become pages


incite circles

to expel lines,

maelstrom muddle

an insert of gales

stood if

standing could be

achieved, atoms

blown off mountain peaks

sloth is

rushed at

with hurry,

rid me of death

no sleep is

permafrost deep,

allow the roots

to waspish struggle

exact quiet

is roared,

no leaf is statue

on each bed


numbs the violets

as they appear

purple noises

throw honey to

the stars,

there is nothing poised

but to flower fling

lungs have

turned outwards,






to free fall

thru' gloss horizons

hearts re-petal taken to

perform such colour

unseen before


towards ending


is a sound,

a softened noise

it's stillness aches

the wall fastened

clock has stopped



snowflake circles

the past

of copious days


the meadow is

faded and

sunsets build

into draped ashes

the listener

forsakes voices on

tape, delete such

eased vocals

if perfect falling

is to sleep,

grey gauze thumbs

the conscience

and ether is paused,

no exhale

but scattered letters

in small written fonts

reformed rapture

thought you gone

caressed away by a nineties storm

and kissed thru' with

lightning swords

cascaded skies

and deleted applause

an echo into selfish

oyster withdrew

misfortune brought

upon sorrowful wings

a womanly form

frozen in a mortuary robe

bells drop, invite silence

birds ruin every song,

each heart gave up belonging

a noose carved in swans

sought decay, decadence

listened to glistening dragons

soaring abandon on tracks

moth made heirlooms

so surreal

imperfect sculptures

unfinished how i feel

so slides in moonbeam pulses

and rainbows gape wide

gild me with your separating sighs

it was the decade that broke

and left love hollowed out

curled into the frost of a peculiar rose

now bare of bones

and trumpets persist

to moan, each hybrid

clone in danceable

squadrons perform the

same ghost

each copious muse hangs

from their possessed idol,

like necks from a bough

incest copies itself

i thought wounds over grown

and tuneless whispers upon winds,

annoying harps and bellowing

anorexic sleeves reissued for resale

a phantom of romance

i met her once

stood upon flattened pines

her gaze one of blades

she sang into my heart

made it stiff with loveliness

and cut the roots from

each and every crocus

archives burst

and cymbals sliver

musical serpents

this mind

dewdrop drips,

ill met kisses

nectars the walls

inside of dream houses

by a frozen midair sigh

icicle words and

hitchcock ism

suspicious alongside

now the rivers run riot

and angels pissed on the wing,

be gone from lamenting

a thorn re-risen

and statues model

unbury the hidden,

turn up the vinyl's scratches

and disturb ravens from

their gothic skies

bluish blink capsule

what you perceive as loneliness

and holes to swallow horizons

is a capsule self made sunshine

swoon you others in orchestrated

sleeps when waking is being dead,

and swarms are being copied to replace

everyone else by name

i am not near to affection or robust

sexual allegiance, defy the gravity of

popular existence

habitual ether has it's own suffocation

i like mine without a sky or interrupting


of silence i am rapt by it’s graveyard gossamer,

archives of who i've touched and who

i've owned, all vanished rainbows now

immerse this slow adult dive, into a

shroud of complicated fingers no

observer will unravel

you think jagged, a winter of my own

making, no amount of gloom is worth

the sorrow i roam

but i think smooth, of buds i tend to

burst against the greyness, admire

summer with a longing for shade


there is a road

gazed left

the right of which

secures notice

signposts are

stood people in

their vast


up to the throats

with treacle


stood in


gazes, rapt in dark places

to go is

to be gone,

a clock snatched

is a lifetime

not where you think

the horizon is, i am that

shadow behind me

which turn to roam

a motorway of leaf churns

or a deceptive lane of dusk

rooted ceiling,

bed's where sleep falls

a skyless floor

numb feelers

are folk too bored
to yawn

holes for loneliness

to take hold of

like senses torn between two seagulls or numbed with tequila

the month the yuletide bringer brings

how many sleeps

before expectant faces?

dull trees become

sudden constellations

countdown calendars

hurtle, what's behind

each chocolate window?

