"Dunya"

Young is feeled
Feeled by me in the silence of ledge
Lookd at by you in smile of wishing

Young is dreamd
No(n) by you and me as its feeled
Ignored when it comes as a question
               Held in second
Crushed at everytime not knowing
Hold to everytime hoping
               You'll still guide me

Old is seen
Brushd my shoulder and
tried to be taller than me
But old is still feeled out and shows

Oldest one teaches the others,
comes out the shop for us,
crosses kissd lips and shhs and sighs

Olds how you say you feel
Older again as I'm pressing
Old and self knowing
Oh if I could tell you everything I know all at once:

       No(n) that I hid ya, no(n) I dun ya
       No(n) I had ya, no(n) I did ya

Young is how I feel
Surrounded by my books and my  
selfishness,
Looking up at you old
Feeled so weary together in a dream but alone when I wake in the present world

Dreamd we were brother and sister
Dreamd of being carried
                 Paths to rightness
Dreams where we're hidden, only to emerge in heaven

Path is cleard,
See it the lowest and the nearest and
closest path cleard for us
Path is stopd suddenly in this life
                  Doesn't guide
                  Uncleard and unreachd
Path is unthinkable

Path is signd
             Only to grow older
Path made of straw and clay
Expiring as its walkd
             Ends in an instant
Turns into a permanent dream

》》》》》》》》》》

"Near Dark"

She's so lonely...
Is she listening. ..

Getting hot
Under tunes
By the doors

The girl closest
Do I wanna curve?
Or be her

Do I wanna curve?
Cos she's slim
I wanna Be her

Groomed
Checking shit

*****


I have a history fever
A fever delusion
A fever history
The poet on the phone
Prints it
Foresees it as desire
Her bruise brother
Lousy with possibility
Is a tree surgeon or cottler
Or speaks dead languages
To make himself an archive

When I push buttons
Only rubbish presses
Energy that shuffles out the door
Into carriages
Under breath slow the fuck down
As I cross
The road is my hill
Walk slow is a vocation
Rushing reflection
The speech the clock gained
Is leisure clipping
Time-lifted
Border in pocket
Edges itself
And unborders everything
Pockets dissolve
Its weird I’ve never seen it
Too busy nodding
And being created
Too sensed
Image-phobic
Graphic challenge that rumbles
(I always return to my stomach)

~~~~~~

I’m far from home
My case in the aisle
The rail replacement wind singing its
Dark whistle along
Long stretches of road
I didn’t know I would be carried
Like modernity growth lines
The history of the item
Spoken permanently into the route structure
Of a carriage that
Gets taken empty as is driven
The transport making different the
Imprint as it changes faces
Arcade memory is signed
Adirectional messages
Nervous archive
Punctural look
Black moving image
Commune behaviour
The root-wax flickered
Instead of being breached I
Start to blend in
Liquid contained
Started to sway
The exclusive course I took stalled
So I’m being taken again
Edge-seeking and driven
At the modern levers
Being taken darkly towards sea.

~~~~~
¤¤¤¤¤¤
Words from the super mouth; bone-mouth, mouth-word, supertaste (of onions) i super eat, sorry to be fussy = fussy eater
~~~~~~

After the word saying and the lethal normality,
I went to sleep in the cracks.
The wordsayers stayed up, in fact I could still hear them late on.
One curly judge told us what the thing is but I was confused.
So confused I said ‘Yeah,’ and went on walking the corridor.

The street held me up, trapped me in canal wax
Of course, I was becoming a celebrity
I didn’t panic with the words of advice
I shrugged off the buildings, the damage inhabitants,

During a break I let my hands go cold and stopped writing forever.
Blue and black stones held my elbows down
My hair kept growing upwards and out

I take the bench next to the word-bone,
fiddle with dials until I correct the delay.
The cushion gulf cracks,
morbid cream overflows.
Somewhere
Milk washes plastic,
people untuck their baggy shirts to
Settle at the stage of the library piazza.
Nobody has had enough to eat and the speaker
Gets drowned out by their stomachs

~~~~~

Presentation brand,
like style or hunger,
cursing at the smile,
in spanish again,
backwards drying in sun,
hidden in shade of columns,
punks folded up at the roundabout
- so i shouldnt -
speak up from the bar,
purple flicks off the shaking back,
braids stuck in the alloys,
kind rubs the nibs,
stumps the paper,
streets smell like bacon and turkey,
ship store,
is to crumble,
partial scrub of surfaces,
language barrier.

