november 2020




...and so begins the rise and fall

of all true-born bastards


fatherless, motherless

a wild, feral species


its genes left out in zero gravity

a place where no-one has a name


where everyone

is heir to those psyches


still embedded in the uterus

an asteroid, a moon


a veil of stones

nets of thinning blood


and this clinging imagination

this clinging affiliation to minds


left out in zero gravity

toying with bling and memes


and that one hope

that one, furious smell of sex


that one ancestor

who made bastards of us all...






...within the ocean's insane magnitude

there is an uneasy, aching secret


a nerve, a mask

an intensity to exist


it is the salt-mother

the emerald mother


the one who constantly and deliberately

squeezes these ovarian moons


out onto the sea-bed

such vast, white globes of conscience


they slowly rise and rise

until they burst at the mind's surface


these raw, disturbing colours

this aching magnitude


of secrets squeezed for their blood

as though somehow the heart's pulse


always belongs somewhere else

mixing and pouring libations


over the earth's emerald soul

over these unclean, uneasy hands...





                    (iii) each egg, each word cracks open

unfailingly I reel backwards


away from the exposed chasm

away from these utterances


flowing down over my hands

widening the stain


clearly they are things that began life

as unintelligible verses


clusters of sound fused together

like some cosmic radius


cutting with its knife deep into the larynx

staining reality


with this immense, dark dementia

perched on my shoulders


that is, even now as I write

dropping its egg-shells into my hair


it too once crawled from the chasm

its many mouths full of malign abandon


of words staining words

the sounds of an everlasting mirage...






...this space, this inconsolable space

can’t you see it


can’t you feel

the earth’s frozen tears


the glaciers sliding over your skin

can’t you feel


these mountains falling into your mouth

filling your words with stones


do they not speak for you

do they not reveal the dancing mirrors


the cosmic temptations

that truly drive your blood


and this eerie prescience

this inconsolable damnation


are such things even possible

for they seem able to open


and to close the sky at will

but do they really and truly speak for you


these colossal tongues of basalt

these temptations driving your words...