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151. on the common they pay a man from the military to push them to nearly breaking point and keep them there until they meet euphoria when kneeling assigns the strictness of guidance testing configurations which morbidly shiver endurance-wizardry stamps entanglement IDs there are a squad of hazards – pain, numbness, buckling snaking under cheeks with trespasser densely unfilled motions starry pinch-points on torsos under duress appear the long thigh is a dot-to-dot horse's face artily denominated say an assemblage dramatising the story of rode stench a grinding balancing act ecstatic beggarly does hum the manifold body referees pushing pain through detached from any ongoing mutiny and croaking players crown slapping their subject limbs the barrier is reached all corned beef colour and jubilant celebratory happy vomit victorious upon a neighbours plateau


101. forgetting to masturbate because i fell asleep and now i have to wait all day the foundering fashion for it going unanswered missed dismount potential recurs disproportionate i am only movement through architecture of come


dwarfed pocket figures in window building equations a clambering pedigree adding more rival person transporting a weight of an exercise expanding this live apparatus exposed at cross-sections paranoid in surface areas in series a prescription for unlimited bite walking glossing on account the crowning non-rogue rogue bidding secretly wholesale cutting charges to size an armour recruiting wreckage liquid jeers gas fret


150. a woman brings her baby to work and all i want to do is check its pulse the colour chosen to smarten, encourage morale is orange the ginger piss closing bridges towards duller endurances the steerage white still showing underneath an original basis membrane tacitly remains a mottled scalp appearing in a new bought bow pinched in right-angles the trunk square ducts need the gift of millimetres networks whistle twinge the blueprint squares contuse inside each nappy fix a copped sooty packet skids in young-old ties the newer smooth farced blue or aqua green stencilled logos pulp on glass - climax svelte clean light is stuck on the organisational prong and watchful a shinny blithe morsel drips into head hair core scalp baring dribbled-on roots what staff are and were in a fortnight's time


104. there’s the one in charge with the big cannonball tits and the other servers who are all small and pretty who look to her as mother first, and a boss second to update my stare i come in here bandwidth crossing from truck muscular to daring slipping petition-still into that personal continuum with a cowardly shrug or one mumbled word, a smile squeeze open that welcome biographical instrument air nearing forty and unlearning how to talk what to avoid of people and to drop most opinions now the reckoning of any decisions and doings pour as little proud argument and create no exercise reportable only is progress the intro and outro of public being a lifelong application for a refund just a mad contestant and costumed youth to drop off first


149. they stick me out back to clean as the smiley girls rotate the mince and talk of penetration not a meat taker, eater, or broiler the great turmoil of these rode machines cutting franchise and shoulder, limbs all must be cleaned for tomorrow’s race a grip - it is a hell to burnish death tools to make peace with the smokers of livers grease – that lucid square – coats it all spreads and pauses as commentators do attempting endings lost from their life globes the brains and skull ‘bone-harp’ expel an inane pitched medley – in reflex grey horns herd in rifling bins orchestras snap, affix as wheels bluely turn detectives, in eye balls slobber as gloop slaughter house dials creasing via burps bleach hemming carcass mounds parked unsteady


144. letting a woman of fifty wank me inside my trousers for news on the girl i love (– though it isn’t her daughter) in attention and no notice to take irregular air with recent same poses at pounced at showed prices given fleshy breath work at three tutors per student a mauled octopus junk spread the plinth of my pelvis an erection stock pinching in oars by oars axis you row a novice rate moon hard fetching stringy grilled fat coals white hot nibbling at the horse in callous terms barbeque under your nails as the beach party dims


stepped in cloves yeasty ale watchtowers this grubby ear sound as a wall of collapsing nods the waves peering inland remember standing to help us be deaf


that good sea with hems for both pisses


148. before they take the cling film of the buffet misfits close to bread are cameras and ears for ringleaders a missing child or scratched bitch is polite and contractual swaying research will occasionally deliver ‘so much so many but so few’ compacted still us watchers by a draw-string force deform memorising queues for channel loves heaping bullish affection, rakes sort studying the sampling craft that carries away matches is done wardrobe burying journalists persevere with details weighing ‘spectacle’ at each reception a wallflower and their crude mechanism keeping store saves lives plotting their suicides a tin and abortions in a jar

exhibited in

as dance floor interlopers and free agents spying fetishists pour every woman is a morbid cunt fighting to get at carbs this special day is license for a brutal one


