Tuesday, 6 September 2011

From 'Here' - 36 & 38


36.

Bring some money in love when you come

           Morning light stuns
                     shining curls billowing city steam

         over towerblocks

She sleeps  sleeping    a hole in the side
         like Christ
         though to give the quickening breath not end it.

No mad morning pre-mourning but
a threat still swirls dimly, a soft mist
shading a stunning winter’s morning sun.


38.

Though end stunning a mad sleeps hole in

            Sleeping but sun
                     morning threat quickening dimly it

         winters pre-mourning.

Give Christ  stunning    soft a still love when
         come not
         bring but a billowing light a some threat.

Mist you shading towerblocks a
swirls some a when money, mad no a
city side over shining morning steam.

Thursday, 1 September 2011

From 'Here'


33.

A browning wave amongst pale air
‘Shipyard workers clash with police in Athens’

Two now
              
Six per cent is thought to be impossible Be
reasonable and demand it anyway

Clashing, interface skin close in affectionate struggle clutch

Batonning headfull of whiting battery blood A rough rustling of a copper’s tunic

Gentle
            responses     wrestling with laughter

whirling drums in eyes
bleeding blue concrete
quick weight crack
bloodmouth

eyes     wide        flameful

Wednesday, 31 August 2011

Sasha 3


Untitled


Transitions

It is merely recognised.
There is a dog plus computational power.
A warring body is shattered.
Food is poison.
Power is reduced.
Fingernails, sweat and hair are unassimilable.
It is merely registered.
A series of organs in combat.
There is, simply, life.
A red globe is drifting down through shades of gold.
Flesh driven by outrage.
It is stripped, to bare denotation, of imagination.
Power turns on itself.
Consumption is destruction.
Power turns in on itself.

Tuesday, 30 August 2011

Only all Beyond none


Realism  Be realistic  We
are in a ditch  Be mature
A mature strategy  I am
mature (You are immature)
Be realistic  We are in a ditch
Mature is the good  Realism
is mature  Be grateful  They
talk  They listen They
disregard  Be grateful  I
am mature  I am good  I
am transcendent  I can see
Be grateful for me
We are in a ditch
Under a tower
That listens
Be grateful
That disregards
Be mature
There is no
outside no
beyond no
Be mature
Follow me I
will take you
into the tower

Water 22


Monday, 29 August 2011

From 'Here'


53.

Turbulent dark tides
returning flashing reflections

A malevolent fiction of consistency,
sclerotic vicious infection He is
dragged towards obedience She is
pushed, legs wracked
         Cast
         Encased
Dependence fusing with the requirements of an economic elite
whose idea of flexibility is a shuttling carbon unit at minimal cost

She’ll be grasping light, she’ll be eating it
He’ll swill great gulps of cold air, of warm air
They are undefined by metastatic mutations
proliferations of prostheses
preferring not to, playing at betraying
spreading and threading through
an immense shifting labyrinth of concrete
brick steel and glass desire
finite and endless