Friday, 30 November 2018

dream 276

summer house

the sundae hymnal
of chewed fingernails

a christian nightstick
longing
for blusher

___________

dream 276….
filling the sugar pot
a clock

someday in june my left ear 
has more wax than the right

dog shit moon
food blogging
a type of christianity

new green
of a quartered geranium 

_____________

the cold

drought

where it stood

a hand puppet

the dryness of bird song

                 for god

_____________

Tuesday, 27 November 2018

ancient bird


cracked window
a spider works hard
this morning

___________

ancient bird

the city
and its interzone

____________

dissolved
by the middle-class
the antichrist
becomes a bird box

_____________

ancient war
the hero’s rib
melts into the glen

Tuesday, 20 November 2018

Rome 1992


Seaweed used as fertiliser. She blooms in resignation. A sky full of ghosts. Edgy painting a skull. An itch on the inside of the hand. The bones full of infinite marrow. The skin lined - like creased. Juveniles are seals humping the rotting flesh of washed up fish. 

learning mechanics
from a mountain range
a wall

____________


Rome 1992

No  epic for George and his legions. Virgil sits lonely upstate in a single cell - they never return his calls. Cement men, riders of giant elephants, dragged from the saddle and beaten. Pastel neon sonnets. The goth’s language caked in blood. Hawks recite commentary in the form of 18th Century mandalas . 

overdue 
        in the city of film 
        an owl dies 
of greed

A man, holding a houseplant, walks out of a burning building. The goth’s are optical technology flooding every gate. The eyes of rare birds… grapevines catch fire. And still no Alexander or Caesar to anoint this war. The smoke can be seen from the far reaches of the empire. A victim lying bloody in the street dreams of a river and the coming blossom. 

___________

Everybody has a favourite tooth. A tooth they really like. My favourite tooth is the one on my top right behind the pincer. It has a nice shape. It is white, in a porcelain kinda way. It is nice in it’s smallness next to the larger pincer.

Tuesday, 23 October 2018

my father a sculpture garden

drunk again
the hum
of a fridge

the sweetness 
of a panther’s breath

maroon
moving into nothing
the statue’s symmetry

from my memory
the biggest lie

____________


new moon
a car moves beyond
the streetlight

folding coal
the road

relationship status
the infinity
between lines

a policeman 
finds a horse

____________

blueberry
my father
a sculpture garden

the neighbours forget
to take in the washing

soaking beans
the child’s
first steps

a magpie fans its tail
towards a sunset

Wednesday, 10 October 2018

the last lion

Stroll along the White Cart. Round hoardings and boarding of the foreign commissariat. The map lists earthworks but I’m not too sure - it’s all real flat and endless. The alleyways of the commissariat. Awe. Nearly. Not too far. Ate some blackberries that fell from some ‘unknown source’. Little under ripe - but still. Stooped in calligraphy. Birds - Colitis - Lower Colon - The way water reflects light onto concrete and the barren bowed legs of a postman. Time and then some for Elliott. The tramp, me, asks for some spare change.

unripe blackberry
the last lion 
a triangle

Tuesday, 9 October 2018

cobbled torso

school shooting

early frost

i ask
do only depressed people

for an orange

kill themselves?

___________


taking for granted

sometimes….

her second

the child

language

with two mouths

___________
loneliness

rusting hammer

in the tenement window

the space station

sun set

passes over

___________

sheepfold

cobbled torso

a red landscape

lee harvey oswald

moves through metal

as a horse

Sunday, 23 September 2018

The holy ghost plays hooky

Agreement finds us. The holy ghost plays hooky. As it will be for a while. The windshields rooted. Wipers turned over. Lazarus knotted with neon jump rope. Rampage takes a lyre breeder. Hills of Athens - Tyson worships his pigeon god. Pesto fusilli. Full. Tires. Assessor. Rampage gets backwater to work the Russian assassination.

the whole universe 
a monk’s eye
in a monk’s head


Faith balances thinly in the dreaming narcissus. Autumn almost here for no one but itself. The sickly pallor of winter looms large and attempts to court a gentle breeze. This Autumn courts itself.

