Thursday 21 March 2013

Cleansing The Orphanage With Fire & Prayer


i. (the entrance lobby)
continue
take five, not to tradition, yet die to keep poor, poor kitty strimming
fragmented , as perhaps are, rosebuds that fall in the manner which
sweat tracks roll, dammed, oiled but not waived, by a picture without words

I would be yourself, centred, and shoes should share my nylon net
musk mined, imaginary time and black yellow black deep, I think,
incredibly deep, the dead and their way of dealing with me last night

but that wife thumbed impulsion, as I searched from my emerging host, kept her hands, my head, in the sand, truth forever buried
is that five? thine pen? your hands, your hands
right and left take, another restless candied hit , burred and buried
of desperation in a needful fill

did a fuzzy baby mention white?
you still have my 50 life painted fears to tell
but do follow, rent fuck my hand selected for your shapely bellowed patient
to send this, the right cunt, such dirty remains
I care that by part chance, part hazardous fool, this soft doubt allows further flow

a song, so briefly, tears our happy years
kills what little sweet talk, so toxic to flesh, and lays down
my timeless dreaming that your attention becomes brutality
we worshipped a five patent wood but thumbed, yes thumbed, a low heat solution, crawled somatic within a terrible oblivion until,YELP! your shoes, so?

not the mortal rolling between attention, or “let me in” paint,
you’re the cracks and they could burn while I'm subprime
words that bridge become reality in my other decreasing trend, baby I can be a popular solution? as your heart would like to die by a thousand
paper friends
dissemination, broken of long suspension, should be held in silken cuts
an occupation bathed and lubricated for my attention

performed behaviour sports sorry shoes  on the stairs where
painted hands explored, freshly bathed, this wee-kitty outrage yesterday, where you sent all my divining, allowing a pestal deep happy of a sort to sleep on your own ass and eat of  such a complicated rigid bearing
it did not hurt and found me taking to hidden legs

still brittle though, my troubled friend, that the sum of all this access
scales six kitten to every five easily vociferate rosebuds and  further
junk that I don't share while my last step flays shocked, flawed and meat beware we could never waggle dance a 2.35 to 1
let corals wrinkle around my nagging less equally rolled shins
on a gentle bridge of what next for those quiet arches?
divine what I want or all I freshly have
yes me ,really, a final me in my hands to repent, liquid
 

ii. (climbing the stairs)

sensing the disappointment in this trembling
my fingers composted and corpsed possibilities
though resolved not my burning, when, desire to share your butterfly
lit the damn coffee, and shaped a quick ardour to
guile your quiet wakefulness with years of hips

it cannot be told how, once full tainted and tortured
into the happened wraith stain, your avenued rhythm lost
my final blackened ash or caught my rain removed, sweet demand, to unleash no story but shitty animal settlement
that remains the hard thing
about forbidden company and dense predatory sin
best grown while telling of serious wealth
shine each night and play write delicate lace sometimes with explosive, attacks while ever pious the lips moan warm
in forcing the rightness of my active promise before we young, guardians of symphony, rain away all truth
my what have we formed; nailed one sometime fallen thought in the one hundred stripes that every heart may bite

it’s hard, hard, so no longer explanation could drenched my today after that someone revered beyond proximity to this body played the tough game
two beats gone with nothing fertile smooth
then I'm exploding as chickens bring loops but with 40 words that my heart
can’t tell my arms, torn from now and best to write,
grown in this barren greed they played in a suit, my love, in there all day

I fall so far, warm and playground happy, to roost words
silver in the airless rash full of planted company, moist between, with only something small for you… but I'm a delicate brush
could that this be better placed in an oft kissed bloodline once over?

I lied and lies here grip of the sky, embrace it fool, open it all you terrified blight, I am not so much to stroke, though reach, while drinking from memory, the curvature of a spine which never brings entitlement herein
shadows give what was dreamed, not to my energy, whilst
slides and dissolute verse are eager ground for the good, honourable ghost

content into those hips, leaning one hundred to the left, each poor year opened as pulses in a lonely garden
my collapsing horror, once disguised to allow such a need to stay
is the delicate tissue, should you want her to she will but tell
nothing of pecked sweet souls in the reduced quickness
of the locker made story, lithium by passion
with still no easier way to mature this, I move, is vital, as neither buds, summered by your ass or impatience are the last to write,
the finely met works where we know verses so cupped that guarantee
were they drunk, somehow, the pain would shed fair hearts
wearing tales for walking truths around generations which, once recanted,  seem poetic enough for wendy to throw her lips at
lit cold with virtue in a hellish chill

