Saturday, 1 December 2012

Tim Allen, after ours

after hours know-how
derelict control tower

dismantled altar aids
dismantled orphan to
help ornate sky
serve out
its time

ovary sky
over the sea
under blocks
of unmanned
in soul husk

wind farm local
marries lark to
help install

but only if the universe
is a stretched wind-sock


half them
half invade them
half name
spare half of them

half them within
wheel them out
shovel and hoist

half them with jaw-jaw
your breath bad for the purpose

half them into quarters

now stick them in


hand turns
rustic lace
in the mirror

this man is a witch   

head flogged
sheds its lace sails    
in the mirror

to the rear

sleepy voyeur
returns a hand

which man is this?


if it was this is how it might be
thinking how can these have a name

half of it would be unreal
the other half arbitrary

even before it got half way
the opposite bank will have turned to water

you can reduce sadness
nothing to do with slipping in and out of control

wondering where you hurt
felling speculated yourself

if it was sleep how might it start
how might it end this



is it really necessary
to have a blind spot?

why not arthritic view
changing into unclear

these rhetorical questions
of a modest nature
collectively shudder



light’s journey through paper

past the paper
filed down
valley high
rigid blink
of plague light
in conduit

light’s journey to file’s surface

its truth hidden
on the cabinet’s
plains    steppes    safaris

and e-books
impatient logistics
muster results
plague verse

light argues
with unknown repellants


moon pulp     foul measure
cramp        ur-mess

giraffe’s tight walk
on strawberry hill

chord quagmire        foul measure
asifitwere       ur-talk

the van is laden
on stalemate hill

worm part      foul measure
sworn in         ur-image

spotted tin pig at sea
on plumber’s hill

salt moon       foul icon
banked           neat scratch

yellowed and charred
on ur-hill

spirit word     foul measure
peat swollen star pipes

unfettered clot
on whistling hill


soft flesh floor

fruit unimportant
on the table

string of blame
going both ways a a a
dancing ship of
on the softseas

ideally to a rhythm


the creation of a translated world
the afterword’s beyond
already hammed
sleeping hurts

the destruction of unchanged space
unhinges the place of doors
elastic void simple
shrinks embrace

it hurts the pains
the crosses knots anchors and soul algae

the wreaths made of sleeping collateral
hidden inside screaming stars

the creation of a temporary clitoris
hems in
hours closed up
sealed by sticky shadows

it street theatres ache
the basin of spewed time the black ties and bloods


the green pig is smelling the pink flowers

the green pig
is smelling
the pink flowers

the green pig is smelling
the pink flowers

the green pig
is smelling the pink flowers


the rock sweats next to a sweating rock
dizzy with rocks so high underground
i could fall up into Parliament
i could find myself next to Portland Square

the wood shivers
having no trees for shelter the wood shivers
the next wood along the coast
bent tall

children are falling into unrequited chemicals

the children sweat their
hands slip
into transparent earth


this is the 6th time i’ve come home from school today


wounded in inhuman drama
threatening too
metaphors for moon
lining up like recruits

i had to break the truth in 2
to find us
we were still there yes
in a vanished world

didn’t have instruments
never had the right things
couldn’t help display
bring display down

moon stays up
without its medieval capital
if only i could
coax it with a threatening tone

to come down
into gaping
animal hole
grieving exchange

on the stapled margins
on the sugar paper beach
every ant drawing
against an

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