a snowflake collar or

abundant reindeer?

there's bobble hats with

miniature gloves, but some

hearts still instigate their own frost

pinched rosebud cheeks

and cinnamon daubed air,

too many mouths

are coveted by scarves

dilated blood

excitable childhood

glimpse white magical


copious mistletoe stunts

upon ceilings, whose to approach

opal perfection?

the dusk of his shyness

there are chestnut counters

and stollen larders,

baubles of stupefying colours,

glitter, twinkle this onto forever

pocket full of snow

now that scarves

announce to necks

inclement weather

easy rust blushes thru'

branches, litter your

incoherent handprints

for lovers

to wade thru' or

strolling to ignore


gruesome slit pumpkins

sill posing


bonfire gazes and

firework entrails

cheerful shelves

appear christmas

by tinsel stealth

glitter, seas the aisles

seizes every childhood sparkle,

cashier swarmed tills

multi-coloured full stops

possess trees, punctuate

thru' out night's cinderous seep

blazed bulbs like possessive

hedonistic fairies all manner

of iridescent rainbow

think cinnamon edges

nutmeg swirled foams,

children lit up anticipation

written and lists glittered

with the latest absolute want,

dispatched for the arctic post

and the sloes have gone,

and what requires silence

is deep to crocus slumber

those arms, those steep

but crooked fingers

grip with winter

crows about the cripple

bare orchards, scented pines

stood indignant green perfume

foragers nuzzle worm

entire empires, such

squigglers are beyond roots

mulled warblers make

crimson music, achieve

the commercial heart

husbands entangle one

another "gift-scared-


panic tastes, floors

are fraught with

pointless antlers

frost nipped rose bud chasers

red mittens up to wrists,

chestnuts auburn croak over

festive fires crackle choirs

whose for advocaat

coloured hangovers?

sti collectors in

deeply autumnal parties

rich with too much cheer

overdosed satsuma armies?

think those wreathed by war

or body bag incoming

those that are stalked

by themselves, or sore

from loneliness, exact

mirrors triumph dying

whose suffering are you

thinking when three

courses later drowned under

asti spumante?

december's indulgence

a near panic of parcels,

precise ribbons, a precise

constellation wreath and hue

attach the air with

excitement, eve of,

expectant windows

expect snowflakes

wishes constant

about sleighs, will

laughter holler down

cream dispensed slopes?

none so white will fall,

reindeer magic gone, and

january will have consequences

white miserly edges

ink bury


why were you

so bee enthralled?

did you want to

wing with them?

be the ingot of

the african swarm?


why ink yourself


or become

the devil's


cemeteries of talent

for the crows to

wander across

for the seasons to unburden

how many pages deep are we?

thinner than a sea or higher than

a mushroom's lid?

meniscus walkers

drown easy,

why are dreamers

the most envied?

gleam collectors

of their hurt,

penniless in

forsaken archives

some openly waltz

into coffin ownership

taking with them

dark hidden mortgages

whilst others are soaring

some refuse blank paper,

refusing empty doors

why wait for nothingness to

exact, blandness is king

and unique is a dead thing

splintered stage, shadows do

have us take shape

word pyres a twilight poem

cut from chrome inspiration

if i stayed am i to be unwritten?

who notes the passing stream

it's gargle of prisms?

or the person that has been a statue for

46 years watching the sky's increasing


so words are taken and remade

some are derelict or copied from another

poet's voltage, some are unworthy of

the fire that thought them into being

how many pages are we?

none for turning

or volumes taking lifetimes to reach

where the defeated lay

pens inverted or

nibs pointed elsewhere

so swallowed that the skies

are empty and unsuccessful

as a seed given cement


against the rust of

our lives

fingerprints of fading

we breathe against

the tide

a fearsome sigh

watching the vanishing


approach mood worrying skies

we thought ourselves

limitless, roads of endless

footsteps to travel

but it’s us who unravel

losing atoms of ourselves,

and the sun strewn lanes

are buried by the covet of frosts

remember ourselves

whitening, yesterday’s

filled with drifting

windows are mirrors our

prisons, too many books

of unmemorable pages

ourselves amongst

the quickly sliding minutes


maybes seldom are


my implausible

gaze takes you in

worsens thirst

into hasty atoms

a still white sea

sculptures of ocean worth

foam heads all porcelain

sobbed planets yearn

words will keep

and secrets won't


remain re-hidden

beyond these

traced lips

if i offered summer

about my rose hips

are you the aphid swarm to secure it’s liquor

to give me soot collars?

