Pitch of morning agony and music of blue evolution
passing day blowing up against dam before lunch my love, ha!
feed me that
in that hour and i’ll be ready-
for every onslaught to slop its remains
on my face as it disappears
give me just that one lunch where i can
get ****** on by london by straight and complex water
and feel at home, and we’ll have no hell with
my small life, i’ll connect my eyes with yours
and listen to everyone of your beats, even though
i prefer to be dancing chin dug into collar
striking, its all good-

gimme your hand and we’ll chance it my dear, wheels
and quiet road gripping, and we walk fast home
as it storms and shines and the worlds smile private to us
sliding away up on still elevator with all the imaginations of advertisements not important-

we’re drenched and it’s good
a thousand hawks come and it’s good

and who ever made those walls was a genius, he knew
that in time there would be people painting and ******* them
down

we’re canvases warped
brought forward

by those before us who used their own flesh
to threaten the darkness

and that shape is perfect if you’re lucky
and the coyotes dance disobediently
when you try and stop them

we’re shaped by the face we sleep beside
know it inside its bleeding parts
know it so thoroughly that it kills you whilst living
bleeding into the rest giving life

And that

one

will not be your name or what you know

ice bergs grow covering every motor part for miles
unable to lick under their own white grills
forgetting
that we’re all on fire-

and the meteorites will do the same
and play the kind of deadly songs
that bring us close.

absolutes always die
we get afraid
that they're everywhere
but life comes along each way
with compromise
by the way of wings
something like wasp wings
filling our fields and shoes
making us walk away
from bliss
like we would death
or the smell of it

what places the leather back
and makes everything smell
like best quality skin
is the knowledge
that
half love gets tired
much earlier than all this

it
can’t learn the steps
it’s happier to stumble away
than towards
the noose dances instead
and tightens
a lil harder
a lil fuller

knowing where to break its neck
before compromise mumbles
in silence
long before
we sing.

we all know it.
we all have differing amounts of it.
we’re all doing the same cha cha cha!
we’re walkin through a waterfall, and we all at grab the same things
on the other side
we reach for each other and hold our arms up like victors
as our horses bleed
the horses being wednesday and saturday
they are the times we have left of our beds needing many more hours
with our loved ones
and knowing that the street is not as us
yet, unable to stop moving
we get one snap in the eye of it all to say it all-
and hell
maybe that helps
maybe the heaped stimulus of work has it’s time now
to give us that hammer we need
to know that our lives are numbered by irriversible clocks
that untwine in the furtherness of how we will be
so for now
we are given an untidy space, with a number
to say what we mean
before
we’re driven away.

and we just
floor the peddle
my love-
         (
                  sun falling.
                  into lap
                  all the featherless,
                  birds.
                  repeating­
                  unable
                  to
                  ­burn.
                  so simply
                  away;
         )

Systems mix awake
like pills awaiting a passenger
searching for dogma
like a marching drill in the dessert
disturbing dunes
like a bullet distracting the crowd
shattering the skull behind you
muttering
and chattering again
in the world below its knees
where it connects again
sewn and hammered
accept oil
this time
golden
drapped in molasses
tuned at the heart
and joint
to continue
to have spirit and commune
with its line
and nothing

but its line.

Just the upper torso
of dunes waving back to us
where we walk
all hymn: the sea, 7ish, and ourselves
the sun;
going slow
echoes of sea birds
tunnelling
above the sea
always
near home.

By the tree
a copper smacks a drunkards legs away
from behind him
as he walks home
oooze me adrenalin
pick hornet faults
and you have honey combs
choose an action
that leaves you alive
the media forgets
like a humming bird forgets
with wings that cut its own paper
in the back of your knee
surrounding human crime
where without streets
we still smell it.

The buzzards drip hypnotised by summer
sweating in ponds of storm
the incense that grows
the cons of dopamine mirrors
have been broken down into life
the permanent shape of v-shaped birds flying
open the hands of history
into the bleach of omega silk time

Leather drips in the gardens leaf
cuboidal faces lock antennae soaring
in this luxury of rain;
the fluxive gas of Friday bursts into fever
the dog deciding red, then food, then pat
I hear another ambulance coming
something up the street
the drum so drunk it sings.

