The elite souls of the poor
have more knowledge of shade
where it is easier to create the sun
because there is only darkness
which shines in the desert
like the bulls of remembrance
that are the only humans left
in the machine which had no skin.

We look better now
now that the night is draped and prepared around our shoulders
like a tight night arm
that only lets you go
when you want it to

and eats your bones with content heat
when it wont
a strange asking
scent
leans in on you

leading you
like a pulse inside a dream
open
in a corner
asking for speech
and silence
mirrored in the same pulse
pushing your soul through the wall
and back to the street

easing you up in the morning
and letting your dreams grin
and the day begin
i’ll never stop watching the morning dress
because it dresses like you

i love the concrete/and what the city makes us
to let anything but what we wish devour us is a crime

and the city forgets how to lay still
so it walks around on all fours
around any part we need
if we have the stamina to enjoy it
with every exchange
with every close
and opening
of sweat and work and pace
as playful as old fights
crawling up the city
like sounds
from low insect hums
this wheel moves so **** slow
we’d pay for a ticket
if our silence wasn’t so much better

i take a day to think about all this
and finally come here
and put it all down
let it fly
stop imagining more
because all we have
is all here
as wide awake as a luminous sign
down one of the alleys
we can always walk
at anytime
of day
or night.

But the authority of love

when the pound for pound dancers



Rise up

the world’s ribs

shall open.

I have said to you:
either we make the bible again, and laugh!
about my ideas!

Or, there is always a country made of shatter
the country smoked by reversed pride on fire;
blood has time to adjust, but not the poem

Poems are the tattoos of politics and love
they forget,
we do it.

a new flag parked into the moon
a knife parked into the neck
the way eye-***** dart when stimulated
life poured out from the body where the
world creeps, away, into its own place
and the names we have been given
go.

We shouldn’t fix the moon with our hands
shouldn’t get the young thing all mixed
up, with maths;
but hell, there’s a pile of mist outside
someone said they’d employ me and
the night is a good pulse

it’s the same size as a bull dog swallowing
an organic digital
song

within jaw, distilled to adjust
within words and shades;
they have been launched and no longer ask
to ever-

come back.

I wonder what my dog wonders. I return
to the devastation of a park, and know that it is this,
where I met you.

You know that your phone is being
updated. To dream in the park considering night, where
the throats of the grass need no song.

I watch an ugly film with a friend and speak
about our relationships. I cannot cry
except where we start to imagine

It all has a ‘chance’

An arm touches my back
as i hassle through traffic
i turn
and we stand still in the avalanche
and stay alone in the street
and it’s not a hand alone
it’s a part of your scent
reminding the cars and *******
to stay at home
or awake and corral in their own way and elsewhere
in a gaseous dance of steps beyond this time
we smile at disgrace
and walk back to the world
where the street has emptied itself of talk
and the day grows back our limbs.

Strikes fast
i realise, how new
we grow
then, remember
something dumb;
a girl with black hair,

Who says, who knows more
one more round;
there is nothing
slide, sweat, bev later
cappo?

Inside the lockers
we have photos

some kiss with skin
some kiss with bone.

the world knows the best songs there are,
the sterling of my movement is met with
mine own anger, and your voice is with me
after. not loud as the voices should be,
but loud enough. that word which the world
does not know
is enough
and is followed by your steps.