July poems cover

Savage gropes under a raging moon

When the clientel surmise, the chaos glows
all of our time is made from form, I stand alone, swearing through a whistle
and let the background unite with this midnight dancer
her name is my soul, my money her tickets
the river range contorts a whip and a pole
there’s the howling and the beat of the underworld

just two lies in a bloom away from the desert street
she caresses the wilderness in solitude, among the dance
i leave my mind in the peace of vulgarity, unable to look away
none of us toast, except within the presence of this club
the crow-cats collapse and
there is no succour except within this den
my last collide.

Unexpected river

Today a repose: a storm
and all countries bleed steady
the march where we held the fields between our hands

and the nature of the trees, the lightening made from our breaths
is where the world grows
and meets our rusty waltz.


With the eyes that stole time
there is among your charm a glimpse of death
not because our families are different poems
or because their singing meets different applause
but that all animals are poems of the myriad
and that the scavengers daughter
has brought home a jewel
that stands above oaks
that quell the sun.


I gather a day
let the rockets break down
some good bad blue red river
knows flight inside its hymn
his and her long long destruction of grace, a place before swimming
none of the river gives a damn, and the damn came and went a while before!
the jack-houses and memories spread their dirty wings.


Along and down a knifing horizon
i walk home to a city aboard a train.


All along the cement grill of the canal, London flows easy
and the men made birds slipping into the water, never
hatching more than a stroke of time
hunting spirits in a cigar.

Saw you when I was shaving

slappin me shaver on me palm
come on come on

tuesday is friday without you

then a few jobs come through
push the metal across me cheek

the owls are still flying
the dogs are still baying
the cats are still screaming

i open the shower door.


There’s an opera among the moors
i’m late and ready for thunder
inside rain and soil
rigoletto, dostoevsky, hidden fire, flying fox
marionettes in the darkness catch my face
wardens in the small lights of the village below
so lit…
and departing
where the chorus is written
and my song passes on.


There’s a river named obliterate dancing under the sky
her street names our odour, and collapses among
the fury sea many swims away
a long canal box where I
light a face inside your shadow, call out in laughter
standing on the lightening, unmesmerised by the shaking hills
and there’s a porch made from the wetness falling
where a crucifix bleeds your lips
on my shouders
and intoxicated the ghosts rise from the river, wailing
steady and united by the flags of old armies
always asking for a human to join them


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