your colourless nectar

deeps for narrow roots to exist

perchance to

whiten rainbows

to interrupt my bed

will you interrupt me?

the heart is

under icicle


maybes can

happen but

never here

take breezes by their sighs

undo the nettle from it's spear,

why is everything

nothing my everywhere

without you near

seldom glances

appear to

glimpse this way

clandestine squalls of

opal-ness, careful-furtive-


why is the horizon

so distant now

where you stand silhouetted tree


but never does

no promise yields it's clenched bud

seldom the river eases


for the meniscus to become a mirror

you will catch my gaze there

a glance of forever

thru' the torrents of swirled-silver-creases

bury me

in your deep swollen hair

forgive me if i stare

for such perfection

does not statue in

my usual direction

pale wished skies

all startling confusion

silence entangled bramble thick reach

so many are stood uneven

stood upon broken kissing

many are too drowned to stand


if you were the

honey of what i meant

the sugar intruder

tall petals and a

waist to make the kingfisher dive into

deeper blisses

but that loneliness

that bright hot thorn

i am inseparable from these days

i have become

clock deep

and wasted with

yesterday's wither

a diary spills

blank pages

a certain sleep

will be the finite of me

assured as maybe can be


hear the grass coerced breezes

like slender paper fingers,

a paused sky

resembles glitter

i cannot be this dusk


there are more slopes

to travel

january, an anniversary

about to re-happen

a wield of sadness

about to begin

where all crow wings gather

crowded ashes,

i think purely


the horizon you

stand upon,

i see you not lonely

but of light

i cannot gaze far enough

or without thought reach

but time will surely yield me

to stroll that very porcelain beach

i glimpse you in the half

quiet silhouettes

or in sleep’s spiral of


by that childhood bough

where youth takes me,

abstract windmills

liquorice sails

strawberry convincing hedges

mauve manoeuvres

where the blackberries want

autumn as forever

“soon my son”

when days unravel

and clocks become


peace will infuse

the seas to your blood,

until them my love

i watch from silhouetted aether

proud of how your stood

no flag will tear you down,

soon the whisper shall

be met as one

and boughs full constellation


trace your aim to the brightest sky

that’s where i am

watchful like a

protective lullaby

when someone loved perishes

into reflection


this gaze of

discordant mirrors

reveal your sighs

of soaring birds

glancing from the

azure peak

too much silence

wakes, sadness

roots in acorn


too much a sea

the rust of grief,

dismantle once

spilt ashes

into possession

of quiet

into muffled

distilled glistening

too much dew

becomes a spire

into the torn


who resides

dark obliterated

horizons? the roar

of dusk is forever

ink myself away

daylight seems borrowed

and the minutes stray

leaking from the clock's

abyss without restraint

on hours like these

and there are many

wish the ceiling

around me

and the white pieces

stay unwritten

where the gaze should

be filled with rain

no flowers ease thru'

