Thursday 15 December 2016


In a cloud of light, a drift of smoke 
they see it, they see a projection through
shining winter hair and laughter, 
not hiding so much  as extending 
a sense of solidifying music in a
very major key. Everything's fine
and growing in the warm summer 
lucidity, a frozen bare-legged stride,
a pirouette, a warm sophistication. 
Just 20 quid and there it is again,
stretched across the dirty brickwork. 



Friday 2 December 2016


They're not sure if they want significant movement or 
space in which to quietly enjoy their own self, or
both, in fact, variously. It's nebulous, 
but in either case and both cases they need to
couple and uncouple and couple again,
whatever it is needs to be built and will
reach out as they say, to some sort of 
other thing. What is this scenario? They are 
a movement with a projected potential and a
light, pearly grey and unrecognised, 
within which they move, suggestive of something
that affects a quality of movement. 
This is something like what they want;
it seems both easy and almost 
impossibly difficult, this utter involvement
out to the farthest reaches of space and
all substance and time for that matter and 
back down to a sensation of a slightly greasy wall
against fingertips, along with a sense of 
unfolding differences affected by choices
without the interference of a fascist establishment. 

Some Assembly

They move towards a new 
themselves, plugged
into a shining romantic 
grey-black surface, 
reflecting two 
skintight legs & there's 
a smoothly passing 
hiss of bulbous shadow and 
bright edge. They ache slightly 
to be at the forefront of a past,
of lights in a wet city that echoes
with a cold, night, satisfaction,
and they may get some faint
tremor of that kind, maybe, 
across a perimeter and through 
a forgetful burial in necessity
and information as they 
move towards a new themselves.