Friday 6 February 2015

Full Swarms


arm brushing arm, pressure cotton skin fleet pleasure; 
roaring under notice and warmth, shining, in hair. 
Moving, hard ground muffled through soles
and socks; aching calves, a rhythmic mist of sound
rising and then falling. A rhythmic fire sound rising
sustaining a lifting and a vein of anger. Red dominating 
with black; juxtapositions flap and ripple. 
A tickling, barely perceptible, above an ear, 
inside a hairline; a hand touching,
palm down and fully, a damp woollen weave; 
a detected simultaneous drifting of fag smoke. 

Cold and constant multiplicity of running water over fingers rubbing a soft smooth spoon.
Light flaring and a warm metallic taste, a smell of tea, of rotten damp, of warming. 

Binding purity mad goose he was better I didn't realise
give you the option hub      bub      There's a mental 
fucking cyclist going to get himself killed. 

Making its rapid way a pleasure agitation easy tumescence sniffing a breeze
against a muscular intellect & fires burn in the collision as another raises 
an eyebrow in cool question at molten justifications  hammered out
sucking nicotine & muted grainy cinematic desire a beautiful misery & feeling 
fat & disgusted & grinning satyrism blurred unfocussed vitalism beautiful
light after rain astride a saddle edged with anxiety about the time 

Near unanimity a raised arm producing a space/time place swirling through
an event, gesture ordering a trajectory               rumbling gut  ...
leaving, the talk is pessimistic and wind ruffles faces turned to each other or
glancing away in overlapping twists of unease and vague reflective furrowing
over shivering unrest anger short-sighted grumbling lengthy occasional hair's breadth skewer pricks desiring a final fucking downfall of the fuckers and a spark of loving thrill

The idea that rain is information is a kind of transcendent nihilistic mystification
and a scalp feels it teeming among follicles slogans are deadening to her 
he's feeling a force of tradition she's in front of a car looking in a grey light
a thigh aches shouting somewhere a nose aches cold & brittle lungs she
honours history but there's a chord of light there's a trembling surface of skin

personal views relentless onslaught pain in the rush to Shakespearean complexity
a head aches
              global opinion
                         challenge will        fingers slide amidst hair
                    will glow 
                             it will be challenging it will be fucked up for tired feet
a solid majority fury at a coolness in glass pressing sweaty film 

and realising that that radiant fluorescent shining across the surface of a plastic 30 litre 
container, brushed on the fly with a sensual ecstatic gasping gaping grasping 
of  damp eyeballs and electrified optic nerves will always be 
different and will never return

and passing what passes for
turmoil and electricity and
an autonomous
arse and a drifting of uncertain light and
an eye's shivering pupil and public
fury manufactured in the public interest 
and like a rush to war and a stiff and painful
knee an itching between toes

bars of near-black crossing a shining wall of air a 
              h e a v ing
   of breath

he realised we are an individual but I 
is any number and so are we

whorling starlings of her skin her moral clarity flying
with two thousand excited biceps dreams an itself indistinct 
but growing out of her enemies' fingers out of their lights and 
their imposing communicative organs entwining eight hundred 
in simple lies and the sun orbiting the earth as is common self-evident sense,
anger at those fuckers absorbed and laughed off to the bank

moral clarity expelling with abstractions of fear and hate
the horizon shifting to a side that makes our heads spin let’s
kill these fuckers evil fuckers and air still attempts to 
fill my blocked lungs as I barely breathe    he can’t even see what
he wants because it’s self-evident that the sun is still above the horizon

like this like that like the other
blank wall blank screen sometimes a bullet in the face
is a temptation stuttering in a chest and a belly clenched

an impersonal material structure of social relations and 
she is hungry and sick and scared and it is bad for her and she 
can't even see     anybody     infected with them

in a tearing night sheets are grating his skin

wind scouring body eyes black against an impossible horizon 
worlds stripping back to diamond slow moments

two vast planes of blue intersecting along a line
an upper plane paler a lower plane seeming deeper moving
each moving differently a smooth upper seeming flowing 
along a to-and-fro-ing below and a churning and upper 
filled with light lower sparkling with it would you hurl 
you between them would you hurl you 

I see what it is because we're telling me always 

skin alive with terror at last    the last     dog barking     erupting 
in the skull at the invisible unknown heart of networks of thoughtless love
it's all come to this but it's all ever all there never erasable

a vastness of eyes and 1s through a 
thousand years of penetrating
binary boredom and gasping 
beneath barely living twitching 
weights deadening dust-covered 
crushing all leaking breath
skin ossifying to a numbness 
defensive but deathly

and she used to run pounding the green expanding
fizzing with bright particles filling cavities
each living follicle caressed with vital indifference
in the midst of dimpling shivering streams of noise

caught in snagging

infected with them 
   infected crawling 
split membrane petrifying meat
   she is stone hollow full of buzzing
empowered to earn

fag smoke 
hot roads 
running sweat 
a rising fire of noise 
a clicking in an ankle 
happiness and irritation 

flames of din exhilarating fingertips
firing tongues through sinuses & armpits & bellypits
amidst amused thousands of defiances even quiet 
walking through shifting hordes of a body

all the articulated buzzing and tides of living seething blood

I swallowed and swallowing torn in exquisite contusions
ambiguous roaring in his distended gut he 
springs stumbling in shining puddles with oil and yellow light
hysterical laughter all flash and blur
all flash and blur

we are bodying to body a body composed of bodies of bodies

she's spinning in Disney in a halo of glamour of gestures of power
a hand rising through decades of primary ink and bright pixels and
is infected happily over seething blood off a duck's back
shining smooth and green in strength of movement