Tuesday, 18 September 2018

waking up feeling like a sheath of barley or a jaguar

Placenta key chains. The baby strikes a pose. Victory held in remorse. The villagers burn an effigy of a horse. Someone thinks of a shark. Another jumps over a chocolate bunny. To come of age amongst wildflowers. To smell shit and be shit. To spend your time either counting waves off the pier or idly visiting shooting ranges. To be a confederate flag. The child’s toy elephant drifting in and out of dimensions. 

cult rampage
a bicycle steals the
dollar store rouge

The Barbary coast a wash w/ day glo. Eyes fold beneath wrinkles into winks. A catfish that wants to be a brick - barbels and all. Copper mines stitched to an end w/ the hazel blossom. Sunrise over Bosnia. 

____________

Following its own scent downstream early man goes looking for an alphabet. A bloodhound dizzy in heat follows an ontological red herring. Like that scene in the movie IT - nomenclature tares off one of his limbs and drags his cadaver into an iron age sewer. The limp arm staring at rolling hills. A rain cloud moves aggressively over the fading scene.  

yesterday’s yarn
the harmless metaphysics 
of a mayfly

_____________


All night St George travels. Along his travels he sketches a picture of a toenail. He makes many drafts of the same sketch. In a forgotten town a forgotten person sees him sketching and asks what  it is he’s sketching. George doesn’t tell him. 

ticking
a dozen ships 
 stray into a dream

‘I want to have the energy you see in those people in the movies. Those fuckers seem so rested. I don’t want the wealth, fame or any of that shit. I just want to never be tired again. Waking up feeling like a sheath of barley or a jaguar.’ George realises he’s speaking out loud and changes his focus to an oak tree in the adjacent field.  

destroying a thousand branches pigeons

The chambers stink. Something beyond metal. Something dead. Temperature leaks into the profit. The mind wanders into a plot of root vegetables. Soft smile. Soft brains. A child’s penny jar. 

molten bloom 
from a mercury matchbox
a soft parade

I presume sympathy illnesses are like the end of that Antonioni movie w/ the mimed tennis game.

not watching my hands
I feel confident 
I’m pressing delete

Tuesday, 28 August 2018

the dean of delphinium


twilight
a friend’s
bag of apples

_______

listening to a grasshopper the child becomes an egg

_______

the dean of delphiniums yellow fades to undergraduate

_______

soft serve ice cream somewhere a child dreams

_______

my dna
the river’s
source

Sunday, 26 August 2018

wild juniper


bright midnight
the absent antiquity
of coffee
_________

electric god
the forest floor
covered in blueberries

_________

hot tarmac
a little too old
for that hair colour

_________

wild juniper the death of John Lennon

___________

curved space the child's hairline

Thursday, 23 August 2018

soft mule

Examples -  Pound, quiver, verandas, vegetables, gods. Hands washed. Wild swans. A grey quill squiggles the clouds into being. Real good. Lemon over found cubes. The engine melts. Dreamed of Ian Sinclair, Hans Christian Andersen - no soundtrack or advertisements. The sacristy painted w/ familiar lemon under-notes. Soft incense. 

soft mule
the music
moves into a waltz

___________

Cool. Pleasant. The clouds fluffy copses. Breakfast - scone. Brewed hills. Scourge gods. Out early walking w/ the walrus. Muirend suburbs a soft engined meandering through Merrylee. At Overlee playing fields now - teeth filing files. Short look around - quick green pause. Onwards to Giffnock. Today the suburbs wear a crown; today the suicides are soft fried eggs. 

green green green….
the indifference
of leaves

Tuesday, 14 August 2018

A walk in Helsinki

It had been hot, low 30’s, the whole week I’d been here but I was eager to get a log walk in. So it goes. I’d taken a few pleasant walks earlier in the week but this had a little extra focus and miles to it. Out by 9am from Pohjois-Haaga. Real hot already. The plan follow, roughly the main cycle pass towards Helsinki and veer off towards Töölö and the coast ending up at the Sibelius monument. Nice.

