July 28, 2011 § Leave a comment

a conch that smells of sea
laugh and say it’s the hymen of the ocean
throw it back to me
our sister is laughing
her arms are swollen

oh to always be in the fresh old town
as brown as earth and fat as dough
pig latin rolling into attempted italian

here’s a phrase:
and only one.

it speaks by me
fly back baby, with the wind behind you
it’s the only way to keep your cool in a jar
the sort, a higher plain
a grassy part of citta alta. boys stream

our sister isn’t sane
the words on their shirts go on, and on
the trees weave shelter. lambrettas shower the wall with dust

cedar, seasalt

claire’s art:

July 24, 2011 § 2 Comments

brought life to the litter
grave. a hummingbird
coated in atlantica
the colour of cohen’s coat. to
smell of adjectives, splatters
of burst paint. i too, could be a poet
had i the wish to give new life. bring forth
colour. wrap the arse of the world
around my finger. i lost it on a red roof
somewhere in siena, a lady is sewing her nerve system
back into its nook. a bird hums and the sea
is not near.

they’ve moved the whole of europe to america.
i never know which name to search, for


July 24, 2011 § Leave a comment

and I do
and I do and I
have seen the moon eaten
by the man opposite
the busbell. out flew his web
it floated white. I have
a friend I have her shirt; on it, an image of a snake
wrapped around a bear
with a milkshake, under a pine tree
and the whole earth about them
watching. hi, I miss trains
and show identical freckles to strangers. come morning
my nose is leaking into coffee
I can’t hear the headlines for the trombone
the wasps are about. the grass
sheathed, are growing seeds. soon
they will be twice the grass, and
shade the trees
and spit bugs into the house. ‘vrrrrrrr’

an engine, on

Where We Were:

July 21, 2011 § Leave a comment

Of Reason:

July 18, 2011 § Leave a comment

the cage of reason wraps its third party around the fourth opening
-blast, it’s gone
a freeman, noticing, the wheat dining on sunshine in the windy, windy

the mountain talks back, into a forestophone
a commune in Lombardy makes destination
on a whim: I’m en route
a postcard presents church, child, alps, dinner at nine, bible
the belt, the belt, the belt

four men play cards at a blue beach
the sea is coloured sand
canada comes up, to them, and puts her tongue on the table
-train me
one trades an ace, and a king
the king is crimson, and sad

I’m far. arches come, my bones leave town
the children are taught manners
we eat pasta. the appartamento is cool and gracious
the child throws the cat over the balcony
and into the ending
a football follows
when we arrive in the street neither
are to be seen. neighbours cast eyes into pot plants; I

pluck a white hair, to
soak up the street. I’m there.

when i was a folk band:

July 17, 2011 § Leave a comment

people listened to me

i travelled

they came to see me

i opened doors for them

they listened to me

i had wisdom, i was a folk star

i lost my hat;

i’m not a folk band anymore

In Rafters:

July 15, 2011 § Leave a comment

insulation is
sweet sweet jane

and in the morning, woman, breakfast
are you a man? not to mention
sweet jane

if you’ve kissed a girl
the sun shines for you

and it rains too- buttercups

sun junkie
if heaven hides you, head down here
we can’t see you

we can’t see you
sweet sweet

it’s all lyrical
on a bicycle, everything flashes
like film reels, inter

smoking won’t kill you
living will

Don’t let the Sun

July 11, 2011 § Leave a comment

catch you crying
let the moon catch you

trees like a grandfather’s face laced
with veins

look down on them as if you are a giant, nothing more
nothing less

bonny, bonny
things uploaded and down-

here’s a word to make them

Where Am I?

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