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


8 July, 2013

Sunday August 11, 2013 § Leave a comment

on sunny days
to find I do things
in my own way, &
why am I surprised
the skein of
future longing
cast like a shadow
away from you
in the tall breeze
the grass hides your
eyes like a dress
hides your breasts,
on the path, the
beginning is getting
it down which is
why familiarity is
relevant, & inhibiting
we are loose like
mariners who are
sure they have been
smiled at by the
sea when we know
better, or that was
the idea, somemnly

later, feeling the
miles like needles
under the skin by
hills that crawl
with murder

the moment’s crowded
heart is a shudder we
hope nobody else
sees at a crossroads


Tuesday May 14, 2013 § Leave a comment

At dull junctions the abandoned rosaries
of traffic stops rehearse their incendiary
tides, and your mind finds me leading
by example – my own – stowed somehow
in the day’s smart mercy. Rain fills your
eyes, like a shark’s. This is dawn, and
that is the least you can say of it, and
what you don’t mind is not what’s at stake,
that being always the least significant feature
of any system. Expressways mature
with vernal spite. Dead larks disguise their
pity in the city’s gray bragging. The sands of
the heart run over. Death imagines you in traffic.


I’m a City Boy at Heart

Thursday March 28, 2013 § Leave a comment

For Gurdeep Mattu (and after John James)

a little ancilliary light
is admitted, and
reminds you that memories are physical before they are

the city is a heart
shaded, and diffuse
jittery with sangfroid, a blip

of hindrance anticipated in the
monochrome sunset
chequered now with
the sugar lights of taxi cabs

sweet loss billows across
     the fleshy spaces
the human moment refined
     out of existence
and not soon enough

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