A Gap in the Distance

A twitch in a cupboard    a dog’s red eye
the mystery disease of its stare    its constancy.

A murmur outside at four o’clock    which isn’t
the wind      sounding within this everlasting
heat    hunger in the tap.

The way grass grows in the room    & under
your tongue    a constant hum of hours    as though
everything is covertly related    even to a lack
of insurance or credit    what you owe to the air.

What the doorway teaches you    what is scary to pick
or unpick    music of an argument in the garden
what rattles over corpses or seeds    wax coats
melting    petals as flame    murmuring    an assault of
targets or delivery trucks    waiting for plain day.

A stay of execution   when necessity won’t shine your boots
the peace process is simply a process   the snake
is now under the bed    the dog goes wolf    what has
always been your own myth    or someone else’s
fret of a tap half-turned    smog growing in your
mouth    telekinesis as the bad attitude of objects.

The mind ajar in the morning    restlessness when
your hip pocket has been forsaken    like star shine
& the ages   a letter arrives with blanks    forgiveness
isn’t saying sorry    it’s unfinished    the wind is a snake
is leaves on the ground    a process    burnt roses    as if
they are natural or even were    the bloody dawn
the things they do & why    you were beaten.

Acceptance is a process full of blanks    & eons
snakes & brown petals    breezing past the gate
a dog dreaming    shaking despite    because of a gap
insurance won’t cover    the murmur in your heart
an ancient galaxy that exploded    long before
you looked up towards the north    where the dog star
rises at this time of year    your heart scraping past
the window    & a leaf has stuck to your shoe.

Something moves    something always moves    a child
is crying in the distance    but closer than the sun.



Magic Hurt

It seems like the outside is fighting.
All night wheels go round.
I dream of ice as though it’s cold fantasy.
You know you’ve forgotten something.
The chatter goes on. Uncertainty is
kind of fun. It’s like test cricket. And rain.
There are no amends. You could rant
instead. There’s an ecstasy in the nothing.
The window pane proves it.
What’s the extent of hurt?
Something more for the scorecard.
The real time is the wrong time.
You know we’re making this up.
It’s no dawn chorus.
The cupboards are whiter than that.
I have to hold down the fear.
It’s what keeps me going.
Have a look at us having a look!
It’s twice the fun.
The air is magic. We live in it.
I put on my shoes. That seems logical.
The labels are hard to dispose of.
A bit like advice. According to
the maps it’s getting worse.
You’ve even run out of melancholy.
And goon. There’s cloud for a while
all kinds. I tear open the package.
I start to eat. It sometimes works
without a battery. Singing is better outside.
The machines begin.
They startle me with their beauty.



Re. Composure

Peel me some language
taste my reflection
stretch my skin with it
stone my composure.

Swivel my orange
expose my meticulousness
crawl through my electricity
flick my bloody awareness.

Somersault my disturbance
comfort me with amnesia
love my LED at midnight
recompose me.

Defraud my surplus
defray my averages.
Junk me junk me junk me
with possibility.

Test my day with an iron
rejig my fortunes.

poet's biography —>