(then up and into everything the squall and the rest of it)

there was a part

(fruit-sweet)

of me

uncovered by the suck

           of your filling lungs

(the sound / lifting / breaking

/././.::o_) ) )  )  )  ) _ver  

                     

the white-tiled, bloodied room

(then up & into everything & 

the squall & the rest of it)

a part I will never squander

Fat man through the window bagging up his packed lunch under strip lights

storks in the arteries

the rumbling
muscle underneath
the dip of fabric
that is my pocket


<...made me answer my phone, dumb...>


a parataxis 
of ligament & bone
a dislocation 
of sense from matter


<...it is unexplained, disconnected...>


an accident
an uncomfortable 
glide of cloth
& screen perhaps?


<...a dryness of hope, more likely...>


that way (east) 
there is Poland
& the pure blast 
of Russia beyond


<...extracting revenge, short-twitch on my thigh...>


a tremor in the leg
storks in the arteries
flightless birds, fish rotting 
in their blocked gullets


<...I am ringing, not the phone...>

the boy's bicycle chain shivered as his back wheel jumped the curb

La Granada

I forgot to say, I have a poem published in the first edition of new Norwegian poetry magazine, La Granada. It's great. You can read for free online or buy a hardcopy.

the players under the floodlights

from the train, I thought they were gravestones in a moving cemetery

The Scavengers of London out now in chapbook form.

The Scavengers of London out now in chapbook form. 

£3.50 from the excellent The Red Ceilings Press.

Have at it!