grief is lead

caught on the honeysuckle

a backcloth sunburned

by lightning

cornflowers of sleet

gather on a child’s palate



might be like earth

breathing a nightgown

of mould


revelation is thrown

through a millennium

of seafront propagandists

while the courthouse

gondoliers the waiting

three by three in caravans

of catacombs

that slip into distance





novelty moves like a blackmailer

backhanding pistols in the likeness

of next year’s garret


feinting and stunning to become

a pall that shaves and guns

a shambles of thorax


in the insect of a poem

mountains sit like fowls

clocking the broken turquoise


seconds cackle by to coronations

of boulders in headlights

seen through cataracts


there is prophecy here for natives

in the yews that lurk

and the tinctures of sloe honed


staterooms winked on bedspreads

an airline of creepy-crawlies

riding on the sideboard


their lifetimes simultaneously

implied and poleaxed

along with ours





once in a while a rose of apparition

moves the blade to the nub

of a limb like a comedian


come to the rim of a shackle

that breaks among the strata

of its sturdier fellows


a prince might thrash towards the palm

that oscillates between two sunsets

a mourner daubs a broken day


the critical monk wallops his fear

quixotic as the belt of a windmill

blade in the turn of the headwind


a corporal is seconded to account

like a lunatic lender watching

two kimonos lilac against a backcloth


colour downgrades itself west and the air

is louvre-filled like cards falling between

a footstep so certain under the bus





an intellect

of coalition-tories

stymie each other


in the fens

the wheat-like drain

of a restricted opus

and a frailty of sex

in the turn of hearses


on the go-slow

we discover the regulars

the square youths

crawling in like light-years

as the season moves

statuettes in the politics

of implosion


drumbeat and drumstick

white in the baffled distance