PUNCTUAL SUMMER

summer is on time

& unusual because of it

& 

in the heat 

is a hiatus of things
& 

all the muggers 

lie down with the lambs
& 

crane flies come inside

tired of the wild grasses

& 

we have ice cream

& 

nothing is urgent

& 

everything 

is 

simple & still & poised & placed

as a sofa facing

a quiet tv thats on

 

GIGOT BITUME

who was the poet
who wrote about
the beast slouching towards us all ?

cos i can sense 

its shamanic mandibles

& archaic gait

in the treeline of the woods

&

in the shadows from the walls

its breath hot as fresh bitumen

gripping its aggregate base

~

it will cook & carve & consume us

in celebration of its construction

like the french do
with a leg of lamb

HANDS BLUFFING ON THE LAMB

yes

the past has already had you

& some settling of contents
may have happened in transit

but the future is hungry too

& may contain nuts

yes


~


play the long game
in the long dusk
with rainbow lego
& poundshop knives

prophets in your back pocket
hands bluffing on the lamb
until dinner time
& you wash your hands . . .

faux famine panic
in the cats green eyes

WERD ARMY

every day
all day
is
a
fight/a vicious battle
with
the
clock
the
boss
the
soft machines limits
to 
annexe the kingdom of control
and
hold
the
hills of clarity
with
expression
and
minor
utterance
of
truths
proofs
and
reports
against
advertisers
newspapers
and
dumb generations
repeating
dim werds
of
previous
dumb generations

werd army - short hand for danger
and
a
lamb
in
camo