On horizons ducks light on
lakes like filaments on
tapestries and -
a dirigible waddles aloft above
Prague above
a foreign zone, but -
other fowl -
geese carrying rose
stalks scrape at
its alien hide hoping for
blood or ichor or
secrets. They are ignorant of
their and its
different duplicity - and
directly ahead
an eidolon or
shadow from a better year or
century awaits atop
a spire atop
a hill with
a thorn - awaits to
prick the sad bullet of
humanity.

Wafting ropes of
steam from
eggplant frying among
chopped leek
cling to the air - or
resin crooks down the
pale curve of
the tub, stitching violet
arteries.
There are no both ways about it!
Greasy pointillism hangs on
the air in greys and
grey, elongating into
rivulets into fossilised
stalks and into
heartless resin. An
undead forest spreads across
the kitchen - so I watch from
the tub where I
dab my fingers into
red-brown resin.

I lie in a geletin or
Dream the geletin
While monsters and
Roaring current
Startle a window in
Its frame that
Buckles and ruptures.
Geometeic fragments of
Glass populate the geletin
With me

An hourglass tips at the
Edge of a marble table and a
Blue, boozy day from
Yesteryear floats on the
Precipice of memory.
The cat leaps up to my desk
Interrupting a plummet into
Recollection. I sip my
Coffee

The box man
pauses to pull
out a sheaf and
peel pages away one by
one - and
cardboard cubes
blossom as
the leaves fall one by
one

The bottle refills
itself at your daily
café, watering hole, supper
cave - during your
restless sleep - like
rivers of ink entering
the pen and conduits of
saliva for the ever-
lolling tongue.
Oversaturation
is a murderess.

The metro is a crypt.
I ascend mottled and cobwebbed
From scholarly gloaming
To where lamplight and
Gentle breezes are you.
They are your caresses on
My cheeks and neck.
They dissolve pedantic darkness
And fracture gruesome quiescence
Until all that remains is your
Embrace.

A child hurls a
bent fragment of
metal onto mottled
concrete floors
again and again and - it
reverberates like
bells sped up on
tape or on
LPs spinning
unchecked - or
like sparrows gently
colliding with
monophonic windchimes.

I awoke to perceive a
Rend in my canopy of
Wistfulness. It let in
The light of distant
Moons and an
Atmosphere of alien
Aroma, and dissipated
This twilit malaise.

The blithering morning
Confronts arrogant consciousness
High on sugars fermenting
In my arteries and forcing
Apart their walls, making room
For visions of
Pillars of false stone or
Ancient menhirs mimicking
Splendid ruination from
Every angle

I've taught the dog to
shit lentil soup
or creamed spinach with
accompanying tesselated
bowls if -
the occasion demands them

How big wings must
one put on
an anvil to
have it rise from
the niggardly adolescence of
its pithy farmhouse into
the smithy waiting in
the razed citatel in
the clouds?

I haul myself
Up rung by rung out of
Fibrous chequered mist
Hand over hand out of
dense and dim sediment
I hear talk of an
Above
Where eyes can taste
Variations of more than
Chalk and iron

The lumbering universe's
Corset clings like skin and
Each living system
Contained therein
Cautiously treads its
Footsteps as if
Colouring outside the
Imprints would
Poison the dead
Space between lives

Watch lumps of meat
float buoy-like in gelling
sauce, lightless
beacons warning off
submission, still
thickening the paste.
This mélange
tends to homogeneity with
intention of exhibiting
flavourful chunks.

A machine peels away
Layers of crust and
Discovers
Frontier lines piled to
The horizon.
A few resonant
Clicks gestate in its
Guts and reverberate to
The horizon.
It's taking notes:
An obsessive compulsive
Propulsion of progress.
A world empty to
The horizon.
Good to know

You wanted to leave and
you left. So here
you are with
your freedom.
You ride in
your nostalgic trams to
villages full of eidolons.
You pause for a moment and
gather the anchors
you've dragged behind
you and they threaten to
pull you to the depths
even in stillness.
They flake with rust.
You lick
your freedom from
your cracked lips
and taste solitude.
You left
your oasis
in a distant land.

The dog slept in
our room
I heard him dreaming
his waterwheel thoughts woke
me from
fantasies of domesticity

Family and hecklers
alike have gone - so
I am the only audience
left for the gibbet and my
friend. A silent
breeze hums - so
I observe
He swings, remindful of
a clock: a tick tock he
heard all his life but -
no longer or - of
a bell: a ding a ling of
encroaching hunger
in a gesture of
empathy, I cut a hunk from
his thigh - so
my friend
can have a final
dinner with
me

This beer is a boon - for
it dissolves fats I
jogged away
today, along with threes of
promiscuous melodies I
joyfully flailed within - for
this beer gives
me a chance to
relearn them
tomorrow

I oust Morpheus
and he tumbles from
my shroud to
the curb - where he sprawls
poisoning busybodies (they'd
never fallen quiet).
Even the dogs curl in
oblivion in
the street

Whitish and dusty fabric
or woven plastic wraps
baled hay that
dot the green or
brown that
mottles the field tightly!
Tightly as if to
restrict a dead
thing from birthing an
infestation of life.

