Concordance

This concordance provides an index to every word in the poems, excluding a list of common "stopwords". It may be useful in finding a half-remembered poem, and perhaps in looking at the usage of words in the poems as a whole. It will be readable only on a large screen.

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

U

of typing // // and deleting, admit my

ugly want as the drummer // // sweats because it’s supposed // // to

I’ve listened to too much Midwest emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems

down // // within the crepusc // // -

ular tone, the tusk // // is ground // // into the small hole in my

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

/ Athlete’s foot, Achilles’ heel, mouth

ulcer , // // one for the stomach, two for the money. // // Nothing t

le, // // impetuous thunder // // and

ultimate payment. // // Pens open and ready, // // braced with cross

Nil Charge / Nil Return

m // // or sever // // Sov’ran // //

ultra regna terra. // // Now dog, did re-venom Eden // // infidel be

Hercules et Oracle

an ruled by orbing tyrant queen; // //

Umbilical tangen skywards, cut clean. // // I am the moon-child broke

er I can change for you. I will be your

umbilicalised hero. correct and repossess and play “sleeping satellite

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

s, affirm a thing, touch a cord // // ‘

umbrellas meeting sewing machines on (animated) dissecting tables’, as

ight. Rendered absurd— // // warmed by

un -canned laughter and crackling fire-breath // // (Sound-bites for b

The chicken and the egg // // I live!

Un -ownable, not made: revealed. // // Confused and worn, I don’t know

The chicken and the egg

hink I just want to really feel. // //

Un -pause. Furl my sparrow wings poised at the precipice and reel // /

only attempted the first part and were

unable to earn any of the marks. Of the rest many did not progress bey

e bound to miss. // // From now on all

unaccountable post // // should be destroyed before it is sent: // /

The Dead Letter Office closes down

elves? // // Today, polyester jackets,

unadorned // // Mutely cry out for someone // // To demonstrate a me

Magnetic Mountain

ise officer takes to // // dropping by

unannounced . // // Catch them at it— // // there must be moonshine.

There must be moonshine

t to cry Kri’at Shema lying down. I get

unbelief . one day I will be calx and cure, what’s inside will be me. /

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

shimmer of another river // // Flowing

unbidden from its hidden source; // // The Day-Spring, the eternal Pr

Alone holds fast that which hell’s fire

unbinds . // // But now our cropped, uncivil Samson binds // // Five

Sixteen Forty-Five

their lips and legs lock together in an

unbreakable twist // // their kisses aren’t words // // and the grea

Same but differenT

// // The leaves are moved, their path

unbroken now // // The stillness stops, my heart has now left the pit

seven skins; // // A chronicle of past

unbuttonings . // // I need these layers, this heraldry // // That co

ounded in some Dover Lorry Park. // //

Uncase the Camembert, bring out the Brie, // // The precious freight

Slipping, slipping, nipple slip; // //

uncatheable fish; // // in a river that eludes you, // // your essay

cold— // // and my breathing is rather

uncertain .” // //

rs later we went back and made the same

unchartered // // trip, remembering nothing of the things we’d seen,

re unbinds. // // But now our cropped,

uncivil Samson binds // // Five foxes, brush to brush, a hexagram //

Sixteen Forty-Five

es, hats—shake the snow from your coat,

uncle — // // drink! and be merry! // // Hymns rattle around the silv

Drink and be merry

Hamlet said ‘Forsooth, I must punish my

uncle’s transgression but feta or parmesan now THAT is the question’ /

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

hed your mind dreaming // // before my

unconscious swallowed me like an ocean of blue. // // The sadness set

[I often think of that January morning]

ment. This reality is coextensive with ‘

unconscious will’, ‘pure power’, ‘exhilaration’ ‘beating heart’ and ’f

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

bble me up instead with haste // // An

uncooked morsel. // // How do I taste? // //

same, // // you weasel without words,

uncouth , unkind // // and lewd; you onanistic waste of shame, // //

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

ackened gloom, // // Of faces lost and

undefined . // // A word that initiates thoughts in the mind // // Of

kin // // And the crunch of the season

underfoot // // And the smell of the raw earth // // like a jolt //

[The sash rattles up]