106. a city is as big as the village of your regret to be sentimental and re-entangle muscles paddle in the old sweat pools clinching fretting pass by those continuing on selves about town, an ending left there pursuing the present, pitched holding flowers or termite many-him on a loop our taskforce out there populating corners quasi-mechanical and studded with hot sun plantation fighting storage protesting memories we cut the cord on play-out turned guts loping through garden squares shooing us on these dots on maps will swell open as held sacks markers lowered in and still turning – by hilt they are their own death carriage looking at me for mind to pack away


146. your obviously sleeping with your landlord but excuse me because weren’t we supposed to elope attached is an impromptu radiance - the glow your clothing is bankrupted by it with a fanned deck of prototypes all trailing your walking host the nipple rosette pinned to #model one with a cold calf's stitching the got free breast is wired to the board in green and blue spraining collectors gawp their thumbprint rage drilling whole romantic cities men in the open market amongst pads of envelopes, stamps touching words press harder at what obsessions confessed those gradients sent into stamps and postcards into a steep drop a jealous sport into paper gummed sniffed they all cheated but what was her particular shuffle the circuitry question of emergencies and sideways fucking develops until there is no lovers left to include


107. after a mental breakdown you need a job and i find one for not much money and no one to talk to, and no point to it scraping flame irish they all have voices paid to hide work in the roof of smithfields where i hollowed to keep my transmission alive in those domes time feels cannibalised inside the copper dumpling the duty is thick moves ever gradually does the green insect air the most personal thing is metal going off battlefield surgery – and as gorily prolonged those unshielded and exposed in vivid spectrums watching violence as decoration skip and spit. an acquisitive spread of ions and colour in riots, an exhibit madness my hair stirring to curls walking the threshold with slipper slit pigs upon their shoulders how they all die in character and death is a scaffold a paper letter alongside as meat lanterns


our red blood cannot be ordered any more


145. i heard the electrician on the landing tell his apprentice ‘i didn’t think places like this existed anymore’ summer and the three pleasant months numbered unnumbered days gatecrash in all commodity – oil, water, truth – saddens its own party tinged, evening with air arrives sold and irresistible a muscled pet moving in, then out... the sash window up then down recoil from work doesn’t begin flask poured, match struck narration it happens though only fiercely now, harassed to quit rage-commentary persists as spots do ‘chocolate pointing’ there is stuck life in me and it revolves with the seasons as these continents – mattress, cushion, chair – can items must be turned put its other edge forwards, to shift and mend, get comfortable manipulatively easing out of fixes from last quarter’s sakes heavier is their black denim bibs and hats, cloth-hair capers stroller flies fuss with dissection readying for their feast in the garden, decorating what actually sees us decay now the years don’t grab.


108. it wasn’t so much she looked like my mother but she had the same skin, and when she put makeup on it was worse because they do that for the coffin don’t they women have caught up are old as terror


and every day we have to refuse ejaculating some inside neglect tears flowing wine hot and telling hands on the train home passing each other gifts to aggravate compensate trains of people glimpsing expectant possessions, cataloguing fuckability our indelible assessment is grazing those about us the paddock pen and pasture places putting those appealing, outrageous, dull sounding is the split gate the sheep flow bumptiously through in buckles, their hooves or lemon heads clip the metal tarry i am at the hiccup paralysis any filter organism is built upon the test of us animals without prey - seeing deniability and being alone with it longer