You knot your
hair loosely behind
the crown of your
skull out of
habit - but it
cascades from a
spire in your
principled clouds to
cover the earth - to
tickle the
twitching curve of my
lip, and to
brush the
baying drum of my
inner ear, and to
fill the
faithless recollection of my
dream like a
summer haze.

A preternatural caul pulses
spongy and edible as
injera as
sensations like
visions seep through its
pores - collecting in
hollows of my
ears and eyes and
nostrils - while
remaining perceptions like
balance wobble numb in
stasis as frigid as
sense of depth in
a dream of falling.

Liberation -
not by army nor
by spirit but
scissors, latch or
dampened fuse

I could write a
Poem this morning
About junctures or liaisons about
The tarnished spoon I
Rescued from
The kitchen drawer crowded
By muttering utensils
And of its thin
Unshapely handle
Like a fossilized bone
Joining an
Empty bowl veined
By disuse or about the
Sunbeams crowding around
The shutters and cowering
Beneath the tepid weight Of darkness

Stay creative!
Break your routine!
Steve talks policies from
his culture's podium from
the stage of
its scheduled presentation and - does
he mean stop
pouring milk before
my tea is white? or - leave my
half unshaven face for
evening? Of what
routines
do you speak, Steve? but -
Steve has already moved on
to the next notch in
his schedule while I
was stewing, half
steeped

Hazy glass sphere
where stranded, hued
bubbles float motionless -
mottled iris without
portals into any
private world - don't
ask ability to
look outwards nor
inwards - simply
be a colourful
jewel.

Corrugated borderlands splay
limp fingers into
foamy seawater like
an isthmus into
the cantabrian sea until
they become encircling
arms in the rising
tide - squeezing off
continental contact.

Snorting lines of
Turmeric on a field sunken by
Rain but now impeded by
Transparent sky
I dust off my
Dinner jacket and
Prepare for the evening
Festivities

I crush patterned
husks as
stochastic waves
pattern resonant
pulses within
the wind's
hollow arch.

Curds multiply like
cells - and
the path forward
is porous like an
incomplete cheese
or cloth like tattered
jeans
(not bought to appear that
way) holding in
skin
that seeps through to
fill aorta
until the world cannot breathe.

One ceramic outgrowth
That ruptured from
Its ceramic edifice
Reclines as a curve
Atop the coffee
Maker, delineating
Countless constellations of
Inchoate, lumpen phrases

Take a walk up and
Across the sagging iron
Bridge and back
Down again to witness the
Parade where a
Daddy, a Pimp and an
Electrical Engineer -
Dressed like Mages -
Hurl candy to
Fundamentalist children

I want to break your
Skull over a stone in
Madrid at the
Café where I sat among
Milling, insectile spaniards or
Bumbling, porcine tourists sipping
Surreptitiously from a
Bottle of vodka tucked in
My backpack as sticky summer
Sunbeams played havoc with the
Accursed curve of time.

Vanish from
existence - or
what passes as existence for
"them" - during a
couple of days, into
a sphere where
no-one asks who
you've been on
or off about or about
which toil tugged
you up
or down or drug
you around. No-one
tenses their eyelids in
passive judgment or
worry - and
gossip singularities
relax their bounds. It's just
you and
your machine alone.

Unraveling arithmetic is
heedless of
eyelids lined with
storied age:
2 + 2 is five and yet -
so is three into
15. Arthritic fingers
aching unlike stone churn
out biographies for
bibliographers but -
Medusa extends through
time within
sightless minds that
are heedless of
the weight of
narrative

She pours from
a teapot that in
epochs lost was
glossy and cast
thorough colours. Subtly
igneous, it
gradually fused to
her hands.
Nowadays -
dessicated contours
tilt its tarnished
bulk - and a
dull, calcified drip
persists, overfilling myriad
leftover, miniscule
teacups - staining noble
nighties of myriad
leftover, miniscule
men

Sing the poem, the
One you just
Wrote, pitched in
The octatonic scale.
I chose at dusk
Pitching dice in crepuscular
Boredom - to sing it or -
Go on to bed

Patter and thwop -
A wind chime rain
Scattered with accents
Against the shutters and
Amid myriad creakings of
Morning

Nigh horizontal plumbing and
obtuse gravity brew
stagnant soup between
my ellipsoidal hovel and
other ellipsoidal hovels
Why, I am chef of a realm!
A chef who
harvests undulating
fronds sprung from
arcked footpaths caked with
reconstituted slime.
Steam and brume waft
like typewritten
smoke between
ellipsoidal hovels.
Delight for one is infection for an other!
Cushions await
ends of
forgotten epochs or
days, stony like
loves left in
cavernous larders.
Pneumatic drills pound
dreams or
it may be residual fumes. Yet - in
one ellipsoidal hovel -
a mote in
the bestial, terrestrial web -
dripping figures, bent
obtuse like conduits, slave
to fashion a drain.

