apocalyptic
end of things final line conclusion
scrambling how time works learning how to fly
constant failure to levitate pushed into slow
descent
lurking in the shadows tiny closet of a room
real chemistry at work radical translation
reincarnation of some sort poems of my own
making
backwards
through art history sequences or series
silent conversations more coherent speech
find out information make up your own mind
overhaul the alphabet progress forward now
artificial intelligence an awful thing to say
discover where we are going luring people away
carpeted
from wall to wall edited start to finish
outrageous and high-handed gonna walk all over
you
forming its own structure moving through the
room
hostile to performance make the world my own
brief instances of darkness comets in the sky
laws of love and pity rockets to the moon
diversity
and access contents of the mind
misplaced sense of importance emotionally attached
exclamation-marked horizon attempting to belong
field trips and rock formations articulate
aloud
exploring unlit passages ambition's constant
charm
weathered skylights black with age spray painting
in the dark
everything
is mentioned but there is no real proof
forgotten footnotes in the text diverse community
slight differences of detail revolution's end
would have to be repeated could not be otherwise
always illness or accident inflicting harm
by glance
no taboo on looking be silent do not touch
familiar
as wooden piers splinters in every tree
expert in dramatic productions sad and backward
glance
elderflower tea and strawberry wine chestnuts
and walnuts too
dynamite theologians looking after spiritual
needs
after argument or visit things begin to improve
walk about the streets alone centre of the
world
grand
corridors of power and glass past is common
to us all
you get to play the hero then write the final
scene
conjure up demons and wizards beauty of water's
song
four minutes to cross the river secret travel
plans
chained to the gates of the palace buried alive
in a tomb
no mourning or apology death is terminal
hopscotch
involves a pattern of squares sent messages
reach mum
nobody must break the chain keep quiet about
the corpse
oak trees are safe in electric storms belong
to both and neither world
the plumbing is in disarray we nearly got washed
away
love comes from being vulnerable a memory of
popular songs
rain on an empty playing field water from out
of the clouds
individual
sequences and poems who and what I once was
tomatoes ripening in autumn sun not definitive,
incomplete
a question about interpretation the reader
co-creates
making better choices trying to find the time
impatient and impetuous not into end of line
rhyme
invasion as noble effort corresponding with
all my friends
japanese
maple in autumn sun moment in the mind
turn from the sleeping woman she is not looking
at me
scrutiny and interrogation emerging from the
self
sensuous level of perception wild laugh of
relief
face lit up softly sheds the years emotions
without cause
current theories of the mind I am trying to
get home
knots
have long figured in magic ties us all to the
mast
strings and magnets and clockwork like the
back of my hand
we don't live near heaven knowledge blinks
out of view
question the nature of music sound engulfs
the room
low light leaking from metaphor signal fading
then gone
it is all there so to speak faith structures
defeating the eye
lots
to interest and entertain things we've all
heard about
limited time high turnaround repeated fractures
and breaks
frequent loud interruptions someone has something
to say
start out with different intentions in isolation
now
at the centre of the story said I looked like
her son
long way to go for transcendence my whole being
shakes
mirror,
inkblot, shadow, chair puzzles of different
shapes
two simple loops the very same size drawings
made out of names
complete or partial anagrams a hundred empty
rooms
rejection through the letterbox interrupted
plans
always intense and personal a huge amount of
work
names have a special significance it's time
to leave the stage
nothing
less than everything private self and public
world
training as a visionary cheap teenage punks
with guns
medium of transformation the touch of a dead
man's hand
history requires that fear made several attempts
to speak
words lost through coastal erosion rethinking
the time
an occasion to see beyond this nowhere in her
eyes
over
the hills and far away music played till dawn
end of the world flickers into view stretching
from earth to sky
chronological familiarity no time left to spare
overwhelming restlessness destination made
quite clear
structure is now cellular a circle of events
closed eyes see the mirror the magic morning
is here
prayer
flags strung out in the wind mountains in the
mist
the future stood around to view moments undefined
repeated rites of passage life cycles built
for one
debris from exploded buddhas caves in which
to hide our souls
hummingbird returns to me frozen in mid-air
summoning angels to quiz them phrases older
than rhyme
questions
to be answered dead husband in her dreams
apple and orange on three sticks
spring greenery and flowers
evil eye and borrowed pail speak ill of absent
friends
never struck by lightning burnt with a blue
flame
straw torches or small bonfires what we have
never seen
all things turn and spin and change
restlessness resumes
representation
of temporal aspects their morale was intact
someone will get it into their head the intercom
might have failed
down the lane past the houses the sheer chaos
that war brings
blear-eyed google and squinting
makes physical demands
draw the same line down the canvas
trample corn to pick the flowers
self-disgust and unvoiced rage
out of the house for hours
sunflower
waiting to bud in September a kind of refining
move
specialisation producing restlessness
the next turn on the right
try and upset our way of seeing
digital photographs and film
doodles on small bits of paper
blown up very large
my office is a dining table parent to all
these words
fifteen squares in a dark tunnel
reports from another world
trying
to write an alphabet with sand in a busy rush-hour
street
a city of the future got everything it should
twisted circles make a chain
be sure that it's complete
writing an imaginary letter
words glued to a sign
hang a string across the room
photocopy the world outside
ask to be buried out of doors
where the dead and living join
unanimity
of opinion only increases mystique
this thing could peel a planet
a crescendo of yells and leaps
slowly squeezed out of the picture shabby
symbols of life
large slabs of polished black granite heads
studying the floor
derangement of the senses
looking filthy and sad
further riots would follow
spearheading the new sound
versions
of songs with similar tunes another burnt-out
old ruin
a kind of recuperation at work this piece not
conceptual at all
pointing hissing and stamping
next morning blind in one eye
real things were distant
reason a weathered stone
surprise blurred by vibration
everything in the shade
biting their thin bony knuckles threshold
of heaven and earth
we
have known adjustment illustrated tomes
collaborated together
working in various styles
often a good balance to be found visions of
magic and string
intelligence taste and feeling known for disturbing
the peace
hoping to receive an answer hands and arms
above the head
do not doubt in asking
futile gestures and signs
x
marked on the treasure map information is unique
people want us to have attitude start unloading
the van
invisible drawings in whiteness we'll never
work again
barely noticeable atmosphere
sound obscured and transformed
unbroken skin emits a high pitch drowning
in its own tune
prayer and liturgical activity always looking
down
yes
the moon is full tonight planning may take
three years
open space is the best use of land
treasured and lucky ground
ecological concerns have been voiced
tidal marshes must be filled
leaves only when he chooses stones in his
or her hand
timber platform or extension dangerous starlight
and dreams
a call to prayer for the living spirits gather
as well
z
what we use to symbolize snores
constant access to the noise
little stabs of happiness smiles reflected
in other's frowns
retire and live in lofty seclusion
two feet dragging slow
surface rather than chamber unmuscled as a
child
a recording of past and specific place
neither human nor machine
a far away hum of voices beautiful as last
night's dream