iii. (the fire is lit)
seeping hair moves, the aegis stops and, when dug, the summons combined to remind old I of disembodied slices with gnashings of friendly
distant & icy the now troubled coronet opens an embrace
believers are often in thrall of ephemeral reality
! ask, who are history in modern, not fooling, lo-fi games
something simple of raven wife will saw their deep gate to the free titans

this should be cause enough for part in the race
gateway to the no tears chequered hole, a charming glade that,
through distance, prohibits a balefire lisp loosed on lips
repent fools from brier and dusk of my heart , if this dirty hole can be that
the real attention is more than my uncertain grace was
you cried as I, dynamic in the stone drawn forget, would always earth the enemy

but we, daisy-chained via despoiled hasty lapped meal, freshened the affiliation of the wind and guarded kisses replaced the words, that
were never quite there, with leaves that never met each human soul
cast away from fresh forgetfulness
I the node to a tended sexuality, licentious with a glass silver jaw,
wish to write on somewhere else, the you that it thinks I mean we are

in teeth and wines the moon forbids entry
who then amongst the high suffered should
be so deeply rooted to the song of our stairs distinction?
note each countered open argument caught by tragedy, placed calls and
offered increased, powdered, abandon honestly from heaven’s keep
where, in spite of the uniquely despised sail, the solution of beauty sits careless in your fog

bag this resolute heart, forever turned of the bottle, it laughed
really?
I can pop her wife they have a while located something looking real
but averse to  touch, an entry smooth and venerable sometimes welcomes into their shady house a windy now gathered awake quartered
into resting spirit roots
I disagree with life on the openness of an awful kiss

when loyalty must it should station in the cerebral
but a kiss? so you wind-up
once although cold and easy the quiet agents ship’s have little of my garlanded nerve
with never relics to the sink of thought or sleep of shine
blow good people, lay weeds, but not a in loyalty of decline
discard the rock-docking of questionable thinks

iv. (each bed is burning)
face it, any place that I can has gone
glass threatens hair and love damages the offer of this spring
hazard, now, to keep as gang this cheese with no fingers
and shrug in the midst of all that girl’s little grown confidence
where you are me should be
bears those shackles even as september hares

consumerist spit, no new world perdition in your picture, brings
solid state truth crashing through like the  pollywog racket of human existence
you, corrosive whisper, further this truth we twisted so she and I of
rooted fears dig me a word and why? here are our thorned dilemma
are you the mote feeler? a truth written exuberance
filled of head hope too far? liar

all our yours broke, they of the kernel
that show my garden breath, in timbered weight floating
how bronzed to broach the nettled truth in the show of my garden breath
gone to dust every true word, and oh to a solitude, while I answer
question the measured fact,  who abhors to lie beside brittled, wonders
why do I feel? tracking the sighs I have my shadow to show the done deal

the skeleton things, the defied, offer some comfort now acting
into eternity their eyes relentless in the canopied rhizome
this is why I pitch penitence over the cliff it was difficult
because
she was ginger, by singular admission, more than every eye full
in a gazebo find headed zeal and behind the strips are two ruinous piles
the dogma of every single hair on your altered truth

on, on, if the hands below truth deny attention
does all their research feel like mourning? why sunrise?
I'm looking men, no cause ever pushed forward washed of it’s why
I did the high delicate armor me, I would, I’m told in jumps if
you cant find fatal weakness for age to choose, then die
shot clean while asking for conversation, learning

my precious side revealed truth deep stitched
above clear stares and lover’s slides now
kill count through a chill of would be stars and world shame
I can say “free sacrifice! roll-up! take space in autumn me!”
in disregard of any swallowed openness unfathomable
when worn with the touch removed form a good girl
born to be hit




the sky fears the universal house mistakenly responsible for trauma

sends bat eared children sleep thrown with an empty lodger
I need to prove appreciative bonds of th physically repaired, ready to story,
to guard against this sweet daughter double ignored and burned
find in one unasked purchase much truth once noticed in fire
but the girl just said “with blood people should I need to prick the distorted?”