these burst of

albino pages,

no seed to start the root

days are hourly

and pass away

eager to flee

the silent body

i fill myself with

petals, with indistinct

fur, mauves and hollered

reds but white ink

is the poet’s hesitation

and whitens further disgruntle

a mocking snow no word will



beneath shadowy


a serenity

of cobwebs glisten

as if the heavens

spared a galaxy,

such beauty is

paleness before gleaming

stir up

the horizon

of bee gold,

no opaque winter

would collapse this smile

a tiny sea

a dewdrop breaker

shivers me,


wash over sleep

where i kiss



contours sigh about


heartache loses it’s vast grimace,

an inert of



sudden wonder

my bliss

patrols whispers

of conjured seeds,

orchid sculpture loses form

glancing off your dew lit back

above the brow

of moonlit hill

tranquil before

a shrill world

infected by pity and stealth,

you make the avalanche still

make me quiet as

a heron’s trance upon

water, guiding fathoms

into passion performing

grasses, instill your

gorgeous synapses

beneath the snow affected


a soliloquy

a tremble of

uncertain tides,

where stares wander


anticipating fathomed emptiness


to open is to

bleed the inner

out as if blood

is shouting

my reds,

my magenta

are secrecies hid

prying won’t accomplish

i could be the

surface you want

me to be different under,

come claim my blushed coral

my aquamarine slant,

alert when closeness

is nearly, think me drowned

when it’s you submerged

those that endeavour

find energies can’t and

marital urges spent of

want, bludgeoned

daresay in my head

there’s trouble under

vitriolic sheets where

the snowflake palaces

reek of too much sleep

you won’t access

my concealment and

atoms, they are welded

certainty to a lie

eyes appropriate the

kind of winters that

aren’t looked into,

few are seldom

some acquire the

litmus to my mind’s

geographical stem, none

find the colour of my quiet

none shake the cathedral’s

stained stance, all the

nakedness and stupidity of

thighs won’t elaborate desire

you try cut paper

blondes and slim male

dragonfly’s, all with

mermaid tempting zips

i want none of it

i am cormorant

wielded sky arc

for all fleeting glances

to source, to forget





below wrists

are exact storms

unifying night into

unreadable bruises

the godly hiss

applauding the exorcist

to pluck out

silhouettes quicker

but my seas are

clever, it sighs

backwards no explicit

fingers can remove

black narratives

morning insists

upon it’s knives, creeping

diseased inches


is nuisance

to the bright hearted

gloom is

suicidal dirges,

come let horizons fall

dwindles those

in charcoal


disciples to

their own frayed



hurts every kind

of shadow

it’s dusk later strides

and is bold to interpret


departure is

soon to nail the

clock’s stubborn entrails

face lit stupor

observes rain

thumb the window panes


of smiles,

discarded nectar

all of them


tomorrows are

always in the bottom of

the drunk glass

upright hearses

complete the

dream’s task

following fucking

circles, twist yourself

the same dead hours

tide’s coming fast all

broken dissatisfied

butchered wings

there’s an upturned

cot of childhood sighs,

a man with a drowned in look

sheer edges are for

falling from, see the many

slow diving butterflies die in gasps

enough to outnumber

autumn’s handprints,

countless as the shingle shore

i sit squandering minutes

trying to swallow them,

entire clocks kill lifetimes

there’s a voice with splinters

in it’s slick tongue, enthrals

footsteps further to sink

not yet quite numb, the

devil is greasing the road

we all travel upon

stood up drowned

we all want out

of our skulls,

absinthe wednesdays

and thursday ruin

the weekend’s here

for obliteration, i’m

down the stem of

another glass

another day of

white out, numb

strides take me

from difficult mornings

ablaze mind where

the earthquakes

happen, i’m three

inches over the ravine

that terrible comet

like most humans i

abhor is bright as

a halogen seizure

haphazard minutes

like jugular traffic, i

seldom feel my own

heart in smothers of

black, disinterested petals

and there the blight of

longing grows like a movie’s

sinister suspense

it’s at the shoulder of my

troubled resonance like

a greedy tide towards my


loneliness is a watchful

gargoyle, it stalks the panther

sleek evenings, patrols the

afternoon like a sullen lynx

upon the bland staring

ceiling heavy as a snow

scene, a voyeur narrates

stranded and isolation

we all want time to

proceed faster to find

our bones have exceeded

their calcium boroughs

and naught is the glance

beyond the footsteps that

brought me here, we are

all stood up drowned

slowing the pendulum

blood don’t

count these

bored heartbeats

blood hastens

blood always

to arrive

destination to

