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



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