Along the grass verges at Huopalahti station city workers are cutting the grass verges with remote controlled lawnmowers. It looks like a strange vision of the future. I have no real idea why they are doing this. Seems cool though. 

The walk towards Pasila is hot and gets hotter along the way. I cross over the ring road bridge just before Pasila station and enter the cool forest heading westwards. The cool trees shave a little of the heat off. But I’m still feeling it. 


Spiel through the woods coast bound a few wrong turns - obviously. Not used to forest paths and I’m a little over confident - stupid too. Finally leave the woods on Mannerheimintie. Road works growl. It seems louder after the sanctuary of the woods. Dust. Heat. Noise. Yellow green trams. The wildness of a city coming into noon after a sleepy languid morning. 
Find the coast and harbour. Paciuksenkatu. Strange green algae around the boats. Feel scared to breath it in. But holding my breath is not an option. I don’t die or explode. Breath out. Ah. People walking - disinterested, I presume, in my respiratory paranoia. People sitting on benches. Also disinterested. Some commuting to work on hip bicycles. Definitely disinterested. 

Follow the road down. A Mad Max convoy of tourist buses highlights my destination. Oh. I find the monument beautiful in between tourists pretending to hold it up. Gobshites. 

Slightly let down by the swarm of tourists I decide to take a peak at the olympic stadium. From the park I higgledy-piggledy through some side streets until the amazonian concrete and steel behemoths break the skyline. The ‘52 Olympic stadium is still being renovated - I was here 2 years ago and it was being worked on then. HJK’s stadium the Sonera is no slouch - must catch a game here some time. The Ice hockey stadium is here too. Everything is so compact in this city - I’m told it’s because of the harsh winters - keep everything together so people don’t have to hoof about unnecessarily and risk bear and wolf attacks.  

I take a few obligatory photos. After all I’m a higher grade gobshite tourist. I head back through the woods Pohjois-Haaga bound. On the way stop for pop and sweets. I lick a Tupla bar off the roof of my mouth as I pass through the last of the apartment blocks and home.  



Wednesday, 25 July 2018

Today's Walk

Late morning. Tramp through Hampden. Sun high hot. Under the bridge at Mount Florida Station. Pigeon shit. Trace the outline of the stadium. Semicircle. Think about being in the stadium. Remember being in the stadium. Follow the wasteland. Pause in buildings. Toryglen. Supermarket. Sports-centre. On to Asda for nappies. 
Walk around. Feel weird as always in a supermarket. The air conditioning feels good though. I scratch my arm. I like the way bread looks. I buy bread. Go to the cafe after buying what is needed. Coffee. Finish coffee. Caroline calls. She wants to go for a walk. I never refuse a walk.
Early afternoon Caroline meets us on Holmlea Road. We tramp through the suburbs of King’s Park cutting under the train station and then into the park. Even with the heavy rain earlier in the week the meadow still looks scorched and struggles. Spot a helleborine - nice. Follow the old trees around the park. Touch an oak leaf. Stop at the walled garden. Elliott comes out for a walk and a play on the shaded lawn. We chat and enjoy the weather.
Once at the edge of Castlemilk we start the process of looping back on ourselves through Linn Park. Up Simshill. Through Linn Park meadow. Yellow rattle, Scabious, Yarrow etc. Through the woods. Cool dappled light. Tramping along now with the White Cart water. Leave the park at the Snuff Mill bridge and then home for tea. 

