This one built on a bed of stones
deep dug into the earth, cemented
with water fast squeezed from their skin.
This one read the stones in order
their wisdom essence to extract,
found a potion recommended
highly called Love to bind, designed
accordingly his house. This one
saw the ground upturning just
before the rain exploded upwards,
pulverising his foundations,
returning his thought to chaos
but deciding him one thing: if this
be love I want no part of it.

this train: the disappearing towns, their gunpowder sensibilities, their frantic telegraphics, their pleated outskirts, the billowing fields, the rustling corn, the sun-crossed hills, the winding roads, the gentle woods, the sluggish river, the quiet farm, the smiling sky, the silent clouds, all resolved into a single line.

Before, round man, uncle-aged, linen suit,
foreignly sweats playing a game with stick
of a girl, offerings, smell of passion fruit,
of banana, papaya hanging thick
in the air, tenor laugh, handkerchief out
to mop brow, warm glass of tonic water
bloatedly bubbling, teaches her how
to pray, straw mat, hands clasped in hope. After,
thin girl, blossoming, tries to smile, to crack
the dead man’s sperm still sticky on her lips.

Reclaim once more this plot of land
this swirling wind these grains of sand
which fingers smooth will make sublime
from circles spun of space in time
this mouth I touch these words I hear
Remind me what I knew was here—

above the road, and the desert, like the mosques and churches and temples in young settlements, tower the pylons, chains of them, the highest points for miles around. between their fingers run wires like nylon thread, a vast game of cat’s cradle. we do not think about them, but they power our houses, our light, our kitchens, hotels, hospitals, infrastructure, government, factories of war.
without them?
forget the rest, pretenders, here are His hands, here are the mouths that spread the word.

I don’t want to stir,
I want to stay here
and wait for the night
to come headlong and
silent slipping onto me
again, cold, a salve
and a tranquilliser
slipping into circular
arteries under knotted
layers of muscle and
bone crushed slipping
round, down my flesh
and the memory of
yours, desire, refrain
of circling birds that
claw remembered flesh
naked and nerves shot
throughout my brain
sparking buried short
circuits, connections
fused rigid into pins
and needles, teases
my flesh into a smile
and a flash of stony
teeth, laughing like
Tityus and Sisyphus
thinking and feeling
numbed, stoned into
their heads by day
and the myth of salt
pillars memorised for
nothing, carved into
stone yet presently
obscured, relief, out
of sight in the dark
wanting nothing, just
as good as forgetting
now: everything still,
and nothing wanting.

[Published in tabourey, Oxford 2003]

the most tragic hour in American history.
“oh my God!”
low-tech, high-concept
your armed forces are ready.
Charlie, we do not discuss intelligence matters.
Menschen springen in den Tod (people jump to their deaths)
AMERICA UNDER ATTACK
more than any of us can bear.
“I saw the plane hit the building—” (tears)
and it was all live on American television.
“The whole building has collapsed?” “The whole building has collapsed.”
Freedom itself was attacked this morning by a faceless coward. And freedom will be defended.
…the stumps of skyscrapers…
We will find these people.
the inconceivable became banal, at the end of the day.
(Hiroshima. Pearl Harbor)
there will be higher levels of surveillance… we ask for your patience
Solidarität mit den Vereinigten Staaten von Amerika zeigen (to show solidarity with the USA)
“this is the car I hid behind, it saved my life”
on les appelait les “Twin Towers” (they were called…)
in our prayers and in our thoughts
1-800-BLOOD-88 / 1-800-GIVE-LIFE

She is scarlet searchlights in the blinding gloom
She is blood red blossom bursting into bloom
She is a fire wave in the midnight sea
From the shore you’ll sight her ruby gleam
A crest of crimson carp, of sparks and hearts
And wait:
She breaks: she’ll touch you in the dark.

I would like someone
If I could have a chance
He thinks in his
Little espace-temps
His eyelids are heavy
But he needs a new drink
Something distilled from the mountain dew
So strong it evaporates around each taste bud
So pure it encapsulates him in unspoilt white
And in unsoiled white I don my halo
Charity, love burgeon and blossom
And hug at my heart
I have wings; my heart too and beats them
Till it lifts me up my head lolled and my limbs flaccid
Dangle from me and you will be saved
I will arrowhead my thin buzzing cord
Ever humming to the heaven
And when I sense the clouds hang ether under me
I crystallise and all time with me until my soul stops thinking.