The other side of this pearly globe is

in flames 

There is white noise in my head

Screaming like there is

something holy locked inside



Lick the flame off the root of the

ancient tree, drive the hoof into the

burning sand, Suck the sap from the

chalk that rots, Kiss the belly of the

bark that leaks, Twist and turn

through flaming waters; hear the

reeds sing their last lament before


 Everything turns to dust








The End



This one was my lungs filling

(or) This one was the reflection of my

lungs filling

                                                                              in

The stillest lapping of smoke on the

dashboard of the silver renault clio

smashing through thai summer rain.



Taxidermied. Stopped Dead. Temp-

Mort, Dead-Time

The last frame flickers, the cellulose

nitrate disfigures and burns like a

cigarette butt pressed into the cheek

of the car interior, of a loved one.

Just out of shot, out of the frame, the

iphone camera blurs, zooms in; a

nostril, a chin, the endless grey of a

motorway, and murmurs



An exploding sky. The day you turned

to dust

                                                            

           I learnt to read the constellations and you were making

fireflies out of the greyest, bleakest, 

shittest of evenings. The flattest

landscapes turned mountainous,

corrupted and erupted. This was the

corner which I found you that bleak

night w/here, w/hole,

my eyes adjusting to the darkness

making constellations from dust

specks on the blue office carpet in my

shoebox apartment.



How can the dead be so perfectly

alive

– on the bathroom floor

– in the shower

– cold tiles against thighs

– Inside my swimming goggles which

left an imprint on my cheeks for 3

hours

– In the swimming pool

– in the swimming pool changing

room



The corners of the pool are filled with

detritus, bodily debris, sand and grit,

dust and plasters. I find it oddly

comforting to focus on – blurred and

softly shaking like the atoms in my

belly that glide through the thick

water, ‘I am detritus’, ‘I am detritus’, ‘I

am a piece of shit’ I repeat to myself

like a transcendental meditation. Ahh.

Thats Better.


The winter light was so bright that the

water became nothng but a glow, and

I was hurtling at fullspeed through a

tunnel of night, upstream, downriver,

to the top of the hill, the deadzone,

with
zero sound or wind or wifi to be


felt for miles, that exhilirating freedom

of nothing-ness in the otherwise -


oversaturated,and,accellerating,swipes

wipe,deadend,loveless,minimumwage,i


llegaltenant,barelyscrapingby – better

on drugs – pissed – up – life-

Oh, beauteous power of nature, I roar

into the airwaves – to delve into the

deluge of the slips and slime under

the mossy enclave of a 1000 year old

tree where weird and monstrous

creatures are fucking and flourishing.

Thats where I wanna be. All slippery

and sublime and out of this world.

—–

All Power To All The People !

—-



My lungs expand with smoke rot, the

belly carve, my name into the fleshy

underside

Of a tree we planted in your memory

The soil packs around my bones heavy

underneath damp skies