Underground // // Rush hour and my fear for how I would // // Negoti

Poems on the Underground

ey please, // // Hope that the gods of

Underground will hear my silent pleas // // To clear a seat or two an

Poems on the Underground

butts dunking themselves // // In the

undergrowth . // // Silent drip-drops of water from pelt. // // Sound

He who made the Lamb

d dead. // // A winged beast can be so

underhanded ; // // its pupils were graves dug amid sapphires… // //

derstands // // That which he needs to

understand . // // And doesn’t worry with the rest. // // The man has

one, we’re lost and alone. // // Do we

understand each other? // // Stars and earth and fire between them: /

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

// // Oppression’s language does not

understand , // // For in the name of Mammon, you still bruise // //

mpted, with many candidates not able to

understand fully the situation being studied. A large proportion of ca

: // // Oppression’s language does not

understand . // // Hear! Our songs of love, our lives, our blood, and

departure, are you afraid do you // //

understand Karagiozis the lantern // // behind a stretched sheet, can

. // // Oppression’s language does not

understand // // Our dialect, sweet sister of our land. // //

to myself, // // Hoping one day you’ll

understand that I’m not so inventive // // And when I give you my wor

I’ll never work for Hallmark

ks when they start. // // No, we quite

understand . We know you can’t stay long // // And must stay silent fo

ulating skink night, “mother will never

understand ” why I had to leave tonight. Clancy got loose and ran throu

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

ned to the flames. // // (I completely

understand why people have // // funeral pyres.) Later we scatter th

g the body’s blank page. // // I don’t

understand why you never came back. The waves // // always return to

[I often think of that January morning]

to be // // Identical. // // I cannot

understand you // // Because you breathe. // // I only included ever

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

: // // Oppression’s language does not

understand . // // You claim it “impedes progress” and is “bland,” //

ve, // // When out of your body comes

understanding , // // And a wonderful point to be derived. // // For

The Tree of Wisdom

th a hateful maggot’s mind. // // Lame

understanding wretch who thinks rhymes wrench’t // // sufficiént; you

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

some unsavvy stumbling sapeur // // He

understands // // That which he needs to understand. // // And doesn

n // // Do frame the stars, suspended,

understood // // By me, who gapes up from my shelter home. // // At

[What have we done]

The Tree of Wisdom // // I thought I

understood you once, // // Believed you were more than you appeared,

The Tree of Wisdom

phodel. // // If what they sing for is

undone , // // I’ll grasp the last whispers. // // Over ocean, the st

Who am I, Bernard?

gine you as you once were: // // those

undulating ring-lines breathing // // age into you // // and sighing

raise you. the wild dogs cry out in the

undulating skink night, “mother will never understand” why I had to le

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

Natural paper edges. // // Through the

undulating skink // // Night she sulks, // // Two cigar butts dunkin

He who made the Lamb

its nonsense pierces us at once with an

unease and vitality. // // 4. // // Modernity is wrong. We cannot co

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

ride // // And ironed shirt that flows

uneasily // // Over the tanning-bed tan that won’t glow healthily. //

zle and move and wave; // // small but

unending —Ondine. // // But finding a form to carve // // to remember

Stone, Paper, Scissors

in the temple // // announcing // //

UNESCO // // world // // heritage // // status // // but saying //

st in bottles and found, // // In your

uneven smile, sharp teeth, // // Your voice, I love the sound— // //

Fall for————

earth. // // Blurry, out of focus and

unfeeling // // Times, when the suns are this or that // // And beco

d it with my coffee, // // filling and

unfilling the warm mug in murky waves. // // The ink I wrote to you i

[I often think of that January morning]