Attuned to the ligaments of her passing mood
the contortionist shows her teeth to the dust,
In East London by Singapore, Hong Kong
all of those places-
Bow legs rip open the universe, in one
style, then, the practice meditates inside her again
Haemorrhage blue curtains warp into several layers of eyes
so that her knees dance up past her molasses joy
The tube-stations scream, the cadillacs sing,
the catacombs crack their knuckles and laugh

The chieftains know in time that all sand is red
as the sepulchres pass into and with her mouth
The Camden markets shake into hybrids of summer;
the neophyte ways that a bat breaks down a tree, eats its coal-
And I wish that people would stop hanging her,
like a dead man with bad breath from a branch
And using the symbol for their own gains, limiting fear
which numbers their tongue in fermenting numbers;
She is just one fly whizzing from one tree
to the next.

i liked the way that mongrel smiled
he had no idea how ugly he was
i pulled in a good deep drag
putting sharp teeth in my lungs
he drooled
it was warm
i was warm
i would drool too if it was just him and i
which it is
i stand and smoke with him a while
he doesn’t smoke
he’s a dog
enjoying the summer
with reason enough
in his panting mind
for a summer ball
and all the hunger
to be released in a perfect sway
in his mogrel ***
from left to right.

eaked through a piece of cloth.

‘the mouth’
you were meant be;
calmed
or else led-
to be calmed
once more
and allowed through the gate quietly;

so says the day
that reaches across day
churning the streets
until silenced
by life;
and nursed back to fury

by the peace of words
from human mouth
without the faintness of sense
they are different to yours;

no matter which world
you see hanging around
the mouth of furness
and steps
inside you
welcome you
deeply

there’s no fixing our pulse
there’s only fixing
our expressions
of it, that love our play,
the hedge cutters know it best,
the gambits that pull our actions from sleep
and clip a square heart into bush
and the ministers and bed louse
know it best

and nothing knows it best;
whilst here
as we do

something as small
as dancing through
and from within time
of womb bone and jaw
and knowing your gleaming
mate
is equal,
to your fear
of absolute passion

knows you best.

Publishers love jello
cool, gleaming, white hot jello
one morning i imagined that i was
writing in filth
the snow was the earth
the earth was jello.

do it like a lepar king
attatch yourself to the soul
with armies of giants
to place your skin back
when your skin cannot hold
and the day
cannot hold
attatch yourself to the sun
like a body
that cannot learn
and cannot be taught
to stop beating heat
do so in the gropes of the machine
like an organic song
and curve bayonetting
the hive line
in the times of dance
that come like countless
bodies of sigh
to rebel against the well of turmolt
in the evenings veins
kiss the unamed call
of the earth
touch those eyes
like they are the last of all things
do it like you smoke too much
do it like the city
has two pairs of lungs
one pair pays the night birds
rent
when they come
the others
are pecking around as i finish a cigarette
before work
the kind that light the building up
as i enter
but the work
is a bird
the work
dissapears
she dismembers
herself
like the laughter
she teaches
me
and says 'come straight back
after you're
done
don't slacken now
there's dance to be done
there's always our dance
to be done;
and then i stop the count
and let just two animals
do it
they know more of time
and look more
like us.

By the tree
a copper smacks a drunkards legs away
from behind him
as he walks home
oooze me adrenalin
pick hornet faults
and you have honey combs
choose an action
that leaves you alive
the media forgets
like a humming bird forgets
with wings that cut its own paper
in the back of your knee
surrounding human crime
where without streets
we still smell it.

Some can’t handle
what’s behind
the eye
neither
can i
but i say
to what’s
in front
hey, calm
down
for a while
haven’t you
seen-
the perfect yellow
lemon
trees, the
kind
that stand
all by
themselves
in Tunisia
man, you just gotta
look
at them, when the day
is water
to pull them
out
or place them
back-
-lighting
your steps
like effortless
seeds, North
of Africa
maybe
listen
to how
the insects
and bark
moan
and relocate
around
the apex
of their
form, the
gathering way
they have
collided
laughing at
the coke
atom’s punch
under out
and away
but
not yet

are they not

yellow still.

