bl[ . –
/blood circles breathe
no relief
a fly / a thunder
bolt —- in the pale
chemical
[all time is eternally present]
like waiting
watching a film
in your darkness
of living
[/stone roses
breathe
but they have
no eyes]
//hey, “
[good to be
alive]
/cold metro silver lining
caterpillars dream /
inside
[a sea of nokias]
/at the turn / of the
millenium
i was a fly circling
the rim
of a cold blue
halogen
/there was lightning
in the freezing
air
a point of view
the lengths you go
to fuck yourself over
curled up in my headphones
to disappear
*
the light lies
strangely
on the indescribable
car
Julian Assange
stays in prison
I burn out
my eyes
with sodium
hydroxide
it’s a bloody racket
it’s a delicate
it’s a mass grave
dreaming
of a field
of semi-
luminous
paper flowers
it’s a point-of-view
caving in
the quiet [molten core
hopelessly entwined in the oscillations of this world – like a bee, heavy with pollen: magnetised, stumbling – from flower to flower, over the quiet green ferns of this star
hole
there’s a hole in my chest
where my life used to be
there’s a hole in my head
where my head used to be
there’s a hole in my bed
where a friend used to be
there’s a significant hole
generally
there’s a hole in Krishnamurti
when he talks about the whole
there’s a hole in the whole
there’s a f**king hole which i
can’t work it out anymore
not working
might be time to leave
the gap
the voice that tells me I cannot love. the knowing unknowing. not knowing. love moves like the form of coastal lights, eviscerate. bodiless. invisible movement over visible water. knowing I cannot love, and yet loving. not loving, not knowing. adoring; lightly. like magnesium: flare in a blackness. vines you can’t see yet adoring. the suggestion. knowing this is how it is don’t let it sweet-talk. gorged on the honey. you let it sweet-talk. what is the use to talk of love. why do you only talk of love. talk about those dry preserves. talk about war. the usual: hunger without object, closeness without touch; inspiteof touch. there is no man no woman can be touched. but we love we love – the bright pixelation. the departing. the temperamental artefacts of the heart.
bloodfall
bloodfall
in the blood-light
like
of butterflies
detonating
their guts
into the vanishing
motion
of light
like of
all the street
and all the
sirening
love-bleeding
gut-litter
of the street
its flowerings
drawing me
in closer
than before
alone
at a bus-stop
death inside of me
death
inside of
death
I hallucinate
a delicate malady
I get mudddled
through a muddled
muddaly
I would like
to love
or love better
I would like
to disappear
my how I think
I know better
my how I
would like it
to be over
euphoric death rattle
of the exploding universe
doesn’t make it
any easier
doesn’t make it
any fucking easier
a green shoot
breaking a stone silence
irreligious passion
of my blood’s sugar
a love flutter
for your hateful eyes
<
stepping outside / you feel
something
of the weight
she waits by the car — the mountains
go on
15/08/19
somewhere
between love
and the
blue
pixelated
catastrophe
of love
with all its
dark bloody
undertow
getting louder
there is the
serentity
of this
street
with its
stars
whispering
of holocaust
and its mirrors
beckoning
Hieronymo’s Mad Againe
A single light reveals a radio on a pedestal. Voice quiet, unintelligible. Gradually the volume is raised:
Radio: …whole kingdom to be contracted in one brow of woe…yet so far hath discretion fought with nature that we with wisest sorrow think on him…together with remembrance of ourselves…therefore our sometime sister…now our queen…the imperial jointress to this warlike state…have we…as ’twere with a defeated joy…with an auspicious and a dropping eye…with mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage…in equal scale weighing delight and dole…taken to wife…nor have we herein barr’d your better wisdoms…which have freely gone with this affair along…
From behind the pedestal, a sword flashes out of the dark and splits the radio in half. Hieronymo steps into the light.
Hieronymo: So much for him. Ha!
Lights up to reveal a hall of black mirrored surfaces; pillars, a throne (etc). A Goat seems to graze (i.e. as if there were grass).
Hieronymo: Ah. How came you thus, lad? Drink was it? Woman?
The Goat stares at him, defecates.
Pile of shit: I have nothing to say and I’m saying it. (Sickers)
That’s poetry y’ know. (Snickers again)
All lights out. Inexplicable sound and sudden illumination of a paralytic silent scream. Sound and illumination out. Dim light up on a pillar along the periphery of the zone. A figure crawls into the light. It is Hieronymo: in the semi-darkness he is almost a shadow. He weeps.
Hieronymo: O God… God –
A noise, as of a door clicking shut. Hieronymo shrinks against the pillar – listens: silence. Traces his finger along the floor.
Maybe I’ll find myself amongst the stones, maybee…
Footsteps sound through the dark.
