I hate it when you get angry with me.
they always missed the sales.
the television set wasn't bought from argos.
they bought the best for christmas.
when the brick fell they didn't notice.
they saved.
when they were young they used to walk past the pigsty.
they climbed the apple tree to shake the fruit down.
he thought rabbit hunting was fun.
there was nothing much in the ward that sometimes served as a cinema.
he used to love watch the nurse, Hilda, wrap the bandages around my leg.
such a brave paratrooper she said.
we often played backgammon and drank cotes de rhône.
always after we turned the gas low.
there were no rabbits.
the cars had stopped crashing.
hidden by curtains we washed each other.
it was a bit like Spain.
well sort of. if you blinked. If you stared at the lights.
yesterday. I recalled a train journey.
I remember we wrote to someone in spanish.
sometimes I miss the pizza we enjoyed at grimaldi's
they have missed breakfast twice now.
I guessed it had being snowing yesterday.
going by your shoes.
my father and mother are not my real parents.
my dear aunt has gone out.
I hate fishing.
I think I am deaf.
I care not for topiary.
at night when I put my shoes on.
they walk around the house slamming doors.
all the time they hum hymns.
when you hide behind the newspaper.
he was awake by a half dead campfire.
Andrew often think how exciting it would be to be a cowboy.
I am.
no, I don't speak German.
Also sprach Otto: What good are your angels dancing on pins? Or your ruminations on timeless time? Every generation breed the same consortium of halfwit hippies. Happies. About what are you happy? Woe unto them who bind vanity with cords of inanity. Hear ye! Rome isn’t going to burn neatly this time in a merry bonfire around which you may dance. Stockholm isn’t going to burn like a pretty Yule log. All will disappear in a fiery instant including you. And all will be sucked into the twinkling Cyclops eye of He who watches and neither slumbers nor sleeps. Swedish Idol shall pass away. Howl ye terrible poets and songwriters! Ein festering Bugger is our Gott. And an angry Bugger he is too.
The church secretary looked up wearily though the netting in her little Film Noir hat. “That’s not quite it, is it Reverend?” she said in her Ingrid Bergman purr.
“I hate folk masses” the Reverend said by way of explanation.
“That little solemn gypsy who lives at the hotel is here again”, the secretary sighed.
“Good, good-we’ll have some pastry then”
She enters carrying her small Bible. She has come to ask him how it she might go to prison without committing a crime and therefore a sin. Her desire for confinement has grown immense. Sometimes she begs the hotel maids to leave her in the cleaning closet while they go about their cleaning rounds. Most of them, except Alexandra, tell her to suit herself and not to touch the cleaning fluids. She never does but looks amazed at the blue coloring of the liquid and the menace of the spray nozzles. She counts and recounts the folded sheets. She passes the mop back and forth between her palms while she scryes the inside of the mop bucket. One time she saw Mrs. Almquist’s face at the bottom and became so frightened that she banged helplessly at the door until Alexandra finally heard her. “You see, I told you not to stay in there”, Alexandra said patting her head.
The Reverend is amused at her request. He thinks it psychological, something to do with a need to be settled in a place. He is wrong. She doesn’t desire to be settled, she desires to be efficient. She desires a sort of spiritual mechanization process that will allow her to watch the world from outside of herself. She thinks the routine of confinement might speed this process by years. She does not tell him this however because she does not possess the words. She pictures her soul as silver; a bubble fairy singing only the highest and most impervious notes laid out in rows of gleaming teeth. She does not tell him this either but merely rearticulates her request to be somehow sentenced to a prison term.
The Reverend leans forward in his chair and offers her a pastry.
“I can’t send you to prison but I can send you to school. There is a choir there, you will like it”
The girls nods and understands herself to be further sentenced to childhood .
Professor Aurélia Blight & Otto awoke by a .5 dead campfire. In the distance a giant department store appeared to float free of the plateau, like an embalmed yet living grasshopper. Aurélia kissed Otto. He signed to her, do the birds sing? They walked beside the river Elbe, admiring its medieval mermaids.
Sunday formed a crust on their kisses. Otto climbed aboard the dodgem cars, & machine-gunned the crowd of 1000 year old children. Where a child fell a football stadium sprang up, & the birds flew over the shadow-children excitedly to watch the games.
