Wednesday 13 May 2020



Of a smart new tent
or in a state of localised impunity
push on the fence line 
watching you birdie like wild
grow the balcony where we start
to count three, two, one
sniffing courses of festive line
looking for the close-ups,
want to watch them eat a testicle
we are told smells of sausage
returning to watch them
on the fences you pot that mad
dead adult near perfect child
impress the bunker
makes you feel that bypass
over cleared checkpoints
door re-opens says
now that was a tracking shot


You tell me authorised 
personnel only spills rooted 
inhibitors as by
tying or wrapping
touch this stock with 
speculum brand
the blurred caloric engine
is a poncho emergency
on the perimeter of quarantine
or homeland


You're on the balcony
with those model dream hands
running out the petrol smells
are those future
kidney transplants
your children need