on poetic composition

my word isn’t blood or milk

spilt or symbolical of it.


i’m cut by what’s

remembered, what is not

& the gap, a flat windy lot

that rings like wooden chimes.


for days, as mice play in the cracks

between my toes & fingers,

i lie in the hollows or high

billowing like wheat the colour of hair.


there’s nothing to it – the massive meditations

of sky & mountain

where i hear myself, think.

Still Loving

The quiet eye


our ankles,

soft against

each other;


idles in

the under-

ground tavern

I sweep

in my mind,

deep into corners

and back


the wall.


I see


and heavy

jaws of the dark;

a few words

sifted, careless.

I’ve seen them.


I’ve seen you,

fly into a

man’s eye

and out again;

nearing the rope

I keep

in the cupboard.


Distant now;

a thousand

coloured balls


across the



Out of the room

I see you – white;

splash a bee

on the brick-work,

kick on your back

and see me

at the window.


14 February, 2018

the doctor will see you now, Mr Lazarus

tonight, rain; the white

flap of pages



the winding of the stairs



to sleep of this, the roar

wheels. of sea. so wild

to think it.



to understand.


a place to go/

crave/ to hold the still

beating heart.



Horror. Slept 9 hours. Rib

cracked, head trashed of its

contents/ was I thinking/ to let

my guard down, sink, be filled;

fall beneath you, everything;


& after the rumination of toast w marmalade –

think. Not think but something akin to it,

like you’re setting cushions on the sofa;



& with the house quiet like this,

it can be done. The workers out back

are cool, w their chatter & the clunk

of wood on concrete/ feels

like the world is born, dreams

unwound; slowly lived thru.


You might trace

the eye-sockets

of enemies


settled in the folds;

curious samples of feet

– the duck


or elephant tramping off

the hem of the cliff.

I loathe a modern home


set to cream on cream;

a sterile soap pinching

corners; eyes have


no place to comb.

I like these cheap hotel

designs; the remnant bins


a hive of animates.


5 February, 2018

Sunday Float

Hungry for this seal at the ears,

I roll in the pool.


It’s long since I shut you out,

tipped my face to the sky

and swooned.  I hear


the dry spheres of my breath.  Only,


under me: the avalanche aisles

sweep; and the graze of the whale,

less ethereal in the flesh of open sea,


terrifies – sepulchral, and metal-grey.

I remember now, it broke skin

to the left of me – I wasn’t afraid


but that was a dream; the symbol:

life, conquered there

at the strange pier;


and me in the water – bleak as it was –

without blood.


February 5th, 2018



What do you do when your arm’s

torn off. Your mother’s fucked

or your son’s made to suck your cock?


What do you do?

Because: this will happen to you,

even if you live in America.

on organised religion

Christian, muslim, jew – god is

(let us grant it) but not how you mean it.

Is perhaps but as an abstract, not

a real person, a prime mover,

an architect, actor, an interested

party; a master of history

traversing the linear time-line

from zero to eternity.


There’s no such god.

When I was in Christchurch,

this guy was handing out leaflets.

I handed mine back & he said,

‘He’s up there watching us’.

I walked on, said nothing

but it came to me later –

what i should have said was Liar!


Because it’s true: there’s no excuse

for not knowing.


Who gets to write the end line

in our poem; to lie, at last,

suck their wine by the pool

when all the chores are done?


No-one sees the masterpiece

hung but you kneel dutifully

to swallow bread. Like a girl

or a good boy should.

everything in this room is how i want it

i’m content to do nothing

substantial. it’s better to chew

my fingers, use a torn nail as floss

than submit to the dross of

sharing my day with you.



flies listen to me, are in tune with my

vibe; the mood (i’m in) to

kill descends suddenly,

& shut


fuck up


lay still lest you die.


this one fly

flew round the room

a good few times

before i drew my sword. at


that it sat still,


so i let it go.