Thursday, 25 July 2019

breath-play (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Writ across my face
in silo the compound
arch is made 
out of bitter missives 
off idylls bleached into 
gantry singing 
tied up in sad yap 
and revisited as guest 
having no charm of quark,
are the burrows of your
comradeship lapel
unworn for the 
cipher school turned to 
papal kisses one by 
one to build the lagoon 
whilst white bonnet 
renders sympathy out 
the jurors 

Wednesday, 10 July 2019

Bite off a live European chicken’s head?

 Bite off a live European chicken’s head? 
 Bite off a live European 
chicken’s head? 
 Bite off a live 
chicken’s head? 
 Bite off 
a live 
chicken’s head? 

Saturday, 6 July 2019

the foot of green life, bad AUS (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

A mantle of suet, 
to wear charm school
 on threadbare 
 mask to gull have the 
face in laissez-faire
patsy, a soft touch 
as the garden of old school
  is biddable remember 
in sotto voce easily 
in an upstairs crony room
the public-space gurus
 are on new artificial hillocks 
    pilloried to roam freer 
favours hot arse 
down under turning 
to skilled predation 
with brittle alert 
     the admin cortex
   break given as 
bellwether smite 

Friday, 5 July 2019

una casa en el extranjero (I wont pay) 2019

Card, foam card, ink, paint, sniff, paper,
 Astro grass, fixtures, coloured pencil, spray on grease

Wednesday, 3 July 2019

Ode to Barry MacSweeney (DRAFT/UNFINISHED)

Professional investment
 may be likened to those
 newspaper competitions in 
which the competitors
 have to pick out the 
six prettiest faces from 
a hundred photographs,
 the prize being awarded 
to the competitor whose 
choice most nearly 
corresponds to the average 
preferences of the 
competitors as a whole
 so that each competitor 
has to pick, not those faces 
which he himself 
       considers prettiest, 
but those which he thinks 
likeliest to catch the 
     fancy of the other
          competitors all of whom 
are looking at the 
 problem from 
       the same point of view
 it is not a case of choosing 
those which, to the
 best of one's judgment,
 are really the prettiest,
    nor even those which average 
opinion genuinely
     thinks the prettiest.
 we have reached
 the third degree where 
we devote our intelligences
 to anticipating what average
 opinion expects the average 
opinion to be
the ritual of the scapegoat