urban air
poisoned with oil from
refined war

fear or shame that
makes the mask wearer

dawn spits colour
there , a mother cleans
her new borns

her tears run
round reddened eyes
past pink lines

ink marks it's paper
to tell a story

There is of
me so little
to be buff
that fickle
you wants.
You so vain
need me to explain.
You then see magasines
make bad mirrors.

crumpled face
gently rests
on tired neck.

worn out hands
reach out warm,
to the cold.

some passing
breeze takes
even more heat.

in a sigh
more is lost.
so shiver.

rattling chest
in thin vest
screams ill.

consumption
returns to
phlegm street.

roll the stones push them round
edges gone
until grit paper sharp

blow gusset bow sheet
fray to rag
until just rope

tear into matter
make dust
make dots
make deeds

constrict . elements
are energy in a
quantum romance

    let depth be
as vacant as that

Tick.              Tock

        Space

be not the flag
- hung perspective
be not the rock
- stuck premise

listen integrity of force:water and air
all redux to their nature

lines mark boundaries
scratched by gunship
cannon fire
crossed regardless by
their smoke .

preserved on haze made
horizon from concrete
ministries bunkering
a fissionable peace.

avant garde fighters
control as shoeless
fashionistas
brokering fear in a
'retro' style of blades
and system spooks.

working poor garb
in fake labels
preferring sim-culottes
to any daring
protests against
themselves.

we are all Benetton
and on message hating
colour or hating the
hating of colour.hungry
habits of the two tones
chimed by the 'we all bleed
the same' brigades.

shop the same, perhaps.

standing in queues behind
logos made of corporate
programming dependant
on the modern gunship
smoke territorying our
lives.

we are all under arms.

tears have welled me
curtailed
cut up
cupped

pure hope is
they remain
vesselled.

in me or in vial.

as tears dry inside me
the one dropped in
glass
is just water

the others ache
behind
vitreous

oceans churn the sky

dragging

latent

potent

tainted toxic

down as cold water

dense particles slugged on salt

stagger the mill up to **** on

radiance and radical upset

in gardens touched softly

in gardens washed away

in gardens a draw to clay to rock

until fissures filter feed the spring

beach laid flat by hurrying sea
dries to be etched by the wind.

delicate trails. dynamic drawings
of the current that, in passing children,
they chase.

swiftness that makes it own draught.
it does not compete; just adds
footsteps to the sand

affronted
by words
crafted to
incite
a gale howls
in protest.
I temper.
response to
goad is
your lead.
I set leeward
in spite.

sometimes seen hunting

for metal fibres to coil

around glass


hair streaked with henna

hair and hands hardened by

concrete


something elemental about him

that flowed into the artisan

outpourings scattered around.


it was as if the shards with metal

sinews were progenitors . Tiny

capsules from which he came.


how he cradled them

gave that the air.


sure they were on show but, priced not to sell


on show but never untouched


a show



that drew in *******. He worked with rejects.

Affinity perhaps. He surely had nothing

for the **** that was drifting toward him.


Hard faced and beaten; wandering the market

bored of themselves . Hating money moving

without them.


One gestured at broken glass caged in wire.

A whimsy for a small hand.

Waving paper money as an offer. The elements

of him did not move. The flash of blade insisted


Rising. Blade dancing the market hushed.

Maker stood and slowly lifted his shirt.

In the dusty brown of dirt he glared pale.

The blade to the noise of the bearers

procession menaces his face until


light catches the copper sutures

stitching flesh to bone

rebars rust splitting concrete at irons cost
grey dust falls away from exaggerated wires

urban decay promoted by grandstanding
youth atop another. marker pen names .
inspired rap crap anonymity shouts
I woz here ( to those in the know)

sterile pens these days not even sniffable.

brains over and out on wifi . WAN faces
from vitreous messages blinking out
hate and spite for structures. Scenes
are augmented hunts of ghouls.

next addicts in line: petting in play
gyms on street corners. Cartoon
wars have no conflict?

clouds of vape a new narcosis .
in stupor we watch them
swallowing grey bytes flaked
off the cable networks of yuff.

ambling along in no particular style.
my eyes caught sight of clouds
stretched thin and, think to defile,
to myself state, too proud,

that i have seen the fingerprint
of God and I am the paper
he has pressed his ink
upon. evidence: should pauper

prince, beast or field
by his hand ever be killed.

taken by rough hands
makes me fearful
but wind whispers
me silent.
timbered in arms
tendered to lull
trembling heart

nearer a gentle
coolness drifts
on a wind
carrying bell charms
sweet flower bells
belladonna to lips

dappled in light
and death dreams
water in nose
and lungs
I fight the demons
and fight back
flight away from
black pearl

alone
half drowned
half reborn
I gather up my clothes
I gather up broken
pieces.
pieces that are
my
gathered shroud

curved and stretched
tiny sinews rub
tendons

opposite prayer
hands open
to the sky
catching drops
tiny droplets
water dropping
a blessing

too small for
such abundance
river running
ruining modesty.
run. You chase me.


arms pumping
water moving
liquid bodies
pool in glade
pulling off me
moon pools burst
you fountain
on me.

gently start with levers
on the staples
holding heart

prise those sharp
fingers from me
they will not rise

the tenderness, lift
that beat from it
that allows to send

sound felt through
ribbed cage keeper
of purple welt

be deaf. move hands
to ears. my heart is
better left

pinned by my own
fears