HYPNAGOG MUSICS 1 & 2

1

the glass people
in the telephone hole
are timely saluting

an iridescent magpie
in the maudlin mist
of hospital hill


2

the tactile ache
of times balustrade
hurts like whimsy

well
beauty is an augmented riot
&

age a manicured dish rag

OFFCUT POSEY No 357

in impromptu affirmation
on the patchwork lawn
of straw & sod
& the guts of ruptured plums

i announce -

i believe in dirt
  & its weeds & leaves
    & the fingerprint bark 

      of the trees

& then i salute
an airmans salute
for the concrete cairns i built
over the graves in the clay

BIRDS & THE MOON

 

the moon is
a neurodivergent godlet

& they scoop the tides
in a regular rhythm

hanging there self evident

in the blue sky & the black

no matter the boot prints

we trod into their face

& i nod to them

& i salute them

like i do with

the yelling magpies

& the murdered pigeon

i buried in our gardens

burgeoning animal 

cemetery plot 

ABOUT A CLASSIC POSE

well i dont
but want to

salute the smokers
lighting up

backs bent
cupped hands

heads down
outside b&m

& that first billow
steam train size

of chugged fumes
eddy tugged

spirals wraith like
on the grey-white wind