140. when i was young i saw the peacock crying and twenty nine years later she reappeared as a psychiatrist with a lot of books and many fabrics. player manager protected

that clasp

though a pickpocket keeping at pickpocket’s length that is the coveted device upon the back securing borough and mayor


the flame with the crackle his raindrops for a sentry comes threats of thunder and they rattle


aloft in snob-orbit an arc of tenants


atavistic crinkled lidless those bottomless eyes a whole tin of regency swiped always in reverse she goes foot across hot-plate-foot an allegiance flipped come at with a dagger once like being dethroned none are pretty unwinding eminence a knot of pedigree backing-up a pudding at the edge


110. last night i took marijuana to a knife fight and woke up happy being rimmed by a stray anatomically in parts trying a case an everything hand is the dawn unrolling a sun slither heisting ears and cheeks in gentle golden feedback on-the-meter fleas randomly unpicking combinations it is not awkward waking with more than one breath matchbox grubs on the bed and one on the chair men after a night out against stitching


abandoned laid outstretched accordions in denim baked into my shoes and socks and rattle and hat the hellos of the classroom and late trench cannon sound instruments of sweat run cats in kerbs from the anus the two tones of shit licked from a corpse suggestion


131. in a cafe by the thames awaiting a colonoscopy how listening is listened-over their stooping heads as at shutdown sundown lowers shopkeeper lids chatter beneath the solar finality folds into a sigh what dusk lays is a quiver a system’s premonition and uncollectable people get destroyed hesitating faded to feint


by the river eavesdropping my own brain operating blood summonsing the sink start of winter chilling it so, trying actors that great scene pepperminting his lonesome name to come unaccompanied to procedure is an administrative lost toy scenarios swell as the throaty frog stretching limits course as hairs in paper knickers nurses smoke the root of opinion their fifty tongue barks hung on cap hooks sternum classroom so much raw dangles lulling wispy unretractable excused


125. the man who introduces me to consciousness expanding drugs is angry at a dream, and weeps as he touches it with his arms crossed sleeping in capsule format ready to launch does he lead the tribe reporting account wording altercation, as a commander the fracas cited exhibits throttling hand held grips confronted by teasing as contrarians do the maid changing my sheets but really he is the new boy between major minor stools at Nocturnal rounds performing a power exhumation raising that trap door like and back down voted-off flat, he slumps patted by sinew a city building opposite stencilling their locker and lot light is antique now and what handles onto bathing bulks they make signature signed beams transparent with equation do the room the flexing law steps in out of mathematical crates dockyard grainy cotton calico hemp, argues the traffic on in lanes the fabric queue of things


137. and so there she was, stood on the platform smiling, white blond, beautiful, two hours from my first haemorrhoid over ground we travel trains forwards or backwards below left to right or right to left and stop pressured to lift our feet, for a long bushy tail that rubs under my nose, against my leg when the world gets in cleaning out of tunnels the flick of a hood dispenses clarity emergence is a stamp given limp wristed and not looking after lunch lazy and concrete and iron corrode slow folding invitations on a spherical planet the goon basis of lives are emperors on empty trains put still and carried as the mosquito in cupped hands a one rung repertoire says jump


113. this dinner party isn’t for me and so i say i’m going for wine but walk home along the canal path instead a fish in nature factor is brought out to amaze us that small about mechanism which grows only so wide a measure of economy it darts through its tank panicked by a shortened life and one room death which the size and length of memory doesn’t crack knowing using one of their two lever brains nudging offspring the little ones with unseen markings soon to be triumphant ruff their bib shaking with strangulation what can and can’t be forgotten making the one stripe torn up the trunk is the crease or fold of lies genes determining portion that divisive spell of sharing we sing alone at by watery populations annoying standing and sitting quiet vacuumed killers the bird and the cat and the snake which eats hearts


