skinny window

inches before dusk

in amongst

the glisten

faded dukes

and disconcerted pillars

entangle

one another's

fingerprints

a robot bee

attends to the

foxglove bells

a warbler

enthralled by

slivered wing insects

a stoke of roots

ink from the

graceful cripple

i tend your

shimmers, of

sudden tremble

an ache

arcs lightning

thru' the back

in amongst

the glisten,

of spider cotton floors

and the moths

that assemble

there

a view to roam silence

that seagull

soared window

an ease of

slow drifts grey

the solitary i

find in watching

the breeze fingered

grasses

moth appalled

webs are like

some kind of

lung shimmer

a sadness breath

that tree points

from the wind hurried

cliffs, balancing birds

imperfect limbo

you can imagine

waves in mermaid

song, i drift there

often

he'll not know

oh the trip of rain

first sunbeam audiences

then shimmers grey

worse still, thumbprints

of water wields this

sadness further

of all the days

of cold car cuts

refusing footsteps

and unlit spilt

worthless sulks

faces drear in

daily drone

i ran from the rain's

frantic aim, i am

dewdrop glister shoulders

but root down warm

a newspaper chased

by an invisible lung

a gust of fingers

dance it's pages

a coffee dash into

butter decor and

people lipped

gateaux addicts

oh smooth soil beans

with interrupting froth,

tingles throat collars

to suffer acid slopes

stood in front of

cream volumes, sin

and raucous cherry

pastry trousers

a fellow of melted

winter, of perfect

blond whispers, a smile

lit me with voltage

the gaze i borrowed

"of look away" became

magnetic and refused

every other direction

of all the smiles i

sang mine most sweetly

rang and offered

anatomical invitation

metaphor

why is my heart

rook panic?

the sigh is bandaged

then you vanish

low audible mirror

of honey thickened voices

that bees would sting

themselves to visit

circles are joined

to lessen the

holes where spare

swans of want follow

i am sugared blood,

to a spire to

soar from, to think

sexual pictures

amongst the caramel

shards of longing

ruins of butterscotch

and cold christmas cards

when you occupy the

space i belong to

shakes the windows

like cellophane rattles

star the breezes

by being shoulder perfect,

excite butterfly thirsts

on budlea cities

the page of scent

i am your creased ornament

when stood or

vertical dreaming

when the view is vacant

and there are no birds

or trees to be filled

absence is like being killed

and horizons are empty

where planes commit to,

i am clock curdled

to keep you

tonight diminishes

sit beneath a

moonlit hole

waspish traffic

hums beyond

the

silhouetted field in

fake

moonbeam

dashes

bats uncurl like ashes

commit to

insect banquets

such fine glass wings

spoken softly grasses

coerced with drops of

dew

the boughs are

arm gathering stars

a sudden owl

vanishes

watch badgers clown

distinct magpie clones

beneath old fingers

and caramel old spruces

whispers tend to

tide

in cold voiced

caresses

rift gazes

into blank molasses

and far off

spires

glistening keeps

quite still

someone else will fit

i am bone perfect strut

a perfect hole for

the sky to fit, this

mouth is forfeit

until managed

with a kill, stood

around curdled cunts

your dissolved ruin

i do not want but

a cockerel thud

it fits my stomach

way up to

the inch, pause

your words am

orally drunk to

repossess another’s

blood, up to the

neck with red

confetti, an

infected port

corked with a

brackish stain

with copious

intent,

a hummingbird

blaze across

eyelids

unnatural glitter

fits like a wick

and then,

someone else

come.gone

ignite the window

too much daylight

interfering,

clouds wander

across the bored pane

across the

yawning eye,

we are but piles of

dying clocks staggered

for soil, for terrible slumber

time has

pedalled it’s clocks

all of it’s performing

minutes are us

ever diminishing

this is

moribund

i am

someone

gone

people are

confined to

sheets

to the pages

of their sex

inches of

mind try to

widen

but ether

does not

succeed

am breathing

less eager,

compel ordinary

exhale to slow

i am an

exhibit of

dreams

in dust stricken

viewing

in blood rich

cabinets

who is to

illustrate

my sleep

when the

sea i curdle with

are atoms

extinct?

