Cold glitter

behind a tweed right shoulder
and breathless glass
shines
squat in polish and rouge
filaments like tatters of a breeze
hard faceted crux
frictionless between the vertices
almost panicked clarity of a white flame
unlocked
brought down
waits in the opening of a hand
flickering contrast
of ridges and whorls
we build from this
the pent-up quiver
vibration
sighs condense
across its translucent weight
flash of
rippled reflection
down the trigeminal nerve
fails to grip
this torment
flits away
spider silk
tumblers of intricate locks
insulated
a searing in the palm
like flesh

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The Vastness

cars are ejected from
shadowless halogen lairs
doesn’t seem right
the tiny faces picked out
in buzzers and mail slots
the completeness of the city
cloned in empty coil
recycled each day
stuffed with newspaper
there is (no) crack to hide in
between the terraces
no white space
between the lines
in this city
all is black
seared by spotlights
there is
no dark place
we crush up the vast expanse
fold it over and over on itself
smaller and smaller
each surface identical
up and down the kerbs
we wander the streets
in desperate chord progression
the snow builds in crescendo
we stare out at the streetlights until
they begin to blur

Where is it alright?

At work
they say
you can’t sing
while the phones are on
those tiny pulses
break me out in ambilateral fusions
down the lines cold lava
keep your mouth shut[down]
or the children will fall down
and spoil their pretty hair

on the crouched busses
music is not allowed
there are signs
we used to hang from
the monkey bars
undulant rider soundwaves
scream the name of the station
happiness, ulceration, earthquake zone, plastic wrap
you must sit with your mouth closed
polyethylene doll

out on the streets
you may abuse your loved one
while the dark hides under the horizon
carve threats and spray wars
leave threatening messages
drape yourself in cured flesh
you should not sing
even close harmony
tubular bells
screech along the delicate
tendrils of the proper noun
we clutch at shame in emotion
search for it
in reflected streetlights
the slight hint of moisture on your skin
hairline faults in
the network stretched out across us
drying and shrinking
withering
the heat generated by
potential difference
broad outside smiles
claws inside

Tessellate

bodiespressed

inarray

non-tessellating

wait

assortedshapes

they

oddangle in

seamand teeth

allcrooked

offaces

thepennies drop

fromripped pocket lining

infractured polygons

they

allon wires

tothe waist

staggerwith IV

objectpermanence

whitewire to VIII

tormentingor separate

allsunken

incurrent

they

scrapingcolour

fromgrey film

thecity lays

overeverything

cannothear the stenotype

silentchord

takingdictation

forevery glance

Archaeology

This city
Strewn with history’s
Strata
Debris
In thick thin layers
We archaeologists
Point to a corner and say
Here, here is where
We believe 21st century humans
Began and ended their courtships
Judging by the fossil blood and broken glass
And drops of spittle molten metal in the walls
They merged and separated
Yelling the twinned holy syllables
Like unsheathed claws
Here is where they
Traded drugs in tall black monoliths
For crumpled portraits
They slumped
Defeated
Awaited the salve of the wire brush

Editing poetry: Where is it alright?

Rules. I dislike rules. Especially social rules: I’ve never really understood them. In particular, this piece was inspired by my thought that we consider it strange to hear someone singing on the street, and how much time we spend telling others to be quiet. Some of the lines in the second section are inspired by the Radiohead song ‘Polyethylene’

At work
they say
you can’t sing
while the phones are on
those tiny pulses
break me out in ambilateral fusions
down the lines cold lava
keep your mouth shut[down]
or the children will fall down
and spoil their pretty hair

on the crouched busses
music is not allowed
there are signs
we used to hang from
the monkey bars
undulant rider soundwaves
scream the name of the station
happiness, ulceration, earthquake zone, plastic wrap
you must sit with your mouth closed
polyethylene doll

out on the streets
you may abuse your loved one
while the dark hides under the horizon
carve threats and spray wars
leave threatening messages
drape yourself in cured flesh
you should not sing
even close harmony
tubular bells
screech along the delicate
tendrils of the proper noun
we clutch at shame in emotion
search for it
in reflected streetlights
the slight hint of moisture on your skin
hairline faults in
the network stretched out across us
drying and shrinking
withering
the heat generated by
potential difference
broad outside smiles
claws inside

via Editing poetry: Where is it alright?.