in sunlight she's shimmering and pulling away at the edges tattered
smiling tumbling from a pipe in a wall and rising to evaporate gently ecstatic
in blue air and a crawl of fever in her lower spine and the indistinct grumbling
of traffic hard along the Wandsworth Road that fills her eyes and lungs
with gestures and grimaces and laughing and thoughts of lunch and anxieties

simple gutter paling green waste
communication decomposing skin 
living up 
from lower to upper
      surface    negative
       stulted charge   dead air
breathing in discursive puppetry & geysers of sluggish flame
a vegetative light 
nauseous storms
    of blood muting obsession


proliferating blank
     choking out by
iron haptic constrictions 

sunny dead head conflicted & lying condemnation
do you know summat about dead vowels
she says to him how even the most fucking proficient
and articulate lie gasping amongst non-fluency
features & meanwhile the bourgeoisie get wet
for fabulated waves of raggedy others slyly 
intent on stoking up the fires of idiot distraction

to breathe to breathe but no there's no
breath a 
            tumescence of a 
h e a v i n g
  abdomen but a breathless
joy in a pair of wrists and stretched 
      tendons a 
      cat wriggles under my skin 
his skin his
  a bus
enters his body through armpits

he ingests the
 cold cant off the air and vomits air till
  bloodshot and sees 
fast & they had him removed

and his eyes prickling with every thought that ever infected him 

she used to run pounding 
running shivering  and her
     vital streams intersecting she 
knows the tendons & strength &
struggle can finally reinscribe authority if
negotiations are an even possible aim
without questioning  rarely 
she's realising 
under the weight
     of frustrations 

a stomach spasmodically contracting 
      he drips into a day his coccyx throbbing 
with an unknown encounter of obliterating
      appetites a smell of cigarette smoke rising
from his hair 
                       his scalp itching with a force of
       abstractions like exclusive and spiritual love
stimulated by cold and constant running water a
        kettle boiling and filling his skull with bursting bubbles 
and they're all here even Humphrey Bogart & Jean-Paul Belmondo

electing masters is a sick joke & she knows it
they know it

a life shadows a living hand lingering over a plate of cold pizza
an elbow joint flexing and electric shivering along a forearm
across palm to fingers the surface written with a cancelled revulsion
a calf muscle at twitch and lust spreading out from the small of a back 
a spasmodic phrasal contraction catalysing an ironic flash across a face

the quivering of reactive forces fascinates us & our curling
mouths betray a lack of clarity as combat ensues 
our legions multiplying amidst showers of flame
and we light up or discard cigarettes

a brightness of air enveloping her head 
she sings out
     in the moral fury 
of cockroaches 
              repelled by the stench
        of human flesh

I think it’s because I’m broken and barely functioning at all in 
fits so old I forget people's names ungrasping at 
a paucity of fading resources
your name and your wife and children

he feels he's going blind while seeing with perfect clarity
a friendly deprecating grin a black and white dress
a lunging forwards but his skin tightening and crackling
he can see nothing although he sees perfectly a wall of 
swimming blindness through which he sees perfectly
without it registering correctly he feels a malfunction
he's incapable of grasping his blindness more fundamental
than sight or a failure of sight as his palms are sweating

he can't do that he doesn't know
              faint smoke being torn according to reports from
the horizon he brushes against and can't grasp
      accumulated distress and fury

blue streaming  gold 
cool seconds
a weight  
of precarious & easy smiling
possible is natural
      only nature

there is 
    no people
no      magic

she loves the rising road in a pit of a gut is a warm sun of shouting laughter
gripping the sky and stars swarming across a cresting grinning life her palm
opening her fist closing a shiver resisting her shins giggling in flapping matter
a thousand heads reflecting through her lights her wondering distinctly idle

he is being tightened by a reactionary defensive spasm
struggling to contain a bone-bitter rising from toxic marrow
aching and stinging with complacent idiocies of sluggish content 
a mouth WiFied into clouds of mocking correct phrases 
with violent light scouring presumptuous ranges impeding

hair irritating ears damp stench turning around a torso an arm feels it's own weight
chills and you realise fevers you can't what leave you your station give without permission
to me the face of authority is red even in pale industrial lighting and all banging echoes 

vastnesses cloud forces drops flowing bird forces beating muscles aerial forces steel rigidity brick forces

the mighty south african working class if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck
the power of workers is in the workplace mothers and lovers
mommy-daddy-me it heats and eats 
what a mistake to say the id
if I need you whenever I want you 
chills and fever 
a dog in the road 
we’ll get through this trust me 
cheeky git haunting Europe
workers and youth 
playing to the gallery crowd
skin taut rises and falls over stretched
tendons in a neck
pleasing you were temptation 
stretch and challenge 
SMART targets 
‘ere that’s a bit excessive 
there are no problems only challenges 
it’ll be a challenge 
compliance is key
you need more close analysis 
a flash off a fingernail
leave your personal issues at the door 
like writing in the sand washed by the tide 
I don’t see any method at all 
snow lamp posts halos of light and a parcel
fold over fold 
stupid shit bosses say 
stuff your boss
what a diabolical fucking liberty

an eyeball shining and twitching faintly irritated
pupil expanding coupling to an arm that gestures
in uncertain emphasis hesitating and falling for fingers 
caressing a pocket rim then plunging absently in
and coupling with coins a head brief and vigorous nodding
lips plosive now stretching to laughter a body catching
and being thrown with infected pleasure in conjunction 
with a sharpening but ambiguous sense of absurdity 

sucking on that

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