achieve circles

comets at the lung

still if you will

your rouge,

how many horizons

have disassembled

to ruin, bring atoms

back to their cease

applause with stillness

lay among slowing

moving wreathes

melodies of echoes

where yesterday’s

sanctuary belongs

don’t disturb the

mirror’s wisdom

with occult rain

prefer now stood

in dusk and it’s

dark rapport

like a mind’s deep

in a glove, a

smothered alcove

blood you have too

much of the sea’s

sway, too much tide

you roar and pull

rocks apart and

shout thru’ the aorta

come dispel your

seethe, let this river’s

intention lull to a crease

come collapse the

statues, let the heart

rid it’s drumbeat


we could have

met, we could

have been dna


a copy of snakes

enthralled in

one another’s

soot gaze

a reflection upon

disturbed waters

we could of been

the perfect balm

for each soul’s


we could have

when the

trees become


when mountains

return to pebbles

return to ions

and the sea’s

voice is taken,

the storm’s blow

turn it’s weather

meant vengeance

into docile sighing

when the lion

returns its prey,

heals the hurt of

being maimed

this uncharted

horizon isn’t


tho’ it’s pall is

bright and severe

with want

I am agile to

your bones

and blisses

i would have

been continued,

ten thousand

snowflakes for

being swallowed

our drowning rapport

amongst the tender

swaying nerve endings,

words become voltage

word blazes, and skin

tongue written upon,

ensnare me with the

dew of your coarsing

mesmeric tides of

pure undulation, i

could keep dead


intuitive thru’ out

blood’s asking

i’ll never populate





a deaf

page where

winter gowns

or blood white

milk, where the

moon has it’s

arctic spilt, or

albino mountain peak

an entire sleep a

whiteness in amongst

the snowflake slow

blindness, an unseen

sky no ink traverses

an idea has no

crocus to build

or root to stir

outward into,

thirst is, but no throat

and the gossamer

spaces shift, the flame

won’t exact it’s gift, and

the shore is desperate

with sketches of wings

traces of which are

taken as if such


ribs did not exist,

imbalances of sighs

are glimpsed


follow me

the minute


do not let

the stealth

of winter

collect you

in it’s death,

there are roads

to unfurl, and

horizons to

aim into

and with

where from here?

don’t despair

for where will

that gloom

introduce you?

tho’ bleak is

the brow upon

the saturated


and lifetimes

are surrounded

by un-illustrated

bare and sharp


that shadow

should decide

your footstep’s


even from the

cot time is

exhausting and

watches wither

there are too


directions, and the

compass confused

should the skies

be paused, and

wings made to


should the hum

of blades and

other such grasses

become stillness?

seeds told to stop

their necessary

reaching, buds

reverse their burst?

you cannot command

the air’s whisper or

the tide’s mismanaged


no one notices dead clocks

do you

see in


involved in

the murmur

of death

or the squat

of fingers that

take all gasps?

the air

stillness is

made up of sighing

and tiny


scratching away atoms

what quiet

is found is

a ravine quite empty

sit among the

adder blacks

and pitch of muffled

lonely as a feather

mute upon an

abandoned spider’s web

lie back amongst

wet handprints

where fungi observe

and the collars of

bats ensure

permanent dark

there’s a strange

sea rattling above,

gaseous seethe of eyes

the rain that seeks

to drop is only

heart meant

it has no glisten

and sadness as

a crevice

solid walls of

grimace, crouching

shivers like eerie resonance

and the inches get

deeper in their swallow,

up now to the neck

there’s falling with no

floor met, keep on like

a broken comet

where the prowls of

others glow concern,

sticky in their glances


don’t want tomorrow to

be a mirror of the past

where routes are most

thick and traveled often

thru’ out daylight’s tired

mask i don’t commit to

those minutes given but

think in quiet slivers

nowadays there is much

to rot about and fall whilst

being stood, falling is

easier as older hills

come into view, where

eyesores still boast, the

sky now is dirtier and full

of melancholy blows

consider myself to the tide’s

process amongst the room’s

grey clothes, rain is always

window bound, cries wet fingers

too deep now to underneath,

subterranean to the sighs

being blown, drift thru’ the

headless grasses made to groan

there is a starless above where

winter holds full claim, and letters

i wrote drip off pages, their love

won’t come again

yet yesterdays are awoken and

the bud i ripped and hid, it’s

memory colour is never far

from it’s hinge of remembering

an inert gasp


wash over me

a thousand of

your dead



eyes aren’t

lit and the

horizons that

cross them

perforate with


has winter

come so soon?