Wednesday, 18 July 2018

3 haibun

As I walk in one of the waitresses is in mid-coughing-fit. I do my best not to look disgusted or terrified - I’m just recovering from an illness and my thoughts are selfishly anchored in my own health. I think of leaving but feel the awkwardness of such a move would be too much. I sit down in a booth on top of a seat cushioned by terror and disgust or terry and diane. 
‘Ok. What you havin’?’
‘Black coffee, please.’
The coffee arrives. I blow on it out of, one part custom and another part anxiety. I smell it. Obviously bitter but other things. The foam and scum become clouds. I watch portraits of women and animals come and go through a soft parade. A pig shits out Morrissey’s head. To be born of stars, or something or another, it says.

olfaction infinity 
frogs are time

Overheard: ‘Would it be in bad taste to attach a marital aid to an urn and copulate w/ it?’
Overheard: ‘Depends who owns it?’ 
I stop overhearing. It’s hard to stop listening. 
I replace a live drum track w/ a drum machine created on my computer.

sliding peacefully into a begging bowl an amphibian 

________________

Jackie O has a vision of an outdoors man skinning animals on fresh snow. The moon sits between green lights. The outdoors man obviously has at least a three day stubble. Bobby gets lost while he’s out buying records. The outdoors man obviously overdressed in every occasion. No one has heard from him since. The outdoors man asks directions from a pharaoh. Bobby doesn’t win an oscar. 

somewhere between 
nothing and this world 
migratory birds

_______________

v... z… half cut o’s like the moon but different; cut the other way. Not o, ho. Orchid rosettes pick time - tea served w/ sandwiches of various sizes and filling and feelings. The sky to minor triangle moody / nowhere to go being in time. Feelings picked by colour. Pursed in forgotten autumn hues and that other season - that other season.

ghost orchid
i delete your 
emails 

___________



Saturday, 14 July 2018

sugar-pot

cloudy day

              winter shower

my son’s dummy

                the colour

finds the floor

               of my son’s boredom

_________

winter sunset

               just enough mortality

a memory

               a moorhen

of a scuffed knee

               courts a sugar-pot

___________

heavy rain
the green smell of a
pink tulip

___________

picking berries
my fingers become
autumn

Wednesday, 13 June 2018

foxfire

foxfire the white in my beard

________

father’s conversation
beside the toilet a book
about birds

_________

the little leaves
a little louder
first frost

________

long night the last of the summer beer

__________

war memorial
I adjust my hair
for a selfie

Monday, 11 June 2018

saturated ornaments

a joke 
half remembered 
cold wind

________

bare branch
I dream of someone eating
my child

_________

Between love and other over saturated ornaments. Holding a baby my arm grows into the green of a tulip stem. April arrives with no blossom. Weather fronts from Siberia. Sheets of snow. Ignorant to nebulas the bottle overflows its hard cheese. The label starts to peel on a can of tomatoes. She asks me how to adjust the contrast on her phone.

timepiece
a memory wanders into
rotten timber

_________

Cop car. Bowling back and forth between barriers of primary colours. Someone hit the clown. The clown dies. A soft indifferent rain falls. Cop car. A stained glass window forms on the clownʼs chest. The cop car moves through W & Tʼs.

morning light
the box of secrets she
forgot about

________

We must do right by the timber. Iʼm nervous, I mutter under my breath. Heart beat. Sweaty psalms. My antiperspirant, my antiperspirant, why have have you forsaken me? A sword gestates for 24 hours in anthropology. This gives the wilderness a soda can smile.

Words leak out of the fetusʼ heart. Twins, twin sisters that is, create liberty. No big deal. Some down time, a free wednesday afternoon thingymajig. Foreigners bring a butter hierarchy. Ho ho. Hee hee. Chuck chuck. In the other abdomen a snake. Abominable. Try the other door wonʼt you?

waning moon
a bay leaf pierces
the camembert

The fetus is examined. Long notes. Chuck chuck. No one ever sees the worship coming. I do my best to look busy, but not too busy. Taking a splinter out my hand I tilt my head a little to the left. We talk absently about the age of the universe.
________

