You are my bones


A red beam passes over your
measuring the night as it slits
our skin
and sews your
with mine

A vehicle passes by our window
at 4am, a surgeon looks in, hovers, then flys off
blown away plumes of cigarette smoke blown away into metal
across the sky
watching us sleep, handing our skin shaped spirits
to wolves

That shed great light
into the universe

Where masks are torn off
by the sound

And rubbed between hand and mind
as our canine scents shatter
the landscape
allowing us
to go back

Deciding which rhythms shall bay
Deciding which opiates
to share

Upon all four
and upon all countless
blue eyes

calling for hyper white cool loving hunger
replacing their
blood with

Electric skies burn throughout storm hammers slamming down
upon human soil trees bursting up from root until they helix in
molasses dance until the street lights blend in
and pits of crowded street SNAKES-ascending! — within waltz and rain and eating the charming heart

Giving this city its last bliss and song quenching pores
bursting within galazes of stomach killing stars our rightful home
our axis born

A mouthless mouth
a rouge
your lips tasting

A mercenary
a grace

Handing the data back
handing on its humour to the children of mercury boom

Trivialising gale as the buildings blow down into dribbling roots
and they break teeth as the moons jerk towards us
liquefying peace, soberness, madness, clarity
and architectures
of completed touch

Courtiers of long slept war, and the street’s sweeping machines
die with logic

And the dunes that hold the sand from bay, from the nervous and carnivorous sea

Down here, are both one

One steam
one mirror slams and weeps so heavily with morning that even the magpies are no longer black and white!

Several steams are this juice running down our skin, as we wash beside each other and the tunnel to work
shall now stop growing

Two caves exchange laughter
teaching each other
to stop smoking
nicotine clouds
your knuckled fist latching the highway’s wheel
and saying which way it goes

over coming


Or at least
winding the window down
telling the road

it has nothing to say.

And the stars they

Shoot each other faceless
as they hum walking home through infantile dusk

And the slimness of a fox skips past our headlights
primordial mind
giving life
to the wounds of sense
and the torture of bliss-

The piano keys apex
and we just
floor the peddle
my love-


sun falling
into lap
all the featherless





so simply



running dog chasing wet bullet
each one pregnant

each one
a metallic pup

each named in the farmers flock
each near my dear old home

the restless sheep
a poem
of shy white calm
loose geese sironing to the ghosts of flight
memory of the swarm
nd heroine wings
of genderless touch
mileage of timed drunks
infinite ease of 1990 beer cans, rotting still
and a man that knows how to sleep and scream at the same time
(or tell you that he’s learning how to)

all the gas needed
all the gas polluted
pulled into exploding

networks of sad floor boards
sat upon.
and dreamt of.
a man walks upstairs

to prove
he has a cross bow
up there
and the colours of a mundane
take shots at the rest
and the rest is softer than
snow landing
on a casino

after close
where you learn
what gambling is

-and after

and after-

& peach in the final clouds.

& penniless road home at 6am.

through to april morning again.

the croupiers smile

has no end.

our best nights salute a slim foil, benvolio piercing mercutio
a love that sings as you sleep, a play
your window
life changing

tastes changing heels
to undress

where there is this pause where animals speak
which is more
than time

tossing back the worms
from concrete
to womb like soil
where they danced from
in the beginning:

“-Shall we go?” The Nightingale asked;

more to the eastern moons
than to the creature
of complete skin
in her beak
and pathway,

up from the marshes they flew
up from the river bank where the water seeped into local grass
from the onslaught of gods relentless sweat
the Nightgale picked up her companion and they set off western

up to the peak of the moors where the fields spill out from themselves
like blurring rose buds opening within blurred crops
and towards town lights in smothered flashes of night horizon

we’re walking back from central London to the east my love
where my balcony over looks a knackers yard
sleep of upturned engine parts and axels leaning against thick tree
and bothered car pieces gazing from the pulpit I rent
and a building named the gherkin can be seen and the night likes to sleep close
linking the morning smoke with the pace of day light and the back streets
that I walk to and fro, consciously, just to burnt out, organically,
so I can end it all with movement
and the graffitied bricks and sensations are ignorant and silent
and make good company for that reason

a monarch butterfly

flies by.

body of unfixed part
floats gently across
autumn yard

the linear, the fluxive
and eternal

a joyous
and open fear!

one organ of magnetic
beyond shade

simple hybrid
closing face,

and friend
and laymen
and master
and field of the never home
of no control

sun raining with music
behind moon


Always one animal
that remains undomesticated in the back alley
the one, you’ll really need
when fighting one day, and loving there
only one insoluble heart
left behind, when sky
has reached white teeth limit
and your face reaches
for another
rocking cage
with unstable hinges where
wearied dog
of lust still thrashes against it
rusted side bolts
and lucid wall of home.

its heart will only know- the whistle of death
and cannot stop it

give it gender-
and its eyes will flap open
like black cupboards in nightmarish dust
give it name

and it will only gather back into ball,

going back
calm into-

come zero hour
where there is none but the action of unthought pulse, the blood

of thought-that
bone, of twirling limb, a sleeping limb, and resting need
that protects your soul against the battery of sullen city
field desert and country-

perhaps nothing conquered
perhaps we cannot breathe – but the siphoned gasps
we have
may turn us
into lovers

steadied by step
of bone upon living street, vibration of unlimit
and then
we are there

the only rythm
we can hear:
night formed from hip, gesture
and mood

Today I
placed our religion
inside the office

was a song
and some kinda day
and your brightness changed the walls
and the elevator came down
and opened
changing the floor
the lights bore you too, just as they do

Unless a duck floats
back by waterloo, just one
mammal, who one knows such things were given to us with
silent humour, his head keeps on dripping into the river
showing us his feathered arse
for a second

and the seasons have no reason; and I know your wardrobe a little
and the pulse is here, and the city understands
and learns to dance
with us, we

thought all days were passive
and that/ it all happened
to us
and yet

the neon was wrong
it was careless
of it to think
at all.

Two shadows can never ask for any more.

new limbs

suddenly come.


live again

ripped parts



with no attempt
to make

any sound.

since what is here
is so deafening

and what is here
is our union

within present

without any






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