135. at 0730 she left to inherit 5 million dollars. back to our room and subterranean revenues follow me inspection wise a set of no endorsement or hairs or colour remains every fibre she's taken each memento clay shark of grief was removed going thinking of the board of bluer squares and what for lost pieces in my one chair booth i drive my throne elsewhere poking into chamber avenues wallpaper streets statuary and soundless escorts lookalikes take fur strolls hive with normalcy (between the eyes is the saddest joystick ) bespoke as a wrench - we matched except for urine the cane-thrashed details did the loud farts and chicken in our guts gabardined filth still do flagpoling waves goodbye the thug 'grief' is, that gristle roams the unstaffed air sun throwing its girder at fake wood in my fin bullying tracing terraces of glasses – swelling, sharking, lone


115. he leant across as she was in the toilet and said she’s a bit young isn’t she and i said not for what i’m into, no the unlived fascist of your father shows in your frailty in the manoeuvres of courser hair asking for branch snagged sweat droplets burst exiting some anal beard dandelion smears of wetness which started as balls their razor cut shapes slants stand as parade towers half ants found in the armpits will high kick on tongues this cinemanora of express stalks grown for parts integral to our weekend away is a wardrobe routine games involving hanging, carrying the pale, the stake a postcard invitation with freehand map to the money i send most ladies have a black outfit but few a solid decent white number a big girl's vest and knickers and socks with a frilly rim will do


134. i sit nude on the roof as the old girl next door massages her balding dog’s bowels far off lightening fishing with an electric pin scoping those villagers in pot hands crossing the field a target slowed to a scrutinizing panel of pedants every heaven will grope their runaway broach their hearts involved from new floors

will surface

contraction can be seen better in its small rapid knocks sped through the chamber of lemon groves sounding tappets strike their fruit lapels cracked the stalk. the lump. the spanner squeak in one remaining pulse that hound will run with its quote go at the dashboard meadow sieving flowers rudimentary strokes and one dial – weather braves thirty second ventures in their wardrobe are a few mired outfits – one red, one black, one blue


118. when i die i would like to be buried in my room, this room, reconstructed underground and laid out exactly as it is now using these things i’ve collected. i have found the salary in walls given to dreamers home and i carry a copy ever manufacturing basics a print, a live-fed replica, a haunting – settling destination licenses written brick and plaster, wet feet always a newcomer a runaway hourly refreshed i’ll not leave this. i’ll die in one room. precisely. pushing inside upon the walls shadows


each mundane sameness pushing out its chesty temperament softly worn brother and sister chairs experience a gift of cuticles my belongings – and how they lay or sit within its 'about' by path and pools, staid mounds i cross the floor stacked in similar and nagged same groupings a layout for the oldest shire and closet commerce map


122. waiting in the lobby for a job interview knowing that there’s no chance of me getting it since i am not in the club of married men without principles to be early and instigate a partner saint conjure a drone drive, ‘footprint processor’ walk barefooted in zigzags on land masses cross gladly kept vast parting scrapbooks innumerably deep stockroom imaginations which would topple over primates in charge of any enamel finish of fantasy is my ‘grocer’ early computer game man ‘Behind climbers and Opened into clearings..’ his tools including confiscation and stepping unoriginal mind, heading through clay whistling music shaking a large pixel mitten and continuing out of your screen shirt on to old bulletin-board postings secretaries watering pot plants teachers in wedding bands who served the topic foremost. no apologies.