could we ever feel what was yours masked within their wealth?
the unequal loping of a mis-addressed or buried world
who would time the wire which breathing revealed twisted in
a decaying sorry smile where innocence is warned by rigid links
that all truth is abstract upon inspection of the many outputs
with a tendency to leave the gloves firmly on, not dropped as consequence

but girl even now you could love me, not guiltily, not as beaten doll
even a broken bird weighs as much as it’s shrouded taste and a
tender sweet cover reads a story long filtered from dirt to remain
just as a quiet year collapses its apricot ears and my night
half warmed to my head steals the treasure of all it’s lost contours

v. (every child is dead)
“bring me the head of a radio wife” screams an obligation to breathe out
my foolish issue as a man, pamper proof in 49 states, self steering
until june 22 trials today to kill me with the pearl dropped on open used breasts
in hot withdrawl  you could be drawn as woman from the guilty pleasure of my secret of bosom
and anger burns within our keep, blue/red,  I was penetration?
this doubt cuts pastures clean where three before betrayed the dark assembly’s way

wait but never befriend the spring twisted rest in the port of this dog
a glut agape which looks to be my difference between the lumps of stars
draw skyline from below alone I guess in me and in dragon
envy the unfortunate insect drawn deep to the capital of our assumption
bend the rubble, august 31, and ,in sleep ,surrogate brother
good luck so close to the rain of such mighty a burden

there is forever in the end,  dirt sits less lonely than rock yet
each litters the sublime peaks welding a writhed relief before the sunrise
glows on and cheers america so coupled with love in any quirky clutch
she knows which way every light runs the blood all men would die to bring her
while we remain under contract she is right but built around
the dream don’t deny the powerful slip that holds the cinnamon ropes

so happy as a man who among cold hands can represent when
even the lost sense feels warming to the wash of your body at valleys trove
such with the dun ban girl carnal large as the blood went viral
jacked those flaming curls into a fool set formation on a bed ready made
to evade the jurisdiction of how to guides and angry wives
but her delicacy laid stripped of more than hope had accepted.

keep it long or short man but after the head the one day lie grows
ready prepared in the thought preventive, diseased in decline
this explains the black tide man and the foaming hood that fills your lung
so, drowning, drink the deep tyranny of a lonely breath at a bar raised
feed the recital of each hardened glowering girl alike
july was my certainty of a sweat in summer

guilty wines cast for you me in a gordian ice lain putrid cradle
your awakening crackles the always wrinkles, rockets the plunder
of bespattered hearts that despise the sweetest fans
mouth your sun against the sky and scale each salmon opportunity
delicious in the rarity of knowing today I wish dead my treasured stole
as idle claret drives a quivered shard flint and candle scarred
while knowing the secret of a delicious deliquescence


Friday 15 March 2013

Spring Billed Jack






the jackdaws bruise the garden today
borrowing sticks, stealing hay
the sticks we can have back they say
once seasoned by the summer's fray
I tell them they can keep the hay

Thursday 14 March 2013

Where There Are Fish You Will Often Find Bicycles

An experiment in Jungian free association, streams of words that are meant to make no sense but sometimes hang together, limited to ten lines each day. Successful or not I will ultimately revisit and use some of the ideas to make more cohesive wholes or even holes



(in six days god did what?)

sunDAY 1

save the shamen monkey for a cleaner time
a warm snow, maybe, where the cookies die
so busy waiting for the next day
I could’ve missed it when it finally came
through the giggling dry cinnamon walls
plaited in a garden that promised more
while a titanium hip may not bump or grind
my buying choices change with every rhyme
living in the last days of a spoon fed haze
I’m still the best thing that ever came of age

monDAY 2

I can’t hear the ground squeak, I can’t hear it swell
both wonderful & frightening this northern fall
minus fifteen with the mercury stalling
no promises made but every fence taken
owls can be born of painted stone
white padded envelopes split wide open
bitterness comes in more flavours than yellow
the best company for breathing? constant survival
protecting the key may jeopardise the egg
but where is the politick more real than Madrid?