Sally & Simon patched the roof with snow. The zoo was very close now; in the stillness of the longest day they could hear it rolling towards them, the animals laughing for pure joy & the exhilaration of non-existence. Sally’s throat smelt of peppermint & coal dust. The snow blackened until they could paint by it. Sally painted many beautiful pictures of the fish in the sky & the birds in the sea. Simon fell over & broke his lips into maps. Sally combed her long yellow hair & smoked a cigarette. She sat in the window, her feet dangling above the street. She sang a few songs to herself & the clouds reached up to carry her away.
Professor Blight was teaching Logic to her orphaned students. When she had finished she joined Sally on a cloud & they drove the car away into winter before summer could end. Otto huddled in a doorway of the giant department store, which was now rooted to the plateau. In the terrible cold he sang songs for coins, songs which had been popular when Sally was young & Simon was asleep. People took photographs of him to forget they had ever been there. Then some police took him & kissed him all over his body which had ceased to be flesh & bone & skin & had become a map of rags. This was how the world ended.
They examine the bird carefully. It will break in their minds. They pull back a carpet & suck in cool mud. The oldest books are at the storm’s centre; windows rattle, eels rush hissingly across the sandy floor & bite their heels. In the next room the motel blinks & sleeps in sleepless blue popular symphonies. Jess keeps shooting at the TV screen; Pavel is too busy writing love letters to Patricia to care. The motel annex is the kind of place terrorists favour. They drive in & out of the carpark, all day long, & similar to the recurrence of the seasons they know no sequence.
Simon spent the next day cataloguing Mrs Johnson’s collection of whips & fetish wear. The oldest examples in the collection dated from next century. Suddenly he realised that the train had pulled into a station & was waiting for the signal to move on. Leaving Mrs Johnson’s collection to the mice & their infants he leapt from the train & ran down a grassy bank towards a small & brilliant river. The air was thick with butterflies & tremulous with birdsong. Sally sat by the river, her feet in the warm salty water. They embraced & night wrapped them around like the furry tongue of a great beast of prey.
the names of animal royalty
roberto duran eating a royal fish
screaming peach
drip jibbling his chin
beard black as bluebeard
awful fucking fights
he pushes familiars
to the brink of their walking station
owl ore and carrot diet
he eat two eggs, grits, two steaks
five glasses of orange juice, malt
drink, milk, peas, and then he got
punched in the stomach
naturally he’d had enough
sacred rye rub cracks
friend of Syria
never felt lonely on board
a sacred deck, home
guadalcanal, seeds
fasts speaking mud
my epic work – lumbii
celebration of the male
grope witch, my man ribbon
the earth is molten
everything is moving
spit & come swapping
you can have it out of me
with your mouth
like gummy hybrid migration
thankful chips
Hepsibah, queen of bees
I killed a French in a poem
stillbird in vietnam
shouting in wetdreamt
veeette-namme
some must be everyone + no one
incest was no explanation
bush crack hair wire
against caribou in ghana
boys playing tennis
black boys
I am a black poet
shifty and angry
hood that smells rancid
guess the animal dot
fix eager in Algeria
I am Mohammed Choukri
and driss ben hamed charidi
mixed up with Isabelle Eberhardt’s
church going relatives
dans Geneve
city of parks
and dry lakes with Ciara
sooting the tooth out of my arse
instead of an animal
like a dog – a pug
we got a covered band
and fuck all use that was
I knew Mog
I knew a closet cat
who would leper
coffee and mint tea
feet and socks
of Mohammed Khair Eddine
I have deliberately left out the double dot
Cecil in Vicenza
spying on a brush boat
of tourists
is at the edge of fervour
choosing his paint on a swatch
emulsifying a pigwash pink
for his daughter’s
tiny room
Coral Brancho is eating my toenails
and turning down
awards
the friend of people and animals
let me see you at the dawn of everyday
the calver with clean heads
cleaver Jane scribe
who drives anon
away civil evil
who writers trut
arsenic sulphide sunwipe
I’ve not done any evil in this land
all life and companions
just as I was on the call
the earth
black bone breaker
threatening the Jean Pascal
of Londonderry
not told lies lightly
there is a bomb on the milkfloat
I am a crock
crocq mersed in terror
and linguistically fluent in Targoviste
I dream shells
I am a crocodile
sponsored
who takes by violence
Spell 88
Reformatists
Transformatists
Phrasal
Repatristist
Disjunctivist
Reanimatist
Marktist
Satisirists