136. when it gets veins they should keep him in school has incubated the genital message announced in getting read out a new pride which ministry unfolded us the corner turned down straightened flat staves ‘local introductory and admin’ apply demanding his snail set a photo he is at it


the elastic waist goes a row and column lens eating toast at the desk this rank emergent with a camera flash must be paralysed sewn into belly at that age the habit is capped blundering instructions rudeness is the course crashing through him tugging me for the commands what to accelerate what will make it shriek to lift headquarters money is the best result a pendant twenty clutched as a patio groped, combed, licked he is marching a monument young girth holding its cape at the front until ready


119. i woke of this girl of how i got she loved it

up hanging out the back with absolutely no recollection there or who she was and why so

with no back-story, or ‘posit’ recollection those chunks unrecorded is swampy in tense upright on my knees i blink and come-to my self-body-narrative treaties are all suspended like this woken in its pod spawn beams i am the curser an outline only hunter deducing enclosure obeying the picture is how I-figurines dot faith their cloaked shade on – shelved items turn cans of produce drop some nostril, leggings in a satellite clueless room washing at dark waters naming having done the walls does midriffs readouts from whom... speculatively glower recognition being a pouring actimmutable.


138. a slight car bomb goes off as the band play ‘stella by starlight’ beneath white attention a hotel is a death-trap corned maids give wedding base stashing bewitched roughage those pipette shadows clanging as solids fluids replying baths on this floor running in zoo tandem chasing water down from that mountain, men at windows are those birds unrolling their receipt drawing walnut ridges with our testicles up inside fancy masturbating before hot grub mapping in pins and string that grey expanse with lungs on the early ferry and a froth band following two seaway whistles fighting over who owned our trail tonight i’ll sell off my dance all the young girls like that song that bit itself biting others so warm is the loot of cousins only after they’ve kissed you do


do they ask you how far we are away


128. she inserts a tampon as i look out on peckham a poor below who took my place as the poor tasked with heaping ridiculous prosperity in the market garish monstrosity still sells an innovation in adults continues infant children seeing challenges met in furious goes pushing trolleys made to pull chores in chores too small to see turrets fruit without fruit essence and domicile cabbage a fun made consol lays the gutter the quiet zone behind the market in nucleus drunks and concave boxes yellow eyes how an out of take rat forgets the tick of hearts, stalls as flies throw a ball of self above man hole corners their batter crispy touch maddening a kiss rate tizer, walking in my throat


105. what i like about foreign languages is the ignorant space between the words mid-June bristling with contestant praise

and blame

incontinence rolls as perk double-milk tea and the anchor of a hard seat appearing brain dead or panicked – in recovery the service of children i get in here now reverses an advantage lost and thereon firework english chaffs with summer in their ovaries approaching soon that unbearable tide keeps me humming not looking contestants are eyeing the cripples for the rub twisting in sandals and linens passing the ripple girls queue not knowing they want (or how) to disappear at their lips


seed & husk

the inside of ornaments that end of glaze.


127. the waiter looks at me as my date storms out the restaurant throwing my fags at customers like roses from a balcony the mourning display is homosexual paraphernalia when felines scatter from their gang huddle limply jealous hanging that platter face


to hold it as a last peeling plus one stiffening with shame facial features relist both stock take peaks rapid embarrassment with the gentle mockery of shock shows a petal nose

cheeks cross landing

puddling with difficulty this tablecloth space

he shakes

tidying the gonzo left caste, contents food in abstract disarray hopping a dish would have to be to land safe to be a skimming stone incrementally fucked what he wants is the taps that get the hand and to the belt beating a woman is an range of best performances brought forth three down four across –walkout four down three across -love (for example)


147. introduced to a namesake who’s dying soon a sole tenant of the future returns at seventy ill with ultimatum and sunday tight at the waist helps none a power cut shoving, blue black sky races to plat the bidder when shades less than weather goat your all-week suit an economy privilege this assembly is bathing in a free pint noiseless hints or helpful dittos expand only as protest pink veins on grey cheeks rise in picket disarray a burp from my tomorrow’s batch roasts the power of acquisition is poor still of what i can’t get remains our sets of fundamental speak not that we chat or converse augment –reprimand


my first centralisation is virginal. the taste yesterday’s dinner i may gasp later i’ve felt companions were out there but so correctly submerged – how does one just break off and stroll in to speed-up


