writing poetry on an antique typewriter

 orange glow
on the paper past
a silverfish flicks on the grate
the heat burns
my cheek
and I write
 I write only to create

 how complete
to be wrapped in flesh
ruled by Venus and Saturn
dancing over Earth
 like a lighted wick
 expecting to be blessed

 if I could fillet the lie
and remove its spleen
my cat would come quick
for the reward—
 a taste of the notochord

(this shows how far we have erred
                             from the path)

 my back is cold
it is that time of year
there is nothing to fear
still we grow old
older than our clothes
 old into our particular doom

junk post

a very very thin membrane
wafer thin, like
a shaft of sun on the eyelashes
or a trumpet sounding the blues 

the sun wheel
belongs in the home
from whence the spokes emanate
into a thousand chariots
across the heavens

open nose
fast faucet

the memory of
the conversation of a river
would keep me happy 
through any torture

they opened my legs
and peeled away the skin
how interesting to see myself
am I in pain?

"I am not my body—
you cannot destroy my song"

in arguing for this
I disembowel myself
for publicity

I publish the essay
to discovery only
the fat survives

peeling off the laughs
like old enamel paint
the ships enter my fingers

disclosure
comes
first

ϜΆΝΑΞ

let me learn latin
to learn latvian
 learn latia
earn later
 arntr
nt

 the later day seints
   the rather dry farts
arthur cluricue plickett
  fantasia in A
 god bowel
dog bowl

 We're all in the gonlangd
  the epices worthy
ashguard essence etix
 arx ataxia
Wanax

Vanguard gravy fanguard g
(g)abby baggage job
the tide swallows
 every muscle
in the
bay

dead cat. pax. afrika
the flavourful asset
 nice skivvy ornament
circumambulation
my neck

egg isotap. spanic gag (indigo)
the colour revoleves on an axle
of aspic tregearth
the roman mysteries
articulated
     
                        wound

 gristly grindstone unwaund
the handle slowly
turning argyle
plot of

eart

a lenz opend.
gladly inkd.
gaudicle ningalu
aspic ea
mustard.

grassroots antelope spy
 feisty vagabond street
  nigella apartment oh
 fagus albion
Pi

crass lined paper post
card. attack. dog eye
velvet penis I
ymplacement
in may air

egrerious greg gig
grey's egrerion gig
_______________
______________
_____________
 __________
 ________
  ____

camera obscura

up against calligraphy
the pen is wild

a narrow child
of obscure lyric. [time in a jar]

don't detail
the orders
the bridge
will be built

don't inquire
after the deficit
all the debt
will be recovered

the san destruction
will be sonomaan
Russell
in a club hat

Same difference anyway
but it should matter
to the party line

as it grows in power
near to the darkness

bleeding nose poems
 fear of the dark
  there is wax
   walk in the park

work safety here
walk

solid root
downward plunge
going down
into forests


nothing had been added
 to exiled artists during the War
in Paris

I'll never be the President of France

I wanted to be
some sort of Poesy
but look dans mes mains
they have colluded with the sky
and in the future when people ask
I will have to say
it was all about
an eye for an eye
I cry you cry
and the faithless gone travelling
without hope into the void
growing into the emergency
a big daddy to make things better
how did they manage to hold back?
I was too easy a target for them
a painted figurine
upset by the golf connexion
a millennial, come to collect the game
grey haired and limbs locking loosely together
the forest fire human being
grey smoke rising from the temples
limbering up the mountains
                         in a polar fleece jacket
public attitude like a derailment
when i come to you I am not really myself
but that is how the train feels
going ito the tunnel
none of this makes sense.

In the future everyone will know
will know what it is to be me
they will ladle me like soup
good honest broth
chop with cleavers through my bones
portion me out
dice my heart
this will be good
if there is marrow in it
it makes good stock
this is the old advice
it can't be changed
by some new novelty
a crash course in life
—predicts—to be fair
I have not lived enough
it is better to wait
till the end of the show
to write a review.

Jeremy Corbyn reads Shelley
in the chapel
into the microphone
courses Shelly's voice
like a cold mountain stream
like a Hymn
like the blood of humanity
animating through time
all the hundreds of moments
when the heart stopped
and skipped a rhyme

4am 8.6.2017

Descartes in Day-care

the old fart
pushing the swing
asking if it's his turn
his cloak muddy around the trim
that's Him.
Arguing without care
about the colour of his snack
the time of his nap

Descartes holding court
in the toddler room
he wants his bottle
but a baby's got it in her hand
the pale white fragile thing
 held aloft—foaming at the tip
it can be traded for a crust
and time with a toy
a bond of trust
is established that day
at 32 past 4

the smashing of the towers
the dragging of the babies through the corridors
by their hair
the wailing. the derision
all that would come later
for today Descartes
is in Day-care.

like magma

got a shuffle on.
got a shuffle on.
like argonauts
gracious,
loopy
being labelled.

microidia fabulous
inhabitants
of genomes and
present day cityscalps

embolism microbe
moist unweathered
fast fracula.

the true cubit macro
calculated to cut into
a metronome node
tuned into classic radio

instant argillaceous gravels
nematodes and flatworms
the horns of a ram
entombed into stone: a trident

the last latex Renault
hung like Foucault
got to go..
.. into a tar-pit

the dark chords and tendons
that prop up my corpid form
leave hollow
the body of an instrument
the shell to sound the wind
a pulse flickering
the pilot light
of a distant beacon