todayer

under deep narcissi

clouded, momentary

sparse and thicken

manta ray eclipses

survey their ink

clones roaming

up to the sky

stares are fallen,

weak statues in

gossamer prisms

root first murder

molecular killer,

thumbs are innermost walls

where frayed dandelions

sprawl, thistle my

heart worn wonder

subdue the window

suppress the sun's stride,

undo newborns into

abortions

unravel petals into

pulled apartness, of all

the strangled stems

the thirst is wasp full

this eyesore city

of cruel fingers,

my stillness is exact

exact as slumber

or a corpse ridden

collapse

left

if over

then let the

echo know

for i found

the shrunken note

it spoke shrill

few words

were deep

but made hurt exposed

whilst waiting for arrival

felt melted to my clothes

usurped with honey wanting

to mix within

other holes

i am candle shy of

superficial showing

my heart of coveted

fingerprints

you are here in

audible traces

i am whispered at

with noise

allow me to

happen in yours

allow me to

unfurl rampant buds

the whelming

how high will

sighs pile?

two men tall

or

one laid on

grey edges?

of sleep

burying himself

in deep subdued

inks

precipices

allow

falling,

continue

swoon first

an atom

about to burst it’s

fragile hinges

or rehearsal

for a dusk that

will oppose light

the hearse will

line up soon enough

gaping it’s doors

how high will

tears toil if enough

rain will let them?

too much too

many stricken

by grief’s thickening

scarves

sunshine in a

blacked out hospice

narrating it’s

own death

consider the

burdens of

being stood where

winter can refuse lungs

no bough is

bright enough

now, no bough has

reach towards the

paused horizon

inevitable composition

i'm not going older anymore

minutes are stood to stick

adhere their sixty seconds worth

remove their forward yearning

returned all birthday cards and

blanked calendar apparel, ignore

the hurtle of days eager to

thread into archives

refuse time as it has to pass

undo the clocks from electric

juices, keep the day stuck

in extra strong molasses

i'll not sour nor fade in among

the greying senile masses,

my bones sing upright and

gleam calcium torches

blindfold the breaking of

others watching old breezes

skirmish dust, they become

themselves antique atoms

re-sung in decomposition

i will not belong to that

stiff alert bed, i've paused

even the sun and hold back

it's withering beam

become the virgin page yet

written or smudged or scattered

upon, entry back into seed

there to perform youth

until

all people

are ruins and gone

this poem’s pointless

pointless poem

insecure with dripped words,

collect myself broke moonbeams

upon lunacy try advancing,

under is silhouetted and

dead of everything meaning

a grey table where

the head is vapour

idle is the gaze

upon bottomless floors

where wasp corpses settle

and continued massacres

pointless letters sprawl

from imprecise ink,

a jumble of tangle shouts

exhibit lines of explicit

fragmentation,

i belong to an expectant page wanting

a removed sun

without a sky to challenge

stream before river before sea

gleam before steel before rust

this cascade of before actual yesterday,

nowhere has too many indifferent shoulders

am i roaring into what’s already

been blown? there’s no amount

of shaken spleen or ire to make

the mountain dependable, the

stewing of the mind’s storm

certainly is expendable

this infuriating snowflake

nothingness, this sty of a poet’s

wasteful written, when the blood

is full of near bust turbines, there’s

nothing for the irises to glow worthwhile,

a spider with crippled ankles could

scribe better

am fluent as a stumped stem, ideas

won’t glisten, i’m hooked to an edge

i don’t want to be upon, a stunned

fly in web about to have it’s wrists

caricatured, butchered and rewritten,

i’m three raindrops short of doing

atomiser

the glance is looking less

this nursery of root dwindle

where images of you alter

residues

atoms

and final

molecules

finite whispers

hold finite breath

of silent going,

atmospheres

almost spent

no returning footprints

no gossamer inserts,

black pillows

existence

softly silence falls

fades the evening

as it bleeds, comes

a hush like aphids

trace upon a stem

and the whisper

will be once more

as she in her still

porcelain gown soars

as if the soil’s turned

to gleam by frost, where

the silhouettes pry

open intimate darks

i am a sculpt of grey

in this obsolete bed,

abundant beams are

outside trying to whiten flesh

all those autumns i took

time to collect, the clocks

that had wrist a plenty

have startled into slow dying

there comes a soot deepness

a page once written now a

tide of obscuring ink, where

shall i stray now, i cannot think

that view of walkable hills has

gone, and that path that took

me, coveted and disappeared from,

now the storm has no energy to pass

come to me thru’ wintry blast

no window acknowledges at

it’s glance, come like deletion

of spring, turning heartbeats into glass