Plumes of gas
like heavy hands of air
entering our lungs

we depart!
  
from our hair-home

we danced on the nose of a cat
and lost some of our numbers
as we crawled over George

I’d like to think
that the youngans leapt away
as we did

as the spray came

but I know nothing, as we spring from his fur
during mating
sending us from slow images
in the black box
where Georgey mews in protest

the gas
doesn’t touch us as we leap
onto the arm of the sprayer

twitching twice more in doubled loop
and into her hair

there is a forest of knitted pines, dyed pink
strands of hair descend up
into the platted roof of her head – - we give
out, and finish the beginning

of our new family
in the white bed
of her scalp

as our old neighbours flee
with less success

I move off Stiums back
and we look around the mesh
of dyed dunes

the furred shrubs
are connected to mandibles and fresh eyes
different to our own, staring at us

i know nothing of the female that sprung us
from our home
as a finger shelled by chewed nail
comes to scratch us away

scattering us
once more
within our new home
irritated by our feast, I bite down
within the soft floor

and taste peace, once more, comparing human blood,
to what was before.

Nothing walks better than the 'day light shakes', maybe
you need to work today and the briefcases are deciding
to be hearts instead
of thick leather
you've decided the night
whilst it past;

not worth its sleep, the sun juices you  
and a dead man moves across sand

the beers beers beers or maybe just
the previous day as a dancer in itself
was enough to keep you
awake
and moving until now; stretching the ground with your feet

one after another, an absolute laughter and free limbs apart
escaping the need to run

the sun is an open mouth

laid exactly just above
yours, you're commuting and already rolling your neck like a sleeper
with a crook and a sigh
because the night was rough

and when you blink - your eyes water
and duty pulls you on
like an engorged worker in a factory made of silk

there is humour in your tiredness however
there is a rubber floor
moving
beneath your feet
understanding
why you're smiling like the quietly mad
every now and then;

getting on with the daily beat
body aching like each and every part was used
from heart to lip
arching back;
to screaming light.

No skin upon the face of a swan
No rip tide in the gut of your featherless guile
There is beer in the drake and sadness in the sky
There is illuminate aorta, vena, cava, river;

Body which does not close
But which, and knowingly, is blood
Blood counts its own art.
The smile of human dance.

A fire begins somewhere at 4
completing the home
God Queen! – - alright!

The walls and floor boards move
here. and new flesh joins and unwinds

animals grow like colour, hooking the
dinning tables
and making them bleed

like bright silhouettes
and the fashionable mountains and chairs
that we couldn’t afford
bow down, and change within the heat

your hair fits my suit exactly, everything matches the flame
eventually

without any effort, I never thought we could
afford. all this stuff. our portraits drool

as we do, the floor is as warm as the air, we crawl forward
to the carpets and door
that permit our hand
marks, in the clay, and sync like dancing dolls
in the softness of ash
climbing up
the substance of string

closer to the heart-hand that moves them
with ease
we rise again
and walk
like marionettes under fog
we aren’t gone yet, we have good
mind, taste
and the dog bowl
releases its plastic sides to the floor
easier
than pouring ghosts in the rain

our room now matches
perfectly
to the colour books we saw

flicking through chimera
and seeing
one

that looks back.

The afternoon’s season is meditating sun,
It takes you completely into the rock, and lays you down.
Soon the waves will rise up by the nooks,
suing the sand moss, and disturbing them
as they are devoured by the daily tide, once more.

Once my tourist eyes are no longer needed
by the hovering gulls penetrating the occasional air, and
the dog owners have taken their dogs home,
there will be peace.

But until then, I walk through the dunes with you,
where peace grows in the battering shocks of
the sea, rolling up nearer and nearer; the beach staggers
away in languid smiles, that bow in the focus of our night,
shooting our silhouettes across the shore.

I talk deviant to the deviants
and the deviants don’t like it

they like their unifroms pressed
they like their hums made of silence
and drunk was the wine of the iris

even their licks flee in patience from it all

shadows move low
where nothing collects

the face
behind it
where holograms go into the future

the fish lizards don’t wanna start again
they’ve already dragged their bellies far enough
just let the concert fall in on itself
just grab whomever you love and slice their ear
with a kiss, or a hymn of your own
let the rubble of our ideas gaze
like bibles
made from our holding hands;
letting any invention
not from the heart
die like a thousand viruses
torn from limb;
let the dreams come through whilst
we are here
and treat the king like a pawn
a garden
without pearls
an ammasing heat
an island
that lays down a road
in the dead swamp
and bleeds
chords off-tune
but higher than the operas of earth
as atlantis dives.