139. i bought her back from black and probably shouldn’t have (thinking about it now) this encased seductress now wants a capital posting how this servant enervates volume to a stop a paperweight in a shack scared of her breaking out of glass. published slender and certain – a fatless spoke to multiply, and become a troop of touching tongues or tails what would that wheel be which causality, what monster bundle landed on Go?the owner of red peeling dancing shoes tastes herself in her apron-physicality does raunchy kitchen moves in gulps pursing figs a stride, a dropped shoulder upon an ‘ill-strong’ axis bandaged her knees unroll this meticulously clunky spell is magic done nude unprepared food is to be split and salt not both of us a continent displaced at the window i watch her tear wallpaper, as the vineyard beastly sun cracking chests open climbs down the brick hill sarcastic on its feet to an omnibus in the square – people, pets, smoke, smouldering heaps


124. she is a reincarnation of the first girl to let me hold one in a wood up by where dale’s eldest got caught in lady’s shoes a composite collision of anatomy folding to fit wings holding that rim jubilantly splay from the neck dainty is a slim reverse kiss making the handle the clenched white swan mug is a colour i never see we were made as things to twist and mould records astraddle misfortune and humour to reach up out of sight at pottered in each comedy dark puberty patrols our vests injuries to operate on and lift raising heat quick in no deference unidentifiable recollection is the novice’s (again) programme were they yours or just buttons i have to leave earth with milky puddings and current nipples still hover at number three


109. i take people more socially inept and idiotic and torture them quietly and snigger at the naughtiness and tantalising thrill brutality is rearranging people is my most private time in the adjoining workshop adjoining theatre annexing voices shade helpers, crushable story the stadium naval there is (sure) and then there is this held courts on the move leaver spit dog-ends flicked stripped to cotton

ground mute,

some sticky and others wrappers twisted in bows arguments spread out in parts i can’t reassemble the engine of family episodes sat there undone. jigsaw bastards i’ve raced against their grout in detention as an adult child work or school, home these our antidote lanes paced the last night inside me pet walked baby comforted for when i finally undress and pull the cord on the blue world’s dolls and deeds


129. at a barbeque where the host declares the garden is a ‘piss toilet’ only having drunk goat training snores turn elliptical sire and stutter there boasts a diarrhoea master in its lacy shoes coming wet in traction a putty puke stockpiling sculpture the belly is a bucket and stirs on his back and hugging fuel unable to settle that rubbery bell the fingers typing each other

spelling a

canyon breeze which prepped soon to be prey a merchant of beat n bounce the taxi driver isn’t happy ronald forever chasing rumours that is the talk of his passengers strife. arced daily routine dying to die people ‘have to have’ a way they can fall across a setting knife for when the drums stop the world will see who is one or two solid or grease


103. watching romantics who don’t wear underpants bare their slutty woe guessing where radio whiskers across dark mud soils you dance the next ‘man to a be a man’ is there swigging the mist size isn’t large or small but an article of refinement a divorce upsets you because it were rushed brain-washed and half underdone a psychological contingency is race-starting, and ending in others your troop ‘a swab’ huddling as antennae susceptible sexy seconds in new stilettos slide


out of one camouflage in that hackled halo and vodka


rush not in circles but in panels porn at a disco conspires the machine of body parts go busy around a phallus showmanship arranges and recruits and the exclusive joy flickering has killed us all between filth and obviousness the buoyancy of many drowns sinks falls.


132. i could have been well in there - a big house, she had a good job, a car, a garden – but i made one mistake, the only one that evening: i went down on her too soon i can see it’s hot the clumpy kitchen wooden table ornaments in the morning sun ‘mummy-like’ poured the decoration is harvest untied in blue inky sketches connotative tiling is snotted with ‘reap & sow’ there is a general blowing theme that disables itself and a chronic catching which can’t upstairs my showering date aims. waiting to be asked to leave that delegate circle, i move


appearing to appear showing interest in what the cottage curtains truncate – radio views wet sand armpits clipped gents dragging lawnmowers from stick sheds as the cat at the threshold door arrives in her bow flexing ‘home’ pattern some hazard drumming a butterfly thought ranching stupid calculations between syrupy breathes we nod. the cake treat in her mouth dipping to a drip my topless image falling unexcused against her eye


