Kaddish 5 "all those poets who died for the love of sound"

the standardised cries close cropped & woven catch at the mattress in lovelessly two wire pigs a riverbank of gunmetal turned the dark bread to its headline foaming a shimmer postponed landscape 2 wire pigs a riverbank of moleskin the car turns over afternoon evaporates hey Veronika is that the cinema two wire pigs shimmer the evaporating mattress flesh eating post-dated land-flow redacted flowers shoot up saviour & bottled apricot shivery silks as beautiful as nowhere

stopping

to kiss a bridge bending its back 1000s of missiles

tumbling

the lake little dog chasing its stomach so gho street eyes clicking out & in smoky rain unimagine the flap of skin along bottle groove & grove halo minstrelsy xzarpxzarp, the standardised cries cropped & mattressed lovelessly to the slum to wired pigs turning the woven bread whispers from abandonedbuildings

mutated, veron’ka is that the Cinema:1000s

o’butterwasps

the blade soft.
shake out o’white sleevecuff
nail wrist. littlelittle dog
chasing its stomach,another surveillance curse
old&alone.

spectres rare vectors

mbrace for Time then let goe

hot of hair in’s mouth. in absolute

voicelessness

stuffing clothes into flowerfire
a breakfast was on table a long time.
dog being
a cat
beseach a rat

next time they visited the seaside with
capitalist they had executed.
& the shakes, fierce & upon us all.
walked towards the sea. the sea in a park in a city.
chased its stomach

type words on a screen.
on the wrong side of the screen.
throw windows at bricks
let’s have a milkshake & vodka

the human equivalent is
effect of several bright discs darkening the hills start to writhe

“hushclicl. k. format, bleak. stunned, at risk.mystery of the animal.lastwords. 1st ecstatic
for,matnaked. brink of misery. indefinite animal screaming
allday&night.going blindnessed

~~~

i.

nothing of importance
is happening here.

the woods are getting closer
clouds take away the stars
the parts of your feelings
that count


ii.

the unkind things that were said at the gate

rain grey rain

cold hood tree

long types of cloud

and some tied into the shapes of animals

the fence how it followed the curve of the hill towards the wood

the wood we don't speak of

the wood where the children wont play

the wood where the bracken whispers

lords and ladies
fungi big as umbrellas
puff balls
grasping bramble


blue overcoat.


red glossy glistening shiny berries. red lipped berry
big cup fruits

sunset mist coming. bent hawthorn. a damp wet wood

silent really
really silent.


iii.

we always avoid
forever dodge
never count

at all times

cracks in the pavement
ladders
magpies.

we skated across the frozen lake

big red sun falling behind the hill
black rooks rising in a squall

quite wild geese
simple silent
snowing

trees.


iiii.

we have stopped talking
we are full of word

in winter
the hill is shrouded in fog
for weeks.

i miss you
when you are gone.

~~~

?!)
+ closed, + confrontation, + fast-food, + Sweat, + the ingredients, + the thought that + those
-ing so bought, -ity of the guilt, - satisfactorily
33
About time, Absolutely not, A layer behind, A necessarily drawn, A settlement
Behind privets, beginning), By questions
Can only try, Ceaseless, Childish (at 10 though, Closed, Closest, Coming Consequently, Continuation
Difficult talk, Disclosure (at least, Dissemble
Either, Endpoint, Energy, Expenditure, Experienced as
Fashions, First thought being, Fresh as yesterday, For the day, For too long
Greater hopes
Her balled tights, Here + going, He should, Him to, How outmoded
Impossible to imagine, Irrational
Linda, Line
Maintained until, Memory, Mid-row terrace, Miserable mainly, Misunderstood Money can be saved
Necessary, Nose full, Not him, Now, Now being a parent
Of cat, Of eye contact, Of hers, Otherwise
Passing, Past, Pieced together un, Problem even, Protect the boy -
Re-boot now though, Rested, Round the floor
Sense, Shouldn't have, Shouldn't see, Sleep, So can't chew over, social fall. A, Strange how, Such things
Tan is, Thankfully but, That aroma, That smell, The corollary of, The opposite way The perhaps natural, There, The tired couch, Third person, Those unpractised, To contrast, To then spit out, Too much +
Understand, Unforgettable, Unplannable, Unpleasant though, Unreliable Unthinkable, Unused
Was silent about, Wasted, Well, What he, Will stay, Worst
Year of the Undergraduate, You were fat –

~~~

pples-A for.
When we are driving we see wooden signs with painted apples along the way, one per hour. By this, we surmise we are yet alive. Your breath is on my neck. It is May. We are in love and driving once more to Berlin.
Yesterday, we climbed the hills after a long breakfast. We had heard something about Alphabet Angels landing on Kinder. You were laughing at the thought of them landing here. We did not see them but did see well dressings along the way. They were pictures of musicians and apples. You could not read the Aramaic along the bottom but I could. It was Kaddish.

Question-are we still questing? Resting? We are restless, that is true, missing our friends the way we do; Otto, Veronica, even hateful Rennecke. But they belong to another time, to Biological Time.

Some have protested about the way in which Judeo Christian concepts still dominate the Way Stations. For example, this emphasis on language, on sacred alphabets; some rightfully feel that this is an obsolete distraction. I'm inclined to agree about the seeming meaningless of it all. It's more than just language has been rendered such by overuse. I think that anyone can recognize this phenomenon and after all the Alphabets were created to address this. It very well could be that certain vowels and sounds can indeed restore order if perfectly intoned. One of the reasons they are made blind is so that they can resist the temptation to describe. Still I don't know if this is all ultimately a foolish exercise.

Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya seh aleinu. Ve'a kol y'Israel. Ve'imeru Amen.

Has a ring, I must admit.

German has always been our favourite language despite the fact that we barely speak it. I love all those poets who died for the love of sound. No harm as my darling frequently has said. There was no need to describe nature really. When we walk we merely fall silent and that is as it should be. But somehow, it's never enough. I write a letter to Mother, gushing about wildflowers and lush green hills. I suppose I want her to experience it too but it's more a desperation to add my voice to it. It comes as tinny and incomplete. I don't struggle until I am pale and feverish the way that they did. But neither do I pin the world to a board, words fluttering to their deaths like sad butterflies. Now we are driving to Berlin, wunderschoenen.

the voice of richard barrett can be heard therein