Schizophrenia is a beautiful word
it makes good use of the mouth
and admires the tongue’s fragility

to curl
to arch
and play
as you say it

by rights
we already have a new King
and the Queen’s been renamed
after each part of the word

-Schi- is today’s smell
she’s tall
she’s worked all week
in a pristine office
and earned the right to sweat as she likes
in her own home
by her own rules

-Zo- is the breeding pattern of dogs and love

-Phrenia- never knows – anything
unless she dances with him like a cure
she has a perfect way of swaying
when snowed, so deeply under
that she gives the streets
back their grace

she undresses the evening
collapsing the day
in perfect comedy
and dialogue
with the ceiling’s sky

where only the feral
have ever lived

where only they
have ever moved.

milk within still cup
the rock you sit upon by sea
to the tanks inside lessons gone
to the bulging sky within sky
coming peach within rising grey
cities enveloped below their own dust
where the final creature crawls
forward
stomach flat upon grain
walking;
adding dance to hymn
playing in sparse rooms
yellow gloves
from nicoteen
shedding every song
from the strings they pull
placing documents inside briefcases
and letting them all fly
calling the one book a lie
drinking the storm like a cocktail
and flooring that pedal
so that the highway runs away
to the hum of sun
and remains
itself; remembering

itself.

Better than twelve eggs boiled
like your gut, like your home, and memory
eaten, soft cooked, whole cooked
and good
easier than the next year
that came
we ate well that year
my trouser trunk grew
we spoke
together
to a man who agreed to sell us
it
cheap.

I’ll happily pay that time with a smile
Many
many

        !      *many

I watch a news programme with the lady
that has brought me up
a woman in her 80’s that keeps a tree log
inside her room
just beside the door frame
ready, one she can use
on a burglar

I know that
if anyone tried it on, my instincts
hear the whole house;
and then, good bye thief.
I tap out the articles, make us a tea,
and discuss the strange world with her
just now they were talking about vinyl sales, ebola, and children.

The waterfalls are maddening
although
only because i swim like a shark
& full inside the bones of old moonshine farmers
they're the ones who really get it
fully full on their own fruits
slamming hell with laughter
begging it to come with each sip
then when the deep punch comes
belching
embracing a lightening love
and knowing that the next batch needs to simmer

lest the roof comes downs
and sings like a poem
fermenting angels and all.

shoot all of your flesh
away
from years ago
say to the world
it’s here
make shapes from serviettes
when the service is slow, don’t worry about the crowd and
shower – quite literally
in the company of your dinner mate
let the cars roam as animals roam
let all of your lips cascade
into one floating hole
that waits before dinner comes, brought by some stranger
removing the day
from the plate
i am the sequins of your dress
your are my sleeves
rolled up
and reaching for
bread;
i refuse that you should sit opposite me this table – so i pull your seat
                       over, and instead of just waiting for the food
                       i pull you nearer
the staff and the clamour of utensils die
                       tonight there is nothing but us, passing
“how come you don’t like sitting opposite?” You ask me
that’s weird!

Aye and the table is white
and we’re dressed ready for the world
as
(s)he salutes us within our eyes;
nothing can take me away from your dress,
we’re frozen in flux
as the waiter comes;
and the city shifts
outside.

every time it hit 6
and the shutters went down
the shirt would come off
and he’d be up the stairs like a murderer
quicker than the elevator taking the rest of us
up
his father used to walk by the shop on match days
grinning like a friend with old teeth
we put the shop together
until christmas was over
but we’re still employed by it all
everyone’s different hunger
more delicate
than the clothes we sold.

my good melting friend
melts well
and was good enough to buy us all a coal mine
he bought it the annoying
way, he bought it with a pile of friends, his
wife
at the time;
and the things that stopped death from killing him
did
and we were all lost
in the contract, he signed it, for all of us
and i tempt him down from throwing it everywhere
knifing dream
like two brothers eating a pack
of easy
dog charge
by the electric river
eating eden
one serpent is a god licking you
the other—a pile of them multiplied
made into sphere
and lips near you;
the seminar ends.
and the tempest begins
and unlike life-
it was easy to die
and easy to rise.