han in conversations, so the note stays

unfinished . // // One last breath drawn, shakily, then I end somethin

Snapshot Endings

/ The vine and all its tendrils, // //

Unfold from the face, // // Trip from the tongue // // That speaks t

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

heat and watched the sea’s magic // //

unfold to the music of wind and the glittering ebbstream // // that t

Just a Small Fish

ital walls. Roses in empty wine bottles

unfolded in the house, // // anxiously mourning red petal fingernails

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

Tudor rose // // Of sixteen forty-five

unfolds its fire- // // Tongued text: this warfare is the strife that

Sixteen Forty-Five

olute. // // Fronds and furtive things

unfurl while forest // // palms and fingered trees press tip and tapr

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

o comic angles. // // A pigeon’s slow,

ungainly steps // // To cross the road (no joke in that) // // Catch

Urban bird watching

rogynon // // Defy the moon suck, Cnut

unheeded , // // All that she did with packet, pop, superseded. // //

and for her 21st, well she was away at

uni , wasn’t she? // // They’re growing up, now. // //

ey think we’ve been. // // Each in our

uniforms , black suit, striped tie // // Marching to the front line, c

wormholes lead us if we dare // // to

unimagined worlds that scare // // me. Something creepily malign’s //

the in what you breathed // // Out are

unintelligible , or unoriginal. // // If I told you I’d die without yo

I’ll never work for Hallmark

you’d laugh. // // After all, love is

universal and you can bet whatever I say // // Someone, somewhere has

I’ll never work for Hallmark

Hard Black’ appears as grey: // // The

universal , standard and // // Unthinking choice // // That makes all

Three Ways of Walking

wed, the written word is paramount, the

universal word, a thrifty fox-thought, golden delighted kept at bay fr

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ous removal of selected line breaks was

universally acknowledged to be the making of this poem. — AG // //

and the great big massive enormous wide

universe full of galaxies and black holes and stars // // makes no so

Same but differenT

allanic stream expands to form // // A

Universe of fire. One second’s past— // // Matter explodes. Growth’s

// you weasel without words, uncouth,

unkind // // and lewd; you onanistic waste of shame, // // pretentio

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

the side of mugs. // // And though our

unkind inactions told you otherwise, you kept your faith // // that a

mind. // // The questions posed are so

unkind : // // Parse—calculate—discuss … I see // // In the panic hal

Exam Room Villanelle

from // // Your bath—calm as the sun’s

unknowing light, // // New but not news, a sign that all is right. //

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

park and fizzing, in a cavern // // so

unknown but home. // // Ah but before little hands can tear at tissue

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

t… // // Eternal concept, crystalline,

unknown … // // But I can’t reach or feel your fragile form. // // Wh

The chicken and the egg

e thought she’d heard the breath of the

unknown — // // But through the door there only swept a gust // // Of

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

/ Through water’s edge // // To depths

unknown (in feet at least) // // To Mellbreak’s deepest crest // //

// And in the lengthening shadow of the

unknown . // // They say that each creature must find its way to this

[At the coinciding point of the years]

