Standing in the shade of a lion statue or ode to the temporary Schoolchildren desultorily leaf through emails and posts Lunchtime on their collective mind presumably as it is mine When a person is a faun they’re expected to be highly sexed

‘No Alarms’ could be said to have a strong tentativeness: in tending towards a prose poem, but not becoming one, in tending toward cutup, but resisting the difficulty of that for its own difficulty (of writing this good poem). ‘No Alarms’, despite its multi-directionality, finds clearings in the mind. Its strong sense of style helps, […]

We’ve gone inside with the bluebells, literary bluebells naturally. I am in your shirt pocket, where I always wanted to be. New Order plays somewhere outside but

I drive the boat to the shack and do nothing like knitting a Hole in the buffet table and other Tasks that need mismanaging I wake up five hours later for a tootle to find Icecream in the fishtank and the phone ringing

when I get what i want i worry go off bleeding into the Dusk lean my hungry Head against a taco Truck, nibble till i’m fit to bust on service Friendliness. independence

A wife looks at her husband; a treefrog at a modem. They view the bush from a comfortable position: enjoy wifi

Didn’t think I’d hear from that man again, but then there was a message in my inbox. Within five hours we were in his bedroom. His hair is not computer hair, it’s straight and black: turntable hair, old school, calligraphy brush hair.

Where they once ate camel grease (and before

when straight friends change teams / when something that appears to be a nest isnt. because the drive, because the expansion.

There could be anything … elongation of a spear Needling To a sphere they think, mind suffused with honey, i reach out, hes a dead man,