We go to bate the jauntier hun,
the pearl that grows in the wadi.
One jaunt leaves half the team
just shims in obis sucking up toxic puds
and fingering the pearly hafts of their rifles.
So we spar amongst ourselves,
eke out our wraths in full gillie, knees against
the dashboard of the van. Moods darken.
We grow fins, detox and
finally we cede the zone.
Spare us, ay, if you so desire.
This poem is constructed entirely out of words placed during a game of Scrabble.
Your shaven pate has the hue of a whole economy
chicken in the freezer cabinet though not corn-fed
with the yellow almost foreign tinge and you are not
kettled because you do not care though you are trapped
inside the centrifugal force of this one-way system
and a mediaeval subway through which I used to pass
though nowadays I favour the sky caving in above the city
and if you with your frozen chicken skull your naked mask
were caught beneath the wheels of an articulated truck
lost east of Leman Street I might stand by you and love
yes love might flood the vaults we share those newly-minted
magnificent and sunken plots.
3:AM Magazine has published a poem of mine: The Herbals. Thanks to Poetry Editor SJ Fowler for that.
Written last year sometime, this piece now seems strangely prescient. Then again, you can stretch a poem pretty far.
In any city or text-based
practice to be confined
in such articulated coffins
collapses desire & its
Read the full thing here.
I have contributed to the Preliminary Report of the Special Works School.
This island is waiting for a gate
a gate in steel or a gate in glass
a gate stretching the concept of gate
a deflecting gate in a gap in the circuitboard
a gate that will not be relocated brick by brick
a gate not a door, not a house, not a barre
a gate that cannot be locked
on an island that cannot be reached
all designs will be hacked
the aliens have already arrived
a gate is what’s needed, they’ll say
on the island of gates
in the city of eyes
I have a new poem in Birdbook 1: Towns, Parks, Gardens & Woodland – the latest venture from Sidekick Books.
You can buy it here.
Silkworms Ink have only been around for about 5 minutes, but already they’ve chalked up a staggering 50 e-chapbooks by the likes of Michael Egan, Chrissy Williams and Sam Riviere. A vital resource for scoping exciting new poetic talent, they also run an entertaining, provocative and intelligent blog.
So I’m delighted to have been asked to contribute a poem to their latest bumper anthology. There’s tons of good work in there, so I recommend setting aside a couple of hours to peruse.
Here is Vol. L and here is my poem.