16 December, 2013

Monday January 6, 2014 § Leave a comment

the lone & pristine van exits
your imagination the way it came in
banishing an ancient quietness
it is a test of your severity
the way the lights climb out
of your happiness
searching the roads
an unbreakable symbol of your reticence
I get into trouble at both ends
of my life, caught, an object
in search of a subject
(or unable to recognise)
the conditions to exacerbate
and refine
my wildness
tired of secret histories
there are only secrets and histories
long miles that harbour no resentment
only places & excuses
it is not joy, but one’s
capacity to receive it that is narrowed
and diminished in the
foolish sun, and the distances it opens
with what it leaves behind
on the road


Boxing Day, #Dialogues

Thursday December 26, 2013 § Leave a comment

ravaged by cold,
& the land
what of it
tired of sunrise
exhausted by nightfall
when the phone rings
if it rings
your voice is abbreviated
your mind
summarises oceans
in the way oceans contain
nothing but themselves
all noise, no signal
what it communicates
the wet, fierce pretence
of covering the earth
with equanimity



Sunday December 1, 2013 § Leave a comment


Moving in clarified grace along
the starbright concourse, only
renaming predicaments, & the
moods they broach, poached in
the night’s enclosure, don’t you
see – I’m in Baltimore! On
the sidewalk, pyramids seem
to claw the gale, an imperial
sunrise blackened on the
wind, & words wheel like the
heart, startled over the
land, and the rain-shadows
that link the city’s coral
lights. In a bar by a park
beyond the frosted awning
a giant air-vent smotes the
dead ground, in its smoky
sibilance the livid scent of
drowned linen, or a premonition
or a sleeve of O-zone sprayed
across the railings. When we
walk by later it is without
expectation, which seems to
be not unrelated to what
you’re talking about. In the
harbor, cabs wait slyly with
the persistence of jingles that
we hear escape their half-drawn
shades. Dawn is already
printed here (its morning
already in England) and in
presence of the ocean, it’s
vast, luminous, implied
presence we are surrounded
by a silence we could never
have inhabited alone. And on
the air, the faintest arrangement
of salt.

25 October, 2013

Monday October 28, 2013 § Leave a comment

driving latitudinally
under our own lights,
behind the blue movement
our contribution to the
scene measured in an average
or the prescriptive way the headlamps
check the bitumen sunset
scattered on the droll hills,
tight as mountains in the rain
that aren’t mountains
or their absence
lacking interiors for
a moment
when the lights change
you don’t, and I can’t
we remain, you in
the passenger seat,

24 October, 2013

Monday October 28, 2013 § Leave a comment

london circles
in the grip of red memory
mannequins stand in for construction
at lightless barricades
dam the drawling city’s pale signature
in the crabby sun its
the tall limbless casing
under trees or
a smile rides like a tide
& the blanched mirror blooms
inside its own light
in the street where we are placed
we miss each other
in windows
to dreams of simple malice
the scholar tuned like a radio
the corkscrew frequencies of the gut
the heart-wave
transmitted in the restaurant’s
apricot heat
in your stray climbing
the pinnacle of euston is reached
under trees
under light
under streets
under the tireless quarry
under rails
in the shade of
your departure
love leaves unveiled
the loose, quiet century
and your cruelty
with it

10 September, 2013

Wednesday September 11, 2013 § Leave a comment

watching England    mogwai
serenading the empty kitchen
outside the window             
         an evening without light 
the rain has carried
away    fit to drown in an inch
of water
running into traffic
and the smooth embrace    sometimes
its ok to say
          thats not how it was supposed
to pan out       assume your period of leverage
                                 has lapsed
   accept the close of your imperial phase

(Sunday) 18 August, 2013

Tuesday August 20, 2013 § Leave a comment

today has been one of endless transactions
without ever becoming fully complex, only growing
less lucid in it’s precisions –

not the same thing, at all.

& even now, at a little after seven, the day’s
persistent low heat is reserved in the same senses,
received like one explanation too far, the soul having made
explicit what before felt only

a gentle (& non-binding) agreement between confederates.

& later, how strange, she sd,

that the heart (I’m paraphrasing) could be
so muffled by traffic, so much as our fictions
mute as the dawn
& I replied, and today of all days, on this, the historically
most religious of all days, I meant

those deceptions, & she stopped, & the traffic continued

& I imagined her saying the same words I imagined her saying,
only without me
& found I could not, though not because it can have been difficult,
if I’d tried, if she had


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