Hommerists
Politicists
Motelarists
Recidivists
Linguists
battery low
bring nothing new to the dinner table
yet toy
are the first to reap the upward guff of medicine
burn the school of gentlemanly conduct
burns
wipe in women’s hair
puree of the tomato
fud to the form of the novel
two directions of the novel
by some cunt
enter in peace
and leave because it got too hot
in there and someone died in the last
bacon competition in Finland
Sauna dirt fill the form of the novel
Enter in peace
technology that serves a purpose
while molesting a lamb scandal
with mint and veterans
cunning crossed with prison
priest of poison
hex on whiny jews
hiss hoss
stepoutwardforemost
last leg
the turning cog
upper leg is right leg
full mobility for army Billy
the bloody bandage is loose
slack vagina
omnivorous dance crasher
slack anus
turn is turned
backbent in a spinal memory
the legs x’d in a flourish
two thousands criminal prosecutions
no heart for defence
just give me a five pound note
I’m so poor and you own a car mate
you owe me a cigarette
just asking for directions
stupid cripple with spinabifada
on the Holborn ducket
eating chips
selling gymbox leaflets
fell into a bus
no internal organs of any kind
no lungs, liver or duodenum
no mouth even
no blood
no fear of water
no wife
no jacket
no winter
no crank
no cogs of the judicial
no crank
no whatever is within block
no crimps
no smile for me
hymen dragonface
complaining is the central interest of millenial American poetry
we watch the road
the dung beetle
to battle with a shitball
the carrot’s groin
touch the brow
of eyelashes
sweat black like a robbery
the one walking amongst them
folded
fucking quitter
from a rough area
he wasn’t given a chance to suceed
television warble catwipe
die blaue wheelbarrow
full of newly rescued human excrement
beetle frown
untrimmed bush
appear smile
vice versa sleek
intimidating shape bouncer
soldier condition for Easter
turned my life around
parsimonious
kip hemp & barley ween
shouting “hard work a mean business”
daft swift slip
our general is Gobbles
art with a spade
nibless fountain pen
prize living winnings
poorly tendered taxidermied tits
no wit
dig for bones
saliva smell around an untrimmed bush
barrage of mutes
low water quality
Ben Morris has dignity
bilett homosexual deepcut rape
mother-in-law or something
another pigeon unearthed concerned
encased in weed & bronze
dinner finally ready
Hanuman massage
monkey Elvis cancer of the bowels
iron tire does nothing to halt the snow
peace treaty
the siege of Copenhagen
bloodshed precum
O kindnesses!
thoughts of you & grime music pussyole
apparently useless
bus driver report
warm & smiling while peacefully asleep
courage for the hardest yard
pink & furry in the most charming of places
siege cannot fail
acoustic guitar is a dead instrument
robbed an old person
to pay for a reading of international
shot with a crossbow
ready loded beneath the mattress
machete beneath the pillow
and samurai sword, filipino fighting sticks
penknife, pepper spray
I have brooked this river once before
it ended well
far west superiority
winning ways
false memory
entreaty
horse march
run home
ihooves paint black holes
desert mud
blacker
emblem chest
red
steakbreast
blood mark disease
Angola prison harsh sentence
AIDS
should not eat bushmeat
the cross’d crusader
trouble with Tuesday double-vision
I eat fists & girl farts online
as though they were peaches
strange profession to choose to be a schoolteacher
the shout of the average
Sadness
my mother
moans
arrested
once more
once too often
for beating a muslin body roll
dyed blue
bound and torn in three
warfare limits to ten minutes per engagement
storm the chair
the ergonomic backache warbler
a life and legend in a bathtub
a walk from Exmouth to Topsham
a consensual
a mutual organism
rhizome junior locked up for fifteen
life spent with barely two come at the same time
schooling sandbag bayonett fust
stab that bastard in the face
I stabbed that bastard in the face
cut him Chris
I am ready to die for my country
are you?
complete turnaround
in a pub
somewhere
off the A30
russiancriminaltattoo.com
hot tits
polar obsession
pliers and other tools of dentistry
best to tell the prisoners we don’t money for dentures
permission to record the guest speaker
crash car in a zoo parking arena
baby bambi offering its rear to the wind
pink
pirelli calender by terry richardson
she won an award she was so good at it
but converted soon to that mumbo catholic
gund & snund
death & fire
whee bear churns butter
for the funeral
staged photograph
carnival in the mountains
first exhibition in Romanian church is poorly attended
but sounds great posthumously
Sunday Monday Tuesday
nazi whore search
knee to knee bent to the left
flag day
trip and skewered scrotum
dead in a car crash anyhow
S.J.Fowler is here