Sunday, 20 May 2018

the plastic feel of churchill’s face


red mist

hands in pocket

a cherry scented plume

the plastic feel

from a vape pen

of churchill’s face

__________


moonlight

faith healer

the river’s silt points

under a spoon of superstition

to what is

a moving tadpole

______

fluffy white clouds
a small dog humps
a smaller dog

_______

half a second…. 
late autumn becomes
a bee

Tuesday, 15 May 2018

designer stubble

designer stubble 
on the horizon 
returning geese

_______

the moon
taking a break
dinner at a friends

________

the wheat field
and me
born of tongues

_________

cold night
in one rising tower
the steam from my piss

Wednesday, 25 April 2018

two haibun

J is 20 minutes late. It doesnʼt look like he is gonna show. I am in a cafe on union street. The place is in between busy and quiet. I canʼt find the word to describe it - steady flow? They buy rolls, sweet and savoury pastries with hot drinks like tea and coffee. The table facing me is full of empty light boxes. An electrician is fitting new lights in the place. I will wait till half past, I say to no one.
the hierarchy 
of rust 
- silent shadows

Later that same day A has a checkup at the hospital today. Regular stuff - bloods, urine and listening to the babyʼs heart beat. A is nervous about the bloods. I am ok and I tell her it is ok and I mean it. And it is ok. Later while we walk home under a blue winter sky I think about the sound of the babyʼs heart.
________

She smells different. I cut the edamame and dreams into halves. I change my thoughts about the dried apricots sitting in the fridge beside the butter. I spread the sauerkraut best I can - itʼs not exactly ketchup. My mind flits to medicine. She knows.

out of season fruit - 
we watch a documentary about 
french cowboys

Thursday, 12 April 2018

beyond a bird call

A fish swims up stamen. The sound of tills closing, beeping and other supermarket noises. Cold January - is there any other kind? Maybe in some other's vision.
‘We’ve all got it. Well, at least a little.’ says Harry.
A child practices guitar scales. Overcast - in the woods mud pushes past the ankle line. Hazel blossom and alder catkins. A fringe tucked behind ears. To overcome pine trees one must become a cleaning wipe. An oak tree. Out of season mushrooms - scarlet elf cup, wood ear.
‘Well me and Garry have anyway.’ he continues.
Pause. To be so in love with suicide that it rots the brain beyond a songbird’s call - he thinks to himself. Bankers graft themselves into boats. Mulling it over. Who is gonna paint? In the womb they take notes. Chuck chuck. Perceiving and interpreting colour spectrums and graphs they draw up blueprints of the damned. A mulberry bush.

still sky two blackbirds pass into pastry

‘He’s a good manager.’ To be in love with suicide as a tropical fruit - papaya, kiwi, pineapple etc. Spending the winter identifying the shapes of the leaves of those trees. Sun bricks hover over the night as being throws coins.
‘Yeah.’ Tommy agrees.
‘Is he Irish?’ asks Harry.
‘Not sure. He sounds foreign though.’
To be nothing but wishing lost inside a bottle of sun lotion.
‘Wonder where they got him from.’
‘Not sure.’
Another pause. Reduced racks and the whimsy of weight gain and subsequent loss.
‘They bring ‘em in from anywhere and everywhere.’ says Tommy.

rain - the marble asks for a sneeze

The night has become a soup god. Tommy is sat at home. Harry is also sat at home. Highways, nebulas and freeways drenched in pastels roll between them. Heads are a whirl and swirl. The miso concrete to a parked car. Lost in the back pain of president Kennedy. Lost in the fragments of Cobain’s skull.

Wednesday, 4 April 2018

my neighbour might be a disembodied brain

I am scratching my head. I think of pulling or picking my brains out. I think of mummification. I think of class structure. I strike blood. Sticky. Warm. Confused. Fingers feel sticky. I smell them - metal. I look at them - garnet.

