april 2016




...one night an entire planet

tumbled its mass through my head


trashing, as it went, my weightless blood

angels ran across my face


tearing themselves to pieces

one swallowed its own hands


another ran over

and dropped an embryo into my mouth


I was, it seemed, at the centre of some maligned creation

an organelle, a codon, a virus


primed to track the human heart

to colonise the imagination


with yet another new, epic paradise

evil in high-definition


then no-one, I suppose, could miss

these angels disintegrating


pixel by pixel

the last moments of solitude


leaving my weightless body

the brave unity of reason


suddenly falling apart

expiring beneath the blinding smoke...





...I write for no-one but the lonely eye

the quiet, lawless gremlin beneath my face


for only he knows of the frail palimpsest

the inky skin of the mastermind


my parchment self

a farce, an agony


announcing the x and the y of life

these dim, flat halleluiahs


this mind that rises only when it sleeps

a nagging, physical melancholy


that is never at rest

that is always erupting


always trying to trawl my bones

for yet more irrepressible clarity


the one, indivisible agony

the explosive stealth of the mastermind


my inky farce

a drama reaching out to test


the x and the y

that rise and rise and never rest


this delirious understanding that seems to come alive

the very moment it dies...





...only fire should give birth to words

for only with words can there be the birth of fire


of children ablaze with the immensity of themselves

untamed, wilful, irreverent


their unread verses littering the cosmos

a world tempting inspiration


inspiration tempting the world

a lure to again re-write creation


with a knife that cuts as it unites

left with right, black with white


this erudite, reckless inferno

resonating with the insights of lunatics


those ivory-eyed princes

left masturbating outside in the unlit streets


their unread hearts littering the cosmos

a fire that quenches fire


and the irreverent generations continue to sing

untamed by their immensity


a song sung in silence

with words unable to be words...






...every day there is – and always has been – this fight

this fixed, cold appointment


waiting at the foot of my bed

an unconscious, iron cauldron


that pretends to breathe

music and sunlight


the blue fingers closing around my ankles

ready at any moment


to pull my implacable mind

down across the sheets


deep into the waving arms

a sleep that bites itself in the mirror


a lens which quietly dwarfs the universe

the unconscious iron pretending to breathe


birdsong and sonnets

and the erotic certainty of death


the insufficient truth of my own reflection

in the abyss behind the mirror


in the mirror behind the abyss...






...we have always powered the Sun’s naivety

straightened its path


turned ice into innocence

and picked its atoms from our eyes


and yet we are still not sure what we are

men threaded along a wire


our smiles unravelling time

our blue teeth gleaming with data


this proud, new hunger to beatify autocracy

the online gestapo


recycling loyalty and torture

and even though we are still not sure


we double-click

just to ejaculate into strangers


innocence into ice

ice into innocence


this monstrous thirst for precision

another digital vacuum


the sunlight’s surgical path

blurring even more the outlines


of this, our last, imperfect mystery...