there hasn’t been change or sleep here for a long time,
the grassy cave is open as anyhting you could scream or sleep about
there’s a good curve inside, like all of the moss has agreed
with each other
which way to go, and to leave something open, for you to come in
it’s nothing special, and I’ve only been back two days, but you go along
the riverside path
past the park
and the green opens up a little more, and thusly
a little more happens you see, as I’m sure you would imagine, you take
a left from the path winding up to the birdge and step into the country of single edged trees;
there’s enough history in this hanging enclosier to let you do anything, but alone, you
do the normal things, you think about love and your heroes, and the opposites;
you’re covered by most of it by the over hanging trees where they grow together
in an over hanging swarm. and you work it all out.
you laugh like a human being, forgetting that
cues are normally needed for such things, you’d cry like the sentiments of the green
if they wern’t so abundant and still.
you’d ask each of their individual names if it
wasn’t so obvious that they wren’t already around you, and surrounded you
like peacful movements of song and age;
of course giving you the choice to see them like this
if you wish
or not.

Your body
enduring height
altitude
gaseous tastes
and work

pushing you
through the thin walls
remembering the intricacies that the day has forgotten
your feet begin to arc up
backwards
as you drift up and through the outer layers

body breaks down shadow
surrounds space

and paycheques
with fresh peace
and air
heavy light – multiplies

and a room
much like yours
shares out your mind
between the night’s humour
and the day’s teeth
devouring their shares
with a coffee
between a shave
and a shower

the morning, easing
‘cos you’re with me
in the steam
letting no one else tell me how it is
‘cos it probably isn’t
anything like that

it’s probably more
like you

like this winter
that i will to end
so i can come home
to the city i found
out of chance
and see you

again.

The spell doesn’t change
it just dances around the coins
the pennies boom with bronze and sun;
no sin for a lap dog with teeth
we
travel for sometime, then exchange in the Balkans.

Whatever walks back through Bulgarian time
are never the same legs that take it there;
green rock hammer landscapes
warm the air
with its bugs, its song, and road.

All it would take
to turn all the gods inside out
for a short while
and make em
wear their organs outside
like Christmas tree lights
and change the science of experiment and fact
into shadow

is if the Sphinx yawned
just once, and stretched out her back shaking off her sand
in the middle of the naked desert;
stood, and walked around for a while
I doubt that the stars have changed much for her
she’d say good bye to the morning;
getting half a scorpion stuck in her back
as her skin returned to sleep

it probably wouldn’t matter
if no-one was watching, in fact
its probably better that way

it’s not asking too much
I don’t think.

The ideas we love unattended end up flowing down the drain
like excess soap
nothing gets washed and the unwashed shadow
on a shed wall lets a family of climbing vines make its home
on it and
inside it
nothing is tendered or cut in June
some hands come in May that are skilled enough
to paint around the edges without poisoning the plant
ball games give life to the court yard where the dog sleeps
and it stays alive
as long as the vines
are cut in this way.

shell fish unshelled alive
grass cut when you have the time
the spittle pouring out from a bosch painting
a thin hard back on the shelf
a cinema vidies with absolute teeth
maths chime number by number
a cat bites the last from a rat
and my crazy friend thinks that she leaves
a gift
as she purrs by the door.

An oak bows hard
to place a kiss in the forest base
like moss crawling on a crucifix
in ten steps and ten pills
you will be a butterfly
again

and probe the floor boards
of a new home
i.
*promise.

i look around the sweat cage
there’s you looking good, me looking good
back then. i could make a life from that one night i remember,
if i was insane
which seems normal now; the music playing gave us our bodies,
it knows that our tight dance is better
i’de forget it all, if it didn’t slice through my day
and transform it from getting dressed to complete night
blacking and blacking all else, untill your particular dress
and style of step
and hip, is the day;
we’re given single hairs of such things
that must last, past when the morning
tannoy says
‘hey all boarding for gate eighty-nine!’
and you’re still sweating your mind out -
to make it
so far, I’ve always made it before the gates shut
i run like a sprinter towards you
which is where i have trained
and keep on going.

