home, where is home now?
dead in the back seat’s
loneliness, and hours
spent gazing dead-eyed
onwards
fields now houses
where childhood grew in -
amongst the gargoyles and old-
man’s bearded bramble snipers
used to hang there midair in the
those tree armchairs counting
cloud sculptures reinventing
their finite floating castles
then began to rot and older
became sullen, pity such
protein, scarecrow thin in a
mirror’s angst and hesitation
clumsy as drunkenness yet
seeking somehow wonderful
underneath the bare sheets, those
slightly damp twisting, twisting sheets
uneventful dreaming and morning
wakes empty, does not fit belonging
does not fit in anyone’s smile, there’s
an ashtray of sky beginning to snarl
so here is the anchor relied upon a
root of a room confided in, had this
cocoon some twenty one years
familiar as daily wearing
here comes now to dismantle, how
dismal, anxious as a thirst or unsubtle
effacement, unrecognisable where-
abouts coming, 4 walls of unknowing
evening breaks about its final seeing,
a moon swung, cornish for the last
time, swords the land around older
looking as vintage, obscure photographs
won’t the sea miss my footsteps, miss
my glimpses? a stride of circles where
the seagulls greet and glide uproars
of blows and salt beginning winds
tonight this world lapses, knowing
backwards won’t be revisited often
as, there is fear like a noose of a
rain-scarfed-moon alone
about to be ripped, to be pulled
from such a loamy dwelling, going
is quite soon, towards future of
gnarly spires, lost lane’d sprawling
towards being swallowed the
city that hangs its occupants
by burial or sleep’s attained walking,
lonely such lonely listening
arriving wept train crawls in and
eases slowly from elsewhere,
the rhythm of rain-wet-voicing seems
to tap “why are you even here?”
spired, concrete shoulders, unfamiliar,
folk swarm in and about of everywhere,
strangers in doorway gaunt jaws, a three limbed
dog, a cardboard message “ none dream here”
mouths and mouths more than shingles
on a shingled shore, interfered with air
traffics the odour of used, whose to know
me anywhere? pavements quick with martians
i am being pigeon watched like a possession,
buses ghost by hissing their wheels on several
occasions, “take me to the room that’ll keep
quiet in” “whose to consider me here?” “no-one”
whose to know my outline, my whereabouts?
whose to roam this vulgarity of shyness to
be initialled? anyone? where the red river calls pulling
my every direction into absolute bits
happiness eludes upheaved roots
tamar’s great umbilicus
i cannot inch far,
the sea is distant-
archives of lost
azure
that narrative of
seagull-harsh-prose
where the squalls
at dangerous play
i smell the surf as it
yields broken-
waved inside of
this delved heart
a familiar, a known
cousin, a lover if
the gales are read
right, moon pale lords
a yell of metres,
here the sky is
quite different, an ozone
defiant lid, indifference
a city’s coiled intestine
roads disinterested throats,
polluted statues observe
at nothing and at nowhere
like love’s neglected cradle
groped by the spittle of rain
and eaten by exhaust fumes
and spat at by tyres
pavements roamed by
strangers filled up with
glances, skyscrapers
look obscene cactuses
here happiness isn’t
strummed much, here
where the days fold in
among themselves, unloved
daily habituals, daily out
from cotton graves, i long
for the muddled moors and
birdsong ransacking disquiet
gorse enthralled seas
a tin mine ruin
a silhouette of
antique voices
murmurs
(curdled mermaids in plastic,
miners beneath their slate worlds,
gales thru stood ploughs,
crones in dark awkward houses,
a ghost about tintagel)
“home is where?” asks the
the city-infected-breeze,
“not here not here” came
the reply, sighed-width and sorry
home is here amongst the
seaweed palaces and mackerel
bait, the creams of spume eating
away the coastline, my soul dragged
in the trawler’s nets
suckle come nourish upon tamar’s
godless ambrose, inside this granite
lung of curlew song and coastal
indistinct arches, come gaze the rock-pools
come listen forever the wind singing over
become the rocks that are sung across,
you are the one loved and not for all the
mead in this arsenic empire would i leave
dissolv-ion
insert of a
maelstrom
of a passive
figure striding
thru blades
headaches of
constellations being
forcibly broken
like the land lain
upon
sadness what drowning is this?
heart’s sway disruption
a drowned man constant,
remnants of reshape and
spire as aching wreathed
round with rawness
how awful is waking?
pin me to each blazing to each
terrible morning flare-beamed empty-raucous
where the half soot crows are
picking thru thoughts makes
dreaming into carcasses
that gaze of previous
shards like all of yesterdays,
bayonet thru a dove,
i am inert as death this dreadful tuesday,
unknown sleeps graze daylight
grenades heartache grenade outwards
poison in-situ for yet another stale birthday
in me no angel dare possess
no witness resumes to what profusely bleeds
throw the cliff off its axis
pour the sun into over,
worthlessness, skyless-ness,
buRn what is now down to bare lustre
who cares in the seethe of
this citizen sea? all are being
dismantled somehow, a silence
mid-roar disco, aftermath always of rain
neither subdued cacophony or
a wired shouting tranquility
lie stiff as a sculpture wreathed by
ceilings, come suffocate further
i am uproar of pages sincere
as knives, out from the nib’s
aborted ink from cupid’s ripped
out ribs, pointlessness encourages -
downness
that sigh demolishes seared-kissed-
re-glistened-muscle, destroys floors upon floor kingdoms
finally this is how to fall turbulent,
a spirals eventual discontinue, whilst
disturbing pebble smooth utters
into tinier fragments
frictions for eons for ions die
you lessen me sir. you collapse me
into something that is now no one,
a silhouette of another’s fingerprints
a person maladjusted
bracken sick hills molest the grey
sickly shore, and for all the thorns
that pierce thru’ out feeling, numbness
is applauding
quiet now as fossils
and eroded cold strengths,
burdens shall be enclosed
under failure and loveless sediment
a vagueness reminiscing, a long
lengthy stir of echoes
repeating