like a devil

concerns it’s

gaze over


how heavy the

air feels like

too many lungs

have been borrowed,

accompanied by too

many loving shadows

they infuse the

sky’s hope with

further dread ink,

and steal away

my fingerprints,

edges falling from

like deft rain

where is supposed to be?

i’ll not wander far

until the horizon greets me,

each path has footsteps gone

with a shadow’s silk upon

against the last hour of sunbeams

a slow easy river slides

a stir of mirrors passing

i’ll not be long

until time is done,

the direction of one’s own blood

has it’s own lifeless pond

view the disappearing curlews

each alone upon their strange song,

mermaids slide strangers beneath seaweed thumbs

succumbed and gone

nearly april

buds that should drip with

molten skirts are nodules of watchful

quiet over mortuaries where

the seldom hares grope thru'

the anaemic stricken grasses

a sold sun strangled with aeroplane

vapours insists it was warm once

elders would grieve for a suntan,

icicles stoop the newborn's fingers

trying to root past the hedgehog corpses

gnawed cripples with fierce teeth

winter has thrown it's dentures,

wrapped it's blue mouth around each

waking, putting back those stirring

into cadavers, into cemetery statues

oh sky take away your thunderous bruises

sick of wet kingdoms, floored with

drowned fish, and cold so cold comes to

collect the lung's song of pneumonia,

and the fields are back combed with rot

gaunt ploughs idle in their rust attire like

sickened bronze ribcages, anxious starlings

will not settle there even if rooks are upon them,

massacred orange skulls litter their soft

squashed innards a local kill for maggot empires

these hinged bleached commas, albino

exclamations are few for rank sucker,

preferring elsewhere where the stagnancies

are tropically better, so the eyeless roots

gather much mulch and sit like rude spheres

sutured windows are grimaced at by howling

movements of shrieked air rid of itself from the coal less

north, childhood widows play at cobwebs

wasting as the minutes surface

watched skeletons chafe the panes

seized buds shrink and will not announce spring

their shrunk hope withers as the rains

lash and the hailstones turn swine mud into

pearl coffers, the cuckoo has been strode upon

and subdued to a bundle of worthless feathers

movement of circles

grasses mute throated

stillness, apologetic

trees ready to

cripple their colours

another mask wearing

october arrives

cobweb stealth, lifetimes

follow death observed roads

clocks know no truce,

blueness is the morning i

wake in, waking is being

are suicidal cells elaborating

i used to be fond of

circles, this one is loathed

another wednesday, another

root stops drinking,

wonder has left me

another yawn to fake in

and those that have

spires for dreaming are

someone else's fingerprints

a plagiarism of geometry

and the stood yearn to

lie in sleep's forever,

wonderful is yawned opaque

and bored pauses

heavy skies feel fallen

and calendars tire being

looked at, another day becomes

it's ghost

anonymous woman

pneumonia has her lungs,

the sea is taken

from brutal breath

this particular circle is rendered

cut into sparse, disposable lines

i drift my hours drift

among them, a broken

petal in a slow grimaced


grey architecture of air

mouths filled with interference

everywhere autumn draped

lidded minds in suicidal residence

a man about to archive

resents sunbeam entry

removes entire skies

with a funeral suture

this roam i have achieved

before but the wealth of webs

attire me more and become

wet sullen robes

days dead to me

a daily cemetery,

i'm regular carbon

awaiting deconstruction

one owner of

stupor, of bored dna,

repossess the past

with frozen illustrations

that horizon boasts

golden, where stars

appear chrome and

neatly folded

gaunt windows blemish

this gaunt day,

another circle

to wander

i'm tired of such

circular motorways,

the same old copied sunshine

coloured crematorium ashtrays

the sky heavy still

pushes down with blunt

shoulders, pushes down

upon thirst

i am built of circles

my favourite chloroform

