june 2020




...once, without warning, the night walked

right through me


leaving behind its transgressions

its similitudes, its sins


the fears that I became

and the dreams that arrived soon after


tumbling out of the heavens

clusters of stars gibbering with light


the darkness drained of purpose

no wonder our words have always sounded


like intruders bullying reality

insulting the millions already butchered


and no-one knows this better

than those who travel with the night


scattering their conscience as they go

this cohort of the damned


with their fearful confetti

celebrating the end of words


the end of truth

this transgression stripped of language...






...take the autumn, take it away

no-one wants its fast grins


its wily, me-first cunning

throw it up there onto the moon


where its scent cannot reach the soul

hideous magician of decay


waving its death-caps in the air

its bright-red conceits


this lover of slime

whose eyelids are always half-closed


whose jagged fingernails

always snag on everything they touch


but what, in that case

are these squealing primates doing


pouring out across space

mothering worlds


and kissing every mouth they can find

with the fevers of the autumn


can they not see the deathless eternity

watching them approach...







...it is the sun which writes the poem

but it is the poem that unmasks the man


laying bare the hieroglyphs

and icons crawling over his face


like beads of slow blood

that suddenly seem to rhyme with everything


these dreams of dreams

transcribed by stars


by colossal shrouds

of imploding fires


that perpetually eat the universe

swallowing even immensity itself


until everything begins

to rhyme with everything


and a day and a night

are the strangest of all things


and as men sit counting pebbles

to understand the logic of their existence


poetry shall as a slow shadow

pass unnoticed through the earth...