Spit isolation.
Unanswered last letter,
swiped in the playground,
panned at lazily,
i’ll scurry or expire,
skulk between pole
and railing, platform,
pushed out of the slit,
decolouring paper,
selective currency of
old, lunch stains on
the prince, kiwi left
long,
acorn sternum,
aggressive break
~~~~~
If it’s on
I’m glued to it
The signal disregard
Sliding machine
Abstract mechanism
Synaptic junta
Heaven second
Suffers the rough surface
The same gulf between view and touch
I see the unworkable
Functionality made inaudible
Suggestive, attentive
In the desire gap
Wondering if the sound
Comes for the thought crisis

Comes to fall outside
~~~~~
Currency steps,
speaker,
in a place I call home,
Spinner,
listen
~~~~~

~~~~~
Fixed signs

I was also in the grip of a malady.
Or else a case of mistaken identity.
I try to think of a great non-intervention policy.
Every time I see. Every time I walk straight past.
Behind is the impression, or the cause, which is housed inside of something temporary.
The constant part leaves a small mark in its trail -
one spec that is solid in the dust -
The mark takes a concrete form, but is different from where it came.
The sensation it was born out of has to be built into
a monument that it doesn’t justify,
it being only momentary (but in another way continuous),
appearing like a puzzle, an entire picture
that doesn’t fit inside its mirror image.
And these things can never fold or turn the other way.
I don’t notice what gathers or sheds because the output is similar.
I shake the opposite hand and feel the wrong expression,
something like a missed connection, formed in my desire not to forget.
A late route wraps around the back of the heavy buildings.
Sun against glass.
Refractions move everything to bounce in liquid,
the reflection (suggestion)
of an underwater city.
The present being permanent and deconstructed, or just destroyed.
Out of the collisions which should otherwise occur
Like the sun in the glass.
The meaning inside regular activity is anti-directional,
that is without beginning and end points.
Not to say that it doesn’t travel.
I wasn’t describing something compulsive,
or that experience was like the treadmills
and motorways in our imagination.

Didn’t that illusion already shatter?
Yesterday for a millionth time.

The degree that things happen to me,
the struggle towards agency
I feel I have the perfect view.
I see the distance between
concept and overcorrection.
I get carried like a dream in the present
then destroyed like a secret from the past

~~~~~
!!
~~~~~

Brazilian sweets,
tight jeans,
news about your,
that’s my locker there
with the pull plaque,
wrapped breathing,
once things curried,
parting line of symmetry,
the hot young boy clinging his
secret agreement, holding his
lunch spot to heart,
in surf rock boys,
sounding all nubs,
tiny nib in the eye,
speaks to the sound archive,
no spit congestion,
tired reflection,
span around,
hot man at the desk,
new hairs behind the perspex,
sounds on plastic between
solid wagon discs,
if you could tell me where,
planet sitting,
but the growth,
squalling.
caffeine-addled,
smooth and non-moving,
sending,
shortening the rope system,
a miniscule papercut
stings above its station,
independent of the curved handrail,
the border network
that guides the gilded pumps,
the lump hindering the pen-drawing
horizon,
switches,
switches itself the main,
steps from,
steps into,
is identified,
as a normal rupture with no return

Oneplaced,
subsumed,
conglomerated,
too easy really the way I leave early,
make nothing of,
long wave line,
start going to hangings,
mumbletout the concourse,
pest looking for freebies
on the piazza,
police,
school band,
community choir,
oh they’ve not even showed up,
estate can’t find the switch,
treemulled into dark,
are you here for the lightup?
(In my head, the heart has its…
(silent) chocolatey… oh yes… (!!!) its shlocky…)
Not on purpose,
we need you for the numbers,
i’ve seen the wet marble,
i’ve got my sunken corruptions
nobody can claim,
smart as it is bendy,
unreal and reliable,
by smudged-thick questions,
out of light limits,
leave unsaid particulars,
need between lamps,
unstretch,
replenish,,,
~~~~~

When I check back
there’s coursers on the plain,
districts growing
stains out of sight

Bone faced dads
A mountain of silver rucksacks
Blocking the road

I jumped the queue
At the face painting stall

In the hot oil
The shaking goes on

Fun one seeks the girlies
Mission takes the overground
Starlings rock the tube
Anarchists read the room

Parcels strain
Fall from my arms
Onto the carpet

Overturned with spinning wheels
Sometimes are on fire
~~~~~

Somehow,
in surfgaze,
watching the marxists,
watching anarchists,
clearing my cubicle of scrawl,
there was sirens,
a hot too-
sunday joints killed me really,
killed into snoring,
living with delusions,
obese he says, joking,
and never find I suppose,
the pub bachelor,
clinging to his basement trolley,
by management,
swipes away,
thinks and asks,
i stopped waiting so much,
took on some of the advice i’m given,
if you want i’ve my
own reflections,
my willow song,
high pitch exhalations,
don’t understand your problem,
it’s not reasonable,
not if you how to
in London,
mutual we share
the decision,
private funks the river,
i won’t go above.
Wheres the text?
No analysis on the junctions
i whipped you round,
bored?
elastic?
I’m only penetrating
a little, barely audible
anyway,
taste and sound,
totally pointless in pollution


~~~~~