Weiss? Weiss…? (slips into reclining/delirious attitude)
Ah Weiss, I am glad you have come.
Watch over my body
while I sleep –
the night has been so long
and I am cold, weary . . .
Weiss, if they come for us whilst I am sleeping
let it go by –
don’t do anything rash you know –
nothing to be done, really.
Should they come –
nothing to be done…
Blossoms drift from the darkness.
Ophelia, is that you?
Come, I’ll not speak a word.
Nay, look not so pale –
come, come…
I’ll be the rose of Sharon for you
I’ll be the lily of the valley for you
Drowned Sailor: Ah’ll pu’ mah dick in the owl
A Drowned Sailor leers out of the dark. Hieronymo is contorted – a silent scream.
Drowned Sailor: Better get it together, lad.
So little time, so little time . . .
Exit the Drowned Sailor. Hieronymo grips his face as he would vanish into his hands. Lights up on Adam and Eve; the light is golden, radiant. Hieronymo observes from the periphery.
Adam: I am naked, and I am unashamed.
Eve: I am naked, and I am unashamed.
Adam: Let there be commerce between us.
They kiss.
Hieronymo: Away! No more –
They take no heed, becoming more and more involved in their kissing.
Enter the Goat.
Goat: HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
The lovers are entwined. The Goat defecates.
Pile of shit: CUT! CUT!
Goat: HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
A giant raisin hovers into the zone, murmuring:
Giant Raisin: …for I am the arrow…the dew that flies…
Inexplicable sound
Goat: HURRY UP PLEASE ITS TIME
A Poet: And O that summer light
O the leaves
O –
The lovers enter a paroxysm; one can no longer distinguish where one begins and the other ends. They have become a beautiful knot of flesh, twining itself together and tearing itself apart, hovering in the zone.
Hieronymo: Go to, I’ll no more on’t…
A dithering hunchback (a delirious mask nailed to its face) creeps aimlessly about the zone.
Giant Raisin: …chatter-t-chatter-t-chatter-t-chatter-t-chatter-t (etc.)…
Ophelia (naked) runs screaming across the zone, leaving a wake of flowers.
Chaos ensues. The goat weeps, yelling ‘GOODNIGHT! GOODNIGHT LOU!… GOODNIGHT LADIES – (etc)’ between sobs. The raisin mutters inanely. A butcher runs in gripping a live chicken and decapitates it on the pedestal; a jet of blood sprays up. Meanwhile two men in suits have brought in a cross and are crucifying the poet. A baby sits on the throne, wailing and bashing its fists.
Hieronymo: …it hath made me mad
A blackness gapes from the knot of flesh: it is fixed a silent scream.
THE BLIZZARD OF ANTS
One night Mr Ibrahim went for a walk through the blizzard of ants. It was the mating season. A fine exchange.
Pausing beneath a streetlamp, Mr Ibrahim observed a dying horse in the neon rain. The horse shed copious tears. Just then, a man of the Bilge dressed as a leopard strode out into the light. WHAT IS IT YOU ARE DOING THAT YOU SHOULDN’T BE DOING? Said that happy man of the Bilge. Mr Ibrahim, said nothing. WHAT IS IT YOU ARE DOING WITH YOUR LIFE, YOUR LIFE? WHAT IS IT YOU ARE DOING WITH YOUR LIFE? Mr Ibrahim said nothing. WHY DON’T YOU SPEAK? SPEAK. WHY IS IT YOU DO NOT SPEAK? DO NOT SPEAK. DO NOT SPEAK. SPEAK. WHY IS IT YOU DO NOT SPEAK? Mr Ibrahim said nothing. They both looked at the dying horse. GO HOME. Said the man of the Bilge, and was consumed by the blizzard of ants.
It was the mating season. A fine exchange. Mr Ibrahim walked on through the blizzard of ants.
poem for lost keys
burning
slow
my dog-
like
imaginary
companion
one foot
in
and
one foot
out
doing the
hokey pokey
whilst
angling
to be
exiting
a back door
out
of
life
would be
nice
s’il vous
plait
mysterious
universe
A LITTLE GREEN SQAURE
In a small rectangular garden, beneath a sky of infinite blue, a man is directing a lawnmower around a green circumference of grass. At the periphery: a small dog is barking. A woman is sweeping on the slabs. As I watch I feel I am in a very dark room, and I think I am screaming very hard. The dog is barking hysterically. The woman is wheeling her arms. WHAT ARE YOU DOING, I cry. The man and the woman stare. THERE’S A BIT O’ CHICKEN ON THE FREEZER, SHOULD YOU WANT SOME. I say. The dog is running in circles. There are faces everywhere. I DID MY SUMS. I GOT A GOOD MARK… Sunlight is caving through the branches. The blossoms are crumbling like stars.