Prologue (4-5 May, 2006)

Saturday December 29, 2012 § Leave a comment

the indelicate balance is disturbed, riotously;
            shorthand for the first hot day of the year
uncalm, and intemperate

                        a slow move back to normality begun then
the old grievances untangled from the new
promises seen in their proper proportion

distances measured by how far you can move
in a day

              reclining gracelessly on the First Great Western
Service into Didcot station.


‘I am sick, because I have given myself away.’
– D H Lawrence

I am sure this life is no good for me, the
insidious neglect, encouraged by our providers
no thin socialist dream this, only observation –

look at me, cold beer resting on the stoop,
trying to prove a negative…


12 December, 2012

Friday December 14, 2012 § Leave a comment

                                                                         regard         the lip of rust coloured rain water
                                                                                                  in french sunshine your eyes
                                                                                                         are loose transmissions,
                                                                                                             moments of purchase
                                                                                                that advertise your intactness
                                                                                     moving sleekly off the compass that
                                                                                                                  is Edgware Road

                                                                         teeth full of treason,
                                                                             red, teary morning, stooped to the shade
                                                                                          of your clipped & martial brilliance

A34, Near Abingdon (7 December, 2012)

Monday December 10, 2012 § Leave a comment

We attempt too much
and so the inexorable march into the light relents without us,
and we are brokered in the peace
spread like heat
across the exposed flank of the land
the apricot fringe
rough, and untethered silence
and you speak into the pause, without malice
and I am grateful for it



Atlantic Weather (23 November, 2012)

Saturday December 1, 2012 § Leave a comment

If the morning is a success, it is only because of a
less than calculated downgrading of risk, & its
attendant factors, a stolid reckoning stubbornly
suborned out of the little cramped sunshine there is,
taut and striped along the building edges, a bluesy
rendition of Atlantic weather that by lunch is
orchestral. High music and low science converge in
the vapour trails, the day’s panicked accents
relenting in the encyclopaedic phrase they contain.
We are counting on a certain grace, untested in un-
certain times, and we refuse to be surprised. What is
left out of such calculations, the unrewarded
moment, surely less than its parts, that would leave
you, like the gyres of steam looping from the
passing train, slack with wonder, if you’d allow it.
Practicality is the only alibi worth the candle.

Blue darkness of dusk (22 November, 2012)

Saturday December 1, 2012 § Leave a comment

Blue darkness of dusk crowds
the junction; what would pass
for frost migrates one palm at a
time, and describes an inability
to inhabit, fully, time, as from the
right a lorry explodes in its tracks,
a reminder of the heat lost in the
transaction, & its refinement, & the
sacred quality of your hands upon
the wheel is deliberated upon, &
scattered in approximation of loss.
Later, you are thinking only of the
green thirst of morning, I can tell,
garbage, & the glib diner, anchored
in the future in passive laughter.
You ought to be more daunted, not
substitute your pale dreams of transport.
The whole circuit is narrowed by
rising finance, what we might call the
price of doing business, laundered
against a backdrop, and the entire
scene gerrymandered by the theory
of reach, whose patrons are left outside
of the light that fills your return.
Why always the need to apprehend –
there are worse things. Driving home
your exit is less a brink, than a limit,
an enticement you are generous enough
to resile from. The great difference being
that only one can be thought a last resort,
& properly, this situation calls for neither.

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