117. i sit in the royal festival hall on christmas eve and remember the sheds and caravans of my youth we come to eventually know the building we are to wed the surroundings most alone visualisation of a personality is unbreakable a plough in the sky suggests the size of brake needed all glass foyers were built to act stillborn in complaints about a depot birth flowing under skin a white body guessing where to porter the end a moon multiplied in latticework will the reaching question arm dip inside this avery gathering the empty egg and blow unending incest, is the rule of three the geometrical aesthetic is why parents did it architecture examines this grace looking for exhausted people turns us in unison so upon the snowfall i wonder if my brother is dead


133. your other stalker got there first and won following you to the end where remonstrating his embrace you would hold the neck of a new dependent in love and quarrel in the English gardens abound sit roughly together where each costume flower wears its summer funeral those pin blooms jerking madly small defied gods over-touching the swish and sway of anger suppressed venturing miles and miles across landscapes of a wide-brush sheets stretched corner pinned the pout deviating in crops calling the mess this way then that forever, corrections drawn over the taste of last place that is the resonance in soil working-out strings the rat follows one blotted foot against the next a single drifting cloud above would be an ideal present gift a chatter silenced handwritten rebellion, quaint and fogged wordsworth crumbly fudge.


116. a lot of discussions back then ended with one party saying ‘it’d be better if he were smothered at birth’, and the others acknowledging this is correct, ‘yes’ so the love of a generation has chosen that is final and rode off a summary apportioned who will stay and who to go a spying sadness is chopped into their eyes for the dry hump friends there is no need malicious unused weapons aren’t spared now aging is enough accompaniment goodbyes divide with the best jokes yet it is utmost relief being free of continuing the game is done and the waiting is eased for those grid-hardy it gets no better day than this above that intimate mire aromas with hells buried deeper and darker the machine i programmed pinkly held proudly won has the refusal to share


120. holding the coat as others have it off in that tambourine cuff that fold opened out on an unofficial fringe between a field and a park linking kept and unkempt, flower and weed final rivals by a gate in a wall that was a fence or up there livered through a row-line of lopped stumps - they creep men who take women for gentle burns pulling classes to nondescript ponds at these practise spots between town and country between homely beatings under the charcoal strokes of returning crows off the leash, i appear to A road cars a snivel in the hinge, carved by a heel pulling the cold off a fight


114. after a onetime go with a model on her day off i stand naked at the window and let my dick spin & dribble string for art i have been given your body as linkage between depressions the black light gets a day to turn to direct their grovelling prism attempted suffocating shows in the alley kissing the fantastically mundane type as photos can bringing a pylon crashing down under no scrutiny as your pure height on the sheets is giant in tumble the immediate wilderness clearances upon it


my eye-line walked through wine splits dotage and footage low to high flown crows warp and weft

say rich things

try to pepper and scope opportune scenes be it acrimoniously paler in rooms further beyond this ahead seeing the other one of us is always missing though a hollow spelled best by woodwind flute


121. in the mirror is the face that wishes my father good luck with eternity. a sloppy branch-line salute sarcastic emblem. my filling has tired. this drooping mask is slipping over my squint a drain lid flesh self-burying for a future the one bit of brown will go i would like to cry from my last cup.


all those horizons i didn’t make a postcard tear on a tray they are odd in size, eyes there is a flicker of rage between them. neighbours pull & push the grit a glassy argument back & forth clicks as moths an orange cigarette tip is still (yes) edible trauma i can taste the affliction as it grinds the heat made projected onto a grey sky outside on my break the visual worms fly into gulls above pinpointing morsels looking at you always through the bottom of the frying pan crayon bumps