the keeper of his soul. // // And so,

unknown to anyone, // // This still life has two untold names: // //

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

th has deeply touched // // me. Though

unknown to you, still you bewail // // my loss – but ask my cooling c

Between Life and Death

erald to a straining fecund mass // //

Unleashed . A tongue of blinding, whippèd flame // // Sears all before

ring, that all things must pass. // //

Unless , emboldened by our revelry, // // We make a stand against thei

ople don’t look at the sky anymore, not

unless it is tragic, // // And even if you thought it was, // // You

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

mark I’ll make, // // White and pure,

unlike the life taking it’s last steps. // // // // …Screeching bra

Snapshot Endings

map // // of her skin, like // // an

unmade bed. // // ‘Couldn’t you just sit,’ I ask, // // ‘and watch t

In a charity shop

Unmaking // // Neither fur, feathers nor scales ever clad // // A pe

. // // I foresee you stripped in your

unmaking , // // Of the fatal black suit, that only I saw // // Fit y

er his arrival, // // was buried in an

unmarked grave. // // There were no victors: only victims. // //

Black September

athed // // Out are unintelligible, or

unoriginal . // // If I told you I’d die without you, that our love fl

I’ll never work for Hallmark

nce // // Came to stay one day. // //

Unpacked her bags, // // and hung her quiet fripperies // // between

// Of Dad’s funereal car. // // Later,

unpacking , // // I find a history— // // My history— // // Of mothe

ssilise it. // // forgotten quotations

unpeel from the wall // // glide down. // //

the slow end of a forty day fast // //

unpeel the digits from your onion fist // // and mask yourself with t

way there. // // Feathers blacken and

unpeel // // With the mourning of the wheels. // //

Urban bird watching

or ‘no!’. Now they’re wordless: // //

unpenned letters from the past, encrypted // // in a knowledge of the

et columns of ice). // // But you seem

unperturbed // // your red coat an aegis to lift // // cigarettes to

why i’m getting into Christmas

-browned // // Golden, swollen mangoes

unpicked by childish hands // // Giving a final dull thud as they fal

orn apart… // // These whispers of our

unquiet hearts // // I wonder what he’s going to say? // // We are b

on car windows // // will be water and

unremarkable in the morning warmth; // // our exquisitely ice-etched

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

o a certain shade // // Particular and

unrepeatable . // // Some golden essence seems to concentrate // // F

The Magic Apple Tree

o loathsome sprezzateur // // Nor some

unsavvy stumbling sapeur // // He understands // // That which he ne

long the hollow way // // Handfast; we

unscroll your youth // // When ash-keyed branches dipped and prayed /

s pity. // // Some ancestral memory is

unseated // // From its place on our shared bookshelf // // When I s

’Tis pity he’s a bore

s // // When you pierced me with your

unseen blade. // // I will see you before I die // // Face to face.

nyielding sky // // Untouched by bird,

unseen by any eye. // // And I know you are there, amongst them all.

[My face is old now]

gh the waft from the grasses // // and

unseen by their neat // // nihilarian captors. // // The nilherds se

Nil Charge / Nil Return

t in the gutter, shot down // // By an

unseen enemy on his way up. // // ‘War is not nice’, but we accept th

// and the birds and the branches are

unseen . // // Her white hand weeps about its canopy, // // and her c

e to two falling trees, my bone, // //

Unseen or seen, did spark a tiny fire. // // A lonely ember ’twas, an

[What have we done]

hexagram // // Of ever-living fire and

unseen rose. // // This is our hexagram: the Tudor rose // // Of six

Sixteen Forty-Five

rl poised and primed. // // Evadne the

unseizable defying Iphis, // // she jumps // // to meet the water ch

usted city slickers on // // the dole,

unshaven merchants, and // // the acne-crusted vicar’s son— // // th

[the typist puts her knickers on]

// Served iambic, al dente, but as yet

unsigned . // // Will my new friend accept that I mix with you lot //

Wednesday Evening

and less than human. // // I read the

unspeakable // // Between the lines // // As the tongue slips on sig

ur palm on mine. // // I’ll keep these

unspecific love poems to myself, // // Hoping one day you’ll understa

I’ll never work for Hallmark

big // // The fall, awkward // // And

unspectacular . // // But, once in a while, after // // The syllables

Falling Is Like This

Christ! and be merry. // // silence

unspoken fear gritting the teeth and fingers // // the forbidden

Drink and be merry

returned, // // October’s secret left

unspoken // // Only the names which I have learned. // // Now I list

leaves might fall

as sundown. // // Echo calls of words

unspoken — // // She hopes to watch you drown. // // When you exist o

Who am I, Bernard?

ed with lights // // Shoeless feet and

unsteady ground // // If I close my eyes I still see // // A harbour

r hand in mine // // Shoeless feet and

unsteady ground // // Whales singing the day in // // The heart trip

hing just beyond my shoulder blades. An

unsteady light // // is flickering between needling trees; history as

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

s me, // // Is my insides. // // I am

unsullied by my insides, // // By the abjected charging cables, // /

Frighteningly Inert

am in control of my desires // // I am

unsullied by the blood crystals on my palm // // I am unsullied. //

Frighteningly Inert

Circuit mid-flight shorted. // // I am

unsullied by the outside, // // The outside that crawls and seethes i

Frighteningly Inert

e blood crystals on my palm // // I am

unsullied . // // Ornithologists with shears make for irate avians //

Frighteningly Inert

e fine? // // North of here, climate’s

unsure . // // All enduring is our failure, // // Let us keep it near

Ode to a map of the world

I made you the ideal theory: // // An

unsystematised list of every correct proposition. // // It says nothi

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

n its arms // // a walled garden, left

untended // // for maybe thirty years. A winding path // // leads f

// The universal, standard and // //

Unthinking choice // // That makes all necessary marks. // // Park-s

Three Ways of Walking

Sixteen Forty-Five // //

Untimely winds in sixteen forty-five // // Blow through the windows,

Sixteen Forty-Five

Untitled ] // // There is something // // Crawling at the back of you

anyone, // // This still life has two

untold names: // // It is: The Virgin and her Child; // // The Mothe

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

d up into a vast, unyielding sky // //

Untouched by bird, unseen by any eye. // // And I know you are there,

[My face is old now]

the flame, some strange trapped, // //

Untranslatable pain. // // What taste on the air // // Led you here?