tuesDAY 3

white powder, cold chowder, the roads are skinned deep
a roasted pig’s head finds it hard to complete
the quieter the fox the more blood in the crowd
you died in your sleep, did you not figure it out
sound down, drown out every vain catechism
each question will answer the very same thing
your bandages ride as ripped beggared threads
what disservice you offer your unfavoured deeds
while you slip down the mountain make sure that you’re smiling
you suit the black garb of ein deutscher Geschäftsmann

wednesDAY 4

now you’ve caught your own shadow take care not to spill it
line-up the artist’s dummies in ranked fascist salute
you shall not know my wife now you’ve met my life
tout the benefit of experience through a lack of advice
perverting the course of your dress with a suit
ensnared in the source of magnetic rebuke
take issue with the parents through this viscous thrum
its easier to blame The Clash when all said and done
deny every charge with indecent composure
then listen in space to Earth’s crusty symphonia

thursDAY 5

the chapel smokers stoke those who would charge us
but Josiah left this (coil) too soon and so missed the cardinal clays of Mars
which leaves me to announce, regretfully,  this activity labours on today
settle down at the back, slip the headphones on “et écoutez et répetéz
tar macadam sits, boot blacked and slicker than BP left Louisiana
give every peace it’s chance to explore the new settlers lost anger
with more faces than a game of “Guess Who?” I put the cunt in contradiction
stacked tall the steeple-jacked speakers if you have the time to listen
my, my, what big eyes you have, they’ll be the death of you
exquisitely draughted in rouge and chalk  just for the corpse’s review

friDAY 6

with the whole world vergin’ on the ridiculous how wise to stop fucking fools
stoic, the bachelor pebble, apart on a sea of flag, will wait an eternity to fuse
ridng the tears down your right hand cheek your left remains unbroken
puddled in ale the page owl had never looked so welcoming
liquored up wishes and stolen kisses, were the making of that little boy
the architect drew invisible arcs that pulled the trees from the void
every hornet born yellow wishes it could play the downtown blues
where a memory sits alone it will always end up blaming you
the wine affects the way you love, the way you pump your blood
end each day by sounding a warning and watch for the clause from above




saturDAY 7

enough

Saturday 9 March 2013

Ruined


beggared on this taunted key
eyes, long emptied stark hollows of jaundice,
no longer reflect the encirclement of youthful steel

and, thus cowered beneath such plumb altiloquence,
she finds herself now wimpled in a creeping green
where her walls bleed a jealous neglect

fish flaked the façade of dandruff drips
her autumnal fall into sorry stupor where
grumbling brickworks effloresce, vainglorious

not in tribute

for who could love her now?
those weeds grow long around her feet
as doleful duenna to her tawny disgrace

yet still we look

through the fog
through the trees
through the dearth of honey
bees to where
the dewdrops sit like
sugared spit upon the old
maid’s bristled lip

Friday 1 March 2013

Fourth Estate


its getting cold down here as the light of attraction flickers out,
the filament between our worlds burnt through leaving
no words that could any longer move so
what say we raise ready the fist of revolt,
or would you have us wait,
consider instead the royal topiary, the garden behind the silk fence exposed
by  freedom’s self proclaimed saviours overseas, cursed yet envied by our own
red toppers, that persistent issue you must attend in order to quell
your curious engorgement while losing sight that within these shores,
as each crumbling estate daisy chain fucks your distraction, the palace of thieves
west of the minster have an unlocked door through which to enter
and strip the fittings bare

Served by the Slice


served by the slice  
this body, cut through in the redesign for a different life,
whistles a frayed remembrance leaving naught but remnants
when falling for the suicidal hiatus of a tethered tale

in these days, of the child’s exultation, sing your song
as a lyrical dog chases damsons and damsels and the first and
furriest flavour the dustiest corpse of trees; darkly, deeply,
but with equal measures of lullabied  bile

amongst the diseased shouts “a plague on this lazy writing”
I hear you soundly and catch the irons in chipped yet eager teeth
and in times of heavier precipitation will smelt another
crock of uneven scorn

I wont beat my head to watch the swarm of black stars
collapse upon themselves in easily practiced
spiteful pity nor follow that first blaze of fear that found
the time to disappear in a crowbursting storm
I will swallow these recovering dreams , not unlike a waking alcoholic,
but shall surrender to no dog no matter it’s hue

too many days my fists feel very chatty
with so much they'd like say to you
but I, like the pencil end eraser chewed up and worn past metal rim,
cut my gums to trim  the words that should be unspoken
until détente explodes in a dissolute distemper
and my congenital fury erupts anew at which

I choose to detonate, shake every word I read & write,
force the inquisition of some fevered worth
or at least free the world of my selfish weight
rage unleashed that 28 days walking cant assuage

the fist shattered clown on the royal blue wall
laughed once too often, not any more, his
splintered face erased in a freefall of stucco tears
and for what it’s worth I do feel better