Puckering wind that
Splinters my wrinkled bones
With kisses, you
Whistle through the hollow place
I, myself, created
When I abandoned the only two creatures
That love me

Tongues lap at
my disheveled hair through
shutters -
what microbes swim atop
my corneas while
the cavernous rut in
the mattress siphons
a will to start
the day?

A ruinous bucket
wobbles unstuck, unwilling to
hold groats that
warm in
a luminous pot. A shade had
kicked it aside whilst
awaiting an
unrequited meal. Just
imagine creamed groats
dribbling through
clefts between
resinous planks gripped together by
stainless bands! Pooling in the
mud like
aspirations. Just
imagine a time
travelling receptacle
forgotten by
infants and
drooling ancients alike!

I gaze at the
Collosal salt lick of
Cultural knowledge and
It gazes back at me
Defying my puny
Ache to
Wander across invisible
Thresholds and
Taste maverick
Environments

Turquoise green waves
Erode porous volcanic rocks
Spewed from Earth's intestines
Eons prior to my witness
Or even only generations prior for
Those with abbreviated
Memory whose ancestry claimed a
Diminishing land

Sun rays buffet
Blue-yellow eyes and
Glance from dewy
Eyelids, spreading
Radially, serving a
Light feast onto
Haze gliding through
Peckish dawn

I press the sole of
my foot against
a smooth, layered stone that
is faded black and acute to
the slope of
the path.
It is smooth like the
raging river far,
far below, but its colour
is off. Ahead -
weeds, high as my
chin choke thin, bent, erratically
swaying blades of grass.
Pale insects form
merging and dispersing
clouds, their
bright blood pulsing and
leaving trails like
temporary maps in
the air leading nowhere.
I watch fascinated through
twilight.
I am lost.
Tettigonias chirp in
a quick six eight.

Ancients murmur that
still we persist among the
living while aching to
crush miniscule insects who
zig-zag to persist among the
living - traversing
commodious maze folds of
withered skin.

Bowtie evening, she
Claims as I ravel
Chores that cry completion but
Cede to knotted abandon.
Tomorrow by day or
Evening's penumbra I'll
Slice the gnarl and
Spill it's cryptic guts into
The night

In the dream
Or sitting astride it
The toxins galloped
In wobbled circles on
My tongue but
As always I awoke
Disturbingly clearheaded

A peasant woman tossed
a small, clay pot into
the corner of
her hovel where
it shattered and - though
she had formed it
herself from mud of
an evaporated lake and - though
she had fired it
herself in a kiln long
gone dormant, it had
soured the taste of
her meals

Translucent spider
carcasses dangle
dessicated from
ancient webs like
skeletal bell trees and
rattle as tiny wasps
light upon them - while
breezes strum
dry melodies that
crinkle among
tent cities whose flapping
canvas skins play
counterpoint.

A wine bottle carved into a boat
I am shrunken to become its captain
Lying mock-drunk in sea water
Fools no-one

Drink wine from the
Rhinoceros tusk, you
Sod, and
Make drunk from
Dumb mammal
Blood. Excuse
Yourself your
Yammer. Gush
Red from your time
Flattened snout,
Riches of triviality, never
Struck dumb.

Files of
vapour radiate from
a hub - a miniscule, consuming
origin - or, infinite fences
radiate from
a singularity and
radiate at
every fraction of
a radian. More freshly
painted, are wetter and
wetter as I
flee their source, the
godhead pall, then - my
conscious spirit seeps
exponentially as I
crawl - more bent and
more bowed - merging with
fumes from
wettening planks.

A dour huckster with
A rhythm box composes
Rain dances.
He transacts moisture away
From the floor of
The sky.
Shriveled passers-by
Stagger to the beat and
Toss coins that stick in
The mist

Flat like the
Ocean that floats
This island or
Kayak or flat
Like each new
Day, the dreams you
Once had of inner
Revolution are blurred script
On a crumbling page.
Take your pills, lie
Flat on your back and
Close your eyes.
Dream of ink blots.

Civilian spouts thrust
From flaccid meat leak
Urine in grammatical
Twists that
Arch through the distance.
A pale cursive
Dries beneath the sun
Leaving immaculate
salt.