i sit my **** down
and feel the office nudging
a bored embrace inside an over-lit room
hell drooling on the back of a flea
spewing and rubbing its stomach full of bloated dead waterfalls
one eye standing up and looking down into a smile that i send back up
a joke is cracked about local *** around 11pm and our screens twitch
enough to ignite all the hatred and desire in the world
and if i stay here
i will finally just call you up
and ask to borrow your tongue to write my will
all hearts turned sideways and sleeping
so
enough room to dance about it all at least
even if all this will come later
the surreal worships of speed
baked in heels of bear trap misery
enough to drink another coffee and sneeze perhaps
or enough to turn over and become a beetle
where sweat becomes each other’s air
without choice
death flys by our eyes like so many commuters moaning at the same time
and a buggered cup of sun pouring into the arguments i’ll never know
where a timed **** allows me to exhale
and a sly nudge brings me back…

time to go
time to go bud
the tap says

even if it’s time to be using my hands again
where if time repeats
i’d rather it was this way
and gladly

another world becomes.

I bake in the one week of cool hard summer that
July brings this year, enough warmth on the street
to make me not care about the nats touching my face
as I smoke and look up;
the building is asleep as it should be
and I’m careful not dream in the black to long
looking at my old home.

I turn back down the road and turn from 5 to 30
as a man approaches me with a different accent,
to mine, and since the night is nearly
complete, I feel easy
and give him a light.

I see him again as I walk home
as he speaks to a stranger near my uncles block,
and takes his phone.

Our mongrel hearts are born inside the sun
yet the pleasures of solitude are greater
i engulf ten leisures of life, in a bar
then think this, your attire enough to make me sane
then insane enough for your limbs, transforming
regardless of life or the prices of love & whiskey

I am these days as i work in an office
where the birds pour & pour
or near a Pluto named fire
my head glows redder than my dog's tongue
since all religions are made by flesh
and the only one i see is yours.

The clams boiled back
and shut their eyes
when the water came
and finally swam away
giving one moment
many.

Another set of dreams with another man’s
name, whom I know to be better,
and says it better, was talking last night-
which is how it works;
I get back to it and realise that the words
were mine; back in the place that
speaks, when you can’t, or you’re
not in the mood, because I’ve barely
read a word of this poet, and his stuff
is all still here, ready to connect.

My house is busy today, being painted outside
by a squat giant;
flesh hanging from his vest with just
enough form, and smiling work expression,
to tell you that he works instead of giving up,
and setting fire to any face that disturbs him
because I still hear his ladders until 5ish,
when his van pulls away, and the rest of his day
is beyond my eyes.

Half of my life
ago
the head
of a friend
had soft madness
placed within
it

by a windscreen that met him
as he danced
in the street

after that
his words jarabled
and I don’t know
if he ever painted again

but as we are met
by horrendous days
and the intricacy of our life
is humbled, and humbled again
there is no where left to bleed;
and the breathing sound
of demanding nothing,
from anyone, at anytime
is better than asking
because if you’re there on time
when a possible drop
is there
you will be linked,
and your body
will work the rest out
by itself

all else is the smell of time
where she is most silent,
and has no smell,
evil changing
in a spray of perfume

where the chimera transforms
because the car is smooth
and sings in the works
humming a song after the crash

no-one knowing
what you’re really
singing,
it’s chosen
beneath your tongue
where nothing moves
if not shot in this ballroom
made of dust.

You watch a mother dog groom her pups
and finally get something
about contact
you can choose
the smell
her touch
or her peace
and the way
she doesn’t notice
you.

watch the activities of animals
in the spaces between their grace
that invite you to dance
ever more

Don’t grow your hair like that
- eesht! -
that’s it, grow it back up shorter
that’s it that’s it, up up!
that’s better and cooler
i could never abide the way it grew
down
the way it looks now
****, we’ve finally got a show
we’ve finally got opportunity
tide

if i told you how much better you look
you’d make it grow again.

I this song
dribble down my gut
my *******

my mind
my river

my language you
my stars you.

The trees grunt around 2am
my bones shatter yours
among the lawns and miles of river
half-shot from the lung
jesus knocks over his beer
it begins to hail
better than our words or guttural dreams
among the early light of cars arguing
and the stare of dogs in haphazard light

Dismayed enough to bark with laughter
that rolling hymn of bone upon night
where we rattle space together
gripping it with knuckle, palm, fire, and distress
opening the lightening to our day
that remind us of seasons between
better made for the shadow tax, or
whatever days we owe.

Torture would be worse if i kissed you
then came back as you
and we did not dance.