bicycle the wind peddles through a small tree

Someone walks by. They are humming a melody from some long lost classic rock radio station that is the same as every other classic rock radio station buried deep deep below atlantis - second left at the atlantic, if youʼre curious. It soothes me. Like a giant dadʼs lullaby - all dadʼs are giants, I suppose. I wonder if they ever struck brains.
I look out the window. The neighbours have a navy blue cat flap on a white door. I think of the neighbours pulling or picking their brains out. The brains then crawl off. Like, leaving for school for the first time. That is, sad, lonely, please come back. Oh well, at least write once in awhile.
The brains crawl into the garden. They shit under an hydrangea. The hydrangea was once blue but now shriveled brown from the winter. Then the brains go back in through the navy blue cat flap. They eat a pack of sausages. They read the newspaper. Everyone awkwardly remains silent.
        out of time giants 
       - a lighthouse 
        gets smaller

Tuesday, 3 April 2018

wood swim


The teacher asks if any of us have ever experienced unrequited love. I am too embarrassed to say or do anything other than lower my head to an appropriate level where I won’t draw attention to the fact that I am lowering my head. I stare into the patterns of the faux wood desk and wish I could swim in them.
      
           weariness
          on the other side of a door
         nothing and the moon

Monday, 2 April 2018

a loaf of bread learns to fly

this year’s flowers a solitary swift overhead

_______

a child looks through me sweet display

______

winter shower
a loaf of bread
learns to fly

_________

resting upside down a fly

_________

Sunday, 1 April 2018

before the warm weather

first child
before the warm weather
a swift

____________

blue sky demolition workers

____________

autumn rain
watching the open-close
of automatic doors

_____________

balloon murmur
a bladder blooms
in nomenclature

Saturday, 31 March 2018

your famous blue antediluvianraincoat

catching  the low sun a pigeonʼs breast

_______

antediluvianraincoat

_______

watching fireflies
as if they were linen
parents hover
over a wrist watch

_______

cold morning
the washing machine
won’t open

Saturday, 24 March 2018

arizona hymnal

I am 34 years old. At this point of my life I have had 4 teeth removed. Ignoring the termites we point further over the horizon. This is significantly less than my father. He also has less hair but we don’t talk about that. They are also teeth from the back so although my teeth are somewhat crooked at the front there are none visibly missing. I keep pointing to the point of awkwardness to emphasise the distance. Which is good.

silence
an actor moves
into infinity

Early afternoon finds my head full of flies - not where the teeth were but in my sinuses. Fingers move from F, to B minor to A minor. I want to be a military march - like the three four time of some Irish Louisianan Civil war troop fighting just for money. To be the song plus one and now the dna is stale jam on brown bread. The blue bottle forgets the season and buys time shares on some moon off some planet or other - way past our pointing. Phone scams are not real but big foot is. Kinda.

ripe blackberry
a songbird shits away 
summer

In a new font he downloaded last week Jesus types: God’s kiss. The more he thinks about it the more he feels the font is wrong for the message. He goes to the bathroom and soaks a washcloth in cold water. He opens the window and hears the birds in the trees outside. He thinks of signing his name on the bathroom wall. He feels in his robe pocket and finds a rumpled piece of paper he pulls it out and finds an old bus ticket - he throws it in the toilet. He thinks about a meteor. 

Friday, 23 March 2018

scuffed knee

memory of a scuffed knee poinsettia

_________

some other love one leaf left

______


scrambled eggs
the undulatus wobbles
into nothing

______

shlave

Thursday, 22 March 2018

A larch blooms in pink norovirus.

greying hair hydrangea in autumn

*

calling out to

an ancient pond
the aluminum profile

winces towards mountains
audited minerals
& the police

*

A larch blooms in pink norovirus. Trams look jealously towards the mourners. The crippled chaplain takes a loyal shave for the poltergeist.