to ease by such spheres,

repeat when

the alarm clock screams

another honeycomb

of temptation

to find that temptation

is a politician's lie

so full of circles, i've had my fill

hey november

hey november

talkative quiet

is amongst the


not one tremble,

for the breeze

that patrolled here

in summer is pillowed

abrupt as lightning

interference came and went,

those months before

fold away

how can such

pages be beyond

already? the route

of rain is not quicker

there is grey and

much yellow to it's

edge, the mortuary

hinge to a season

furnaces rooted

discontinue digging

are filled with


mellow mushrooms

perforate broken

clothes like clutches

of exposed thumbs

like whittled pillars

or tooth white tombstones

consume the language

of late summer dresses

fraying boughs fumble with

ever blonder gusts whitening

their mutter under into bark

possessed sleeps

swallows gone thru' the

steep steel clouds when

yesterday appeared wrong

with cold scowls

echoes achieve whispers

where november concerns

itself, cripples drop their

last reluctant hinges

solemn gazed air

irreversible as a minute

passes, a chrome rotten


subdue the kernel's

engine, wreathe the

honey achievers, skeletal

doors allow no one

hey november

you have the month before

enrobed in tan colours

and predatory dead yellows

come drop your final bones


oh july

here amongst the stiff

and loosened grasses

pollen hinged air and

confused sneezes,

butterflies strobe

beware the crone’s

shawl of stuck stars,

her sharp knitting kills

sodden breathes are where

the moist kingdoms dwell,

worm cities at their most wet

here the buttercups stray yellow

and the song crowded trees

full of picnic treasure

cool hedges spliced with

thrown sunbeams encourage

green spheres to fulfill

with sugar to blacken their robes

where the adder sleeps in

a chlorophyll sarcophagus

blissful upon which hot whispers motion

and the nearly motorway

is about it’s waterfall rush

no kingfisher would want


i am about with

rust, too much

antique interfering

sat glimpsing the

surf fold into itself

the mirror of it’s blue collapsing

seagulls pretend to

be eagles haunting

peeling greyness

lighthouse stood like

a white spine, where

thoughts should be

a skull full of bulbs

mobs of starlings fly

ink squadrons over stiffness

over the marram grasses

scared of what the

sea might do with it’s

oversized emptiness


there from the west

ink borders broach

the ever riled waters

a turbulent lung

wanting rid of sky

and retreating sun

that amber scar is


what stood for

childhood is

drowned where

neptune possesses

every autumn crown

deep water is worded

and wounds the constant

land, staggers itself against

spume and furious bolts

of breath, cliffs are jagged


ruin in every surge every

tug at granite root, the

ceaseless song of being

taken, this isle of sentries

kidnapped by what is

an army of rain


when the mind is stood

catatonic stillness

absurd how clocks become

faster as if the horizon of

hearses is beckoning

that fluid days leak from

calendars quicker, a pouring

of squealing minutes when

childhood had it’s vigor, now

barely blows don’t tremble cobwebs

exhales lifelessness, whose

to have their root taken next?

pale windows stared from

as autumn collects it’s bones,

those deep floors drowned with

the pace of teeming yesterdays

where our glimpsing goes mostly

into, forgetfulness and incapable, how

many swans lay there pinned

and pining for youth that went

speedier sunday’s pass mercurial

in their dash, seventeen and the

woods in winter felt peaceful under

ten thousand gnarled wrists, now at

fifty one a mausoleum of splints

where’s the tangle of the excited sea

gone? that infinite ice-cream of

forever, here is the now i dislike

most, the rummage of lust spent,

even words are daubed arthritic

spidery-sling-worths skitter upon blankness

will today’s final sunbeam that tries

with tiny golden fingerprints fade

upon that bough where a crow

crouches? where does the retreat

of light go? and go it does with such

vehement velocity

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