112. i make her wet but not brand new the vestige 'I' in candles which lands them the job on that stone shelf shrine or well lip continuum once a year or maybe every two she posits ‘forever’ returns to smell the brick behind my pillows, the quarter bottoms of chairs’ hairs our necks keep at my nape breathing in with the mouth a bundle the mixing slag of urine and milk, shoulders other highness and cotton, pits and paws the unwashed parts of me going deeper than come middle of the back, the shins, knees – those bits got at once by chlorine or brine, thin diarrhoea on a pallet serving first-disabilities, i’m skin gone fallow she doesn’t have (never can) – and obeys a silent tarpaulin unveiling is the sigh of grime appreciation widening its eye caught in the gravy a steam lifting her along the perch in pumps as very toes and plumage


123. it isn’t easy to meet women who enjoy being smacked until they are sleepy but maybe she is it and all i have to do is play it cool no more sufficient than a small bruise this pub inside this risen unit spreading recommendation florid with secret scheme the network it’ll heed it is not often nearest fun grips our louder voice telling of where i lay my new favourite man-egg giddy in audition and buried nowhere near the sun placards and dipped alarms would not raise me in chant that pitching forum and forecast is best then far off closest to and devoid of my creator when winning harder than dark burrowed into this back alley cellar incumbents place their one sense trade -presence to look up and


that docket shine makes us under stained beams she is a trinket barmaid winking saucily lighting pea flames, first creatures


111. i waited at victoria station thinking it were a dirty weekend of fucking and drink but then you showed up and said so where’s your swimming trunks and wasn’t joking our software disagrees. a bison hump in shape the lolly on the stick melts into its colour lounges surging is the leant pace of deceasing installation on the concourse below tipping into a handbag it goes or darter’s pocket


busts mischief in unwoven spaces digging and planting obituary bowling doorways into papery tickets commuters are a fielding service up-gazing at an indicator board rolling through its feathers this bird in a nest being plucked announcements pimple on their spindle arms and legs surface area triples with homebound hindrances the frigid many calling theirs delay


126. i am a fan of trees that struggle that branch around these columns wrestle recording hands, scripture odds and even busted in with new plea berry theory set towards faith, holding the roof up as ransom dislodging floors investigating a reputation the beams on their shoulders it is a conjuring rota


being hot and cool puny and broad in soil and sands and dust they persevere in quakes and floods hide the language of seed do they ever get to fully unpack, to the bottom of the green prefab add-ons the old ones with their gut having tried every lock and key drop the bark try to fall to their knees and howl a stuck hulk ticking with traffic. across the rippled roots passengers run treading first prize insects moving out rolling cubist junk


130. taking a really good look at a woman’s jaw and mouth whilst she sleeps to see how the cock fits in it your capital station and my elocution


regionally weighty in prize on the pillow i graph my dare alongside those gala minutes before there was the itch there were tiny processions twitching places labelled grit or stain, armour your rummaging slept hours this period unbucklement raves an undercurrent proceeds the face biting hard and beauty is struck-across deformity are different basins seasons alter and so there are assiduous reflexes staying young and ‘getting it in looking well’ is a day long lifetime motif. muttered anew passwords for the mirror tomorrow, skim on embellishments blur try poking in across the threshold of a dream minders vary but we chase same sketches realms need a physics to suck.


142. to be known as a landmark and pointed at during a barmaid’s sweary refusal to get them out even though England won being tall and lean makes him a dildo that skirts a stone type stood around green – incongruous matter those loose too big clothes pin him outside her as a hobby it were quick XY ceremony even if i were to gain his birth name


it would be a composting broke down reference by now claim (stake) the thing he is known for that of cowboys and bluesman serial killers the limp around the maze a ‘portrait identity’, that the arch the inner step invest in it may wryly amuse us ‘landscape fans’ that marching dab of denim a dab of pink there sits an original a 40-year 16-line diagram on a stool asking him where the queues begin is all the point that remains