inch
by inch
  a pigeon’s head

*

what we know
as time
isn’t time
- on the river ness
a goosander

Wednesday, 14 March 2018

no luck

no luck viewing
the barley moon
a leak in my shoe

*

the sycamore
first to turn
hospital visit

*

incense smoke a cat moves across the room

*

tai chi ark
the giraffe’s osicones
clip the sky

Tuesday, 13 March 2018

infinity the tree’s green

autumn leaves
this way too
autumn leaves

_______

summer solstice infinity the tree’s green

______

between coltrane’s notes you

______

autumn storm
a tombstone falls
toward god

Tuesday, 6 March 2018

funny bone

behind lace curtain
the morning star becomes
a dove
______


funny bone a tree full of magpies
______


spearmint humility
a cloud waits
for twilight
______


summer rain
my son’s
first teeth

Saturday, 3 March 2018

tiny meats

antimatter
cherry blossom &
tiny meats

*

ghosts of omitted graffiti autumn haze

*

she waits for me
to put the kettle on
cold morning

*

november rain I correct my posture

Wednesday, 14 February 2018

lion bell

open meadow
muscle roams
a baking tray

*

interrupted light
an insect finds an
early winter

*

a piece of
plastic tangled in dirt
dead bird

*

lion bell
the sound of whiskey hitting
a madonna

Tuesday, 13 February 2018

blackbird's beak

blackbird's beak
a tombstone half covered
in lichen

*

cemetery walk
the same blackbird
passes by

*

navigating ice crying baby

*

startled by
a train the reflection of
birds


Monday, 12 February 2018

fresh daffodils

weary bones
the sound of an
evening train

*

a mouth full of stones
the sound of mineral water
over a blackbird's trill

*

early morning
finding out how thin
the walls are

*

in the painting
of daffodils fresh
daffodils

Sunday, 11 February 2018

fairy enzyme

low sun
how much of dust
is water?

*

day moon
my son reaches for
his shadow

*

fairy enzyme a fire dwindles into nothing

*

wilting hydrangea the sound of a grey sky


Saturday, 10 February 2018

not so ancient pond & the sound of snow


not so ancient pond
the fish and I become
the sound of snow

____

the sunhatʼs twilight - two atoms glint

____

sunny day
all the clouds covered
w/ saddles

____

shortest day the green of a duckʼs call

Friday, 2 February 2018

tiny acrylics


waiting for her train summer grass

_____

day moon 
feeling the brail
on a banknote

___

tiny acrylics a bluebottleʼs birth

___


cold morning the neighbours up before me

Friday, 26 January 2018

Winter

winter sun
some trains are louder
than others

*

winter vegetables
left on the lawn
a snowman's nose

*

hedge trimming 
a butterfly follows
a receding shadow




Thursday, 18 January 2018

the turin yarn


held together by things 
beyond our understanding...
winter shower

I went to Turin looking for De Chirico. Instead I found a giant ball of yarn covered in snow and shadows cast by the avenue's marble columns. In the shade a girl sits reading a book about the camera being the biggest liar of all.

Wednesday, 17 January 2018

god doesn't believe in you

If there is a god he probably doesn't give a shit about you. The same way rocks don't give a shit about you. The same way waves don't give a shit about you. The same way hat get blown around in the wind.

crescent moon
the way her hips pronounce
existence


The evening gown
René Magritte

Sunday, 14 January 2018

windows

first dream
reflecting in the window
a woman's face

*

overcast
behind the fogged up window
a black cat

*

new calendar
a picture of the moon
on a frozen pond




Tuesday, 9 January 2018

the smallest universe



warm day a workmen's portable toilet

*

clear sky
strawberries find themselves
in last night’s rain

*

alien megastructure
a speck of dust
on my glasses

*




Wednesday, 3 January 2018

going too far...

going too far..
i eat my
horse

*

trip to the dentist
a crocus pushes through
last years leaves

*

november rain 
a baby’s cot left out 
for the bin men

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goosegrass my son’s grip

Tuesday, 2 January 2018

a cautionary tale of wanting to describe being a blancmange if you’re a chocolate eclair


He spends his whole life trying to find objectivity - he looks under rocks; 
he goes to country markets; he visits brothels. etc. In side of it all a 
spider tries to speak walrus; a planet tries to be a confectionary stand. 
A triangle asking for a sweet bun upon realising it is a triangle and has 
neither money nor an appetite, breaks down in tears - why can’t i be 
something else it mutters.


cursing the rain
a man
in a raincoat