunrise pierces from arrangements of clouds. Problem is the authorities of knowledges, bodies, mechanics and solar flares, these songs, we cannot proceed any other way. Let's take that lilting hill together one by one by one dot by dot by eye by eye by goodbye i. 

Angela, 

fading to fuck. 

In the Bin of Ideas I am Marked by the Face

First is a little postcard from Berlin. Second is a poem from the weekend. Midsummer. Last is a desperate little noise, slightly nabbed from Diane Di Prima...

                                *

Walk out together, 

inside our dream 

we gave one another new names

dressed together, our hair

shining cent from trees, callow

kitten, are we given

to this sunlight. Chewing

a strawberry, yes, you’re all of this

 laughter to the end

let’s walk out the day our dreams

with new names given to one

the same to breeze along the air.

        *

We hugged a second time

as I left from the market

my bank at the bottom

but hearing the clamour of bells

returning the bending line

I saw inside a butterfly

resting onto your eyes dear

height of summer

the year all around

        *

If the word 'benefits'

still fills up your mouth

then you are still the enemy.

IX, X, XI,XII

 

IX Marcus builds his babies. They are

physically hand grenade. One is his

darling, his humours. One his 

scourge. Marcus made a baby. Its

hand for the women. Marcus slams

on the door. For he had a world

to do. We saw he had failed at

his chance. The thing you ought to do. 

X It made two lists to 

struggle. Go out. The trees

orange glow about the

railing. We are going sad

towards the Bright new 

Days. Must eke the

beforehand of rooms. 

It tastes the good. Spends

money. Wails out of the palm.

XI There’s a way

for biting the 

facial patterning.

Acts on heaps of

stomach. A dark

and greenish moth.

I’ve carved my

knees for biting. 

Bite. Bite again. 

Revise. Immutable  

socket. Winter. 

Distillation. How

old. Hungry. As

you became wrapt

the air dressed 

you. The clouds

kissed your spine. 

Lay there out in

the garden. A pool

of your growing

lifelessness. 

XII The list begins to glint a quiet violent orange. Impossible to see. Each letter is a living evaluation of scattered motive. One day respond. One day, respond. Until then it is forever too late. Nothing will be cleared. Oily. Was oily. Oily and ashamed.