swept

the blow ins are

exceptional, blows

about the statues,

eyelids agape to

stillness

diffuses the stealth

of cobwebs upon stiff

hedges, ramshackles

those considerable

tree hairdos

writes with litter

swirling their corpses

upend only to dive down,

to pause then are

somersaulting again

“have you always been

this dead?” asks the breeze,

i’m always prancing trying

to undo flowers from their

sexual prevalence

trying to annoy those

kept surfaces of water

into anger, undoing birds

from their balances, i’m

unexpected whilst you

are trying to incite circles

to expel straightness

to rid sameness

maelstrom muddle

an insert of gales

the confusion of

being so still, stood

if standing could be

achieved, atoms

refuse from such sleeps

don’t stir, don’t unstitch

pausing, sloth is rushed

at with hurry, rid me of

death’s slow appetite -

however watchful

there’s not sleep enough

to permafrost waking,

bodies are a struggle of

riotous roots compelled trying

unmask atrocious winter that

delves deeply and makes

morgues of us all so easily,

am built of tired yesterdays

and old fingerprints, don’t fade

let the tornado swell within the

heart’s stubborn terrain, blisses

sweep inland sweep into the

shell’s shudder

“complete me”

towards ending

silence has

a sound a

softened noise

of stillness aching

cemetery stances

in-between the heart’s

striding, there’s a

peaceful bower where

the jugular ends and

the jaguar that seethed

once is stoic as a

slow thing pausing

i am so under that sky

worn away by moths,

every lid weather-

scripted to gasp

can’t quite wake can’t

quite sleep, out there

is a strained beam

and in-between rain

suffice the head-quiet is

a vandal constellation

trying to out planet it’s

unsuccessful burst

3.32 and crows have

managed the bough,

shrugged funeral suits

hunched over watching

gloom’s credit grows, there’s

that hollow beyond the pane

it sits like a stiffness as if

anticipating ending

the wall has fastened

to its vertical trying, 3

clocks gnawing, impatient

it seems for absence

dirges circle the past,

those glassy days are

becoming cataracts,

where does time go -

when spent? sunsets

build into draped ashes

into unspoken eulogies

where those daft spires pierce

am i a crowded-atom’s-worth

that requires it’s energy sucked

to drift wasted, broken and

blissed?

the listener

forsakes voices on

tape, deletes such

cautious vocals

a perfect kind of

falling this, perfected

whilst out grey-gauze

walking

and ether is stalled

no exhale but

scattered letters

in small written fonts

all their tiny heartbreaks

sprawled

reformed rapture

wednesdays until my planet split,

when did eyeliner die? 1996! the mourners

brought out their warped vinyl, played

until needles consumed them

bring out the goths and punks, bury

them safety pin up and two fingered

swearing, original thwarted, stupid

music now groovy-gene-pool-addicted -

not the brightest but dance floor habitual

some say those gazes were too tired to

go on with such dead horizons in sight,

reissues and bad bargains, locusts that

yearn dreadful revival in stubborn decline

cut from the disinterested stream, listening

is elsewhere, often to hearable rubbish, the

scenery has gone back to being bland, what

shone then is redundant a sucked out constellation

thought you’d gone, thought the lid had quite

fallen, late nineties danceable puppets on

all sorts of kites, heads filled soar-able, kissed

out thru by lightening, guitars aren’t or won’t

dig out cascaded, what has been frost annihilated,

exhume, i want the skies that made me dress quite

black, deleted applause bring back, reverse retired

echoes from lyrical flesh wounds, reanimate its clues

a womanly form frozen in a mortuary robe

music now full of holes of inane audibles,

bells drop, invites stoic silence invites

my head dead wired, shrieked birds ruin

every song, gave up belonging, nooses -

carved in listless swans

it was the decade that fell, full of phantom

infection and vile news headlines, remember

it well, decadence in champagne infected

pools, unemployment queued towards the devil

where did i sing too? where did i build the

oyster’s soft walls? bridges about friendships

failed, an overdose of quite meaningless

forays, listened to swallowing bass

listened to the tracks that made later

childhood wreathed and wrought, fucking

loved it, spill myself in tiny deaths, oh

that musical gasp a blaze or orchids

unfinished how i feel, certain your gourmet

voice would shroud me again like it did back

then, souvenirs and heirlooms, peeled

dead posters yellow as nicotine corpses

oh gild me, shrill me sighed and unstable

into moonbeam intrigue into brothel curdle

and cradled, it was the decade that simply

broke, left love twisted hollow and out

thought the wound grown over and tuneless,

gormless airtime shuffles the dead and

repackages the past, then sang thru into the

heart’s audible masks and stiffened into violet

wonderful reminisces, unbury what’s hidden,

turn up the vinyl’s scratches and raucous

re-risen, infuriate the zombie undergrowth

suburbs and all, dead-fly’d and stale room’d

bluish capsule pink

why be dagger’d by such offensive outside?

hostile hawk of glares radars hateful,

tendency now to go clandestine, to

stealth up ever increasing walls

do not bother my dna

what you hollows perceive as lonely

and holes to needle loathe

is elaborate sunshine a capsule self

taught and rooms itself snugly

kick out unpopular existence

the moon is a jar of pandemic

music, everyone else is dead

by name, not near to affection

not near at all and refusing love

defy the gravity of another’s tongue

i cannot be the words of someone

else, my habitual ether ritual is a

door-shut-tomb-by-rights

you out there are suffocation and

waxworks of under appreciation,

childhood thinks itself forever until

numbed by a hospice its cannula says

“farewell”

where did all that fucking life go? some

elaborated “dissipated as smoke”, there is

not enough clock left to see me thru to

that awkward door labelled “osiris”

here in blue fitful wallpaper, in

understatements of un-fulfilment,

pigments weary ailments, too much

is fading gulped by backgrounds

convinced myself a shelf for others

rapt by the heart’s graveyard gravy,

archives of who i touched and never glowed by

all vanished, half sanguine half inert rainbows now

sad room narratives a roomful of strewn,

daylight can’t wound and the clam-like

event is cosy, outsiders drift outwards

their grief almost recently flavoured

my atrium of worth, my excellent kernel, 

out there is seldom and panic perception

whilst here is a shroud of uncomplicated

fingers no observer can fatigue or unravel

you may think jagged, my competence

for lonely excelled at, but i think smoothly

and retreat into my own conclusion,

inclusive as hell isn’t, that is where i smile

lost

isn’t upwards,

unsure of and

uncertain, two

thousand doors

with no replies upon

this puzzle of

re-waking, why tremble

out there when

confusion is

starling renumbered?

there is a road

if gazed left, off

to the rhizome shadows

it goes horizon-

beyond-swallowed

opposite if glanced

it unravels then twists

to a broken town inhabited

by the broken mouthed whilst

stillness has me worded

corporeal yet adrift in

someone that isn’t else,

that isn’t myself, unacceptable

in the mirror’s choice, who

the skeleton are you?

where is what has passed

can the dead library be

brought back? are all those

lived thru minutes, corpses?

why am i stood in separate gazes?

today in the same house

i buRn in daily, ablaze with

tiny burials of living, which

minute shall i drop myself

thru?

a labyrinth of moonbeams

quarrels accusatory daylight,

isn’t downwards the opposite

of being certain, one hundred

thousand windows bleed thru -

with useless staring