Here be dragons

/ // and the riddles // // not // //

untrue . // //

olding fast: // // A green knot slowly

untying // // Itself from the hardened winter nut // // And the hal

// Without a sound or sight of anything

unusual - // // And the sheets creak in the night as you wrap up warm

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ed, // // So why do mine feel ready to

unwind ? // //

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

esh // // Of the world up into a vast,

unyielding sky // // Untouched by bird, unseen by any eye. // // And

[My face is old now]

oor, the face, the light, I fall // //

Upon a bed of compact mist, all soft, // // My heart alight, the embe

[What have we done]

Tokaji, // // your head bobs in peace

upon a heart’s-blood bouquet. // //

e glimpse inside. A woman leans // //

upon a table in the window, looks // // out into sunlight, over grass

Cape Cod Morning

Fairy Tale // // alright: once

upon a time, // // a girl in a cloak of symbolic colouration // // m

Fibbonacci // // Once

upon a time, // // one word was all it took // // to set the pair of

e mind // // Of every thinker it lands

upon , // // Contrasting gentle with the strong // // Emotions felt w

e // // sprout from its neck, to wilt

upon each soft pale shirt, // // teaching by strange example that the

ly on the cliffs, we listened to echoes

upon echoes // // of the sea incessantly singing her serenade of blue

[I often think of that January morning]

. // // I painted my feelings in layer

upon layer of blue // // until watercolours splattered my sleeves and

[I often think of that January morning]

ppeared, // // But a realisation falls

upon me, // // And reveals the truth that I had feared. // // I sit

The Tree of Wisdom

// // Even now, // // I feel the heat

upon my face. // // Twenty three years later, when my mother died //

// I could vomit // // Blood and water

upon my feet // // And say never, never forgive him // // He knows,

like strands of the sun resting // //

upon my shoulder. // // and there’s the crux, // // right in that li

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

shed // // Ideas, the waiting of night

upon night, // // An expectant lie on the grass, // // White at firs

and layers leafing through // // pages

upon pages of poetry. My blurry eyes resisted breaking // // concentr

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

r the white hillside, // // snow white

upon snow snow-white. // // This is the time of old shoes, // // wh

world to freeze // // And ice to form

upon the breeze // // And snow to lie upon the lease // // Leaving i

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

// Of yellow Victorian tobacco-stains

upon the creamy-white // // Bernard Shaw, the voluptuous Darwin, the

Bearded Thoughts

ld. // // Every step, // // your foot

upon the crust, you think // // ‘This time, it will hold my weight.’

Walking in winter

it might mean if all we saw were beards

upon the face, // // A Mr. Twit complex, the psychologists (clean-sha

Bearded Thoughts

m’s // // sins of the sons are visited

upon the fathers they had wars but not like these

upon the breeze // // And snow to lie

upon the lease // // Leaving its white grace. // // And then he brea

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

bone // // as Martin’s morning breaks

upon the night // // we trade in futures on the wishing bone // // a

orrowed wings a hedgehog // // Sprawls

upon the pavement, // // Bristles forced to comic angles. // // A pi

Urban bird watching

of souls hurt. // // Blind, dumb, deaf

upon the pedestal of a saint, // // by touch and instinct you descend

ly, far away, the churn // // of waves

upon the sand. Eastwards we turn, // // along the open beach, in ric

Wells in winter

r, porridge warm with honey // // sits

upon the stove, and my Grandmother will love me again. Breaking // //

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ldren. // // Part of the news they lie

upon , they can’t // // Look out at me, because their faces are // /

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

er would they have been engraved // //

Upon those souls of those modern men who bask in the flames of that re

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

d placed in possibility // // For time

upon time to revisit as you swing down through the lines and rhymes //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

on’t wish to cast any aspersions // //

upon your nature, the way you nurture, // // but as we intertwined at

fted, // // Blonde and blue-eyed Sufi,

upright and serious and oblivious. // // Promise me—let’s run when yo

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

at is left of bird song. // // Phoenix

upside —down. // // Pigeon panicking inside an elevator. // // I can

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

he cat, // // drew up rotas, tidied up

upstairs , // // let the flower-arrangers in when they came at one, //

d myself in wooded Janet’s Foss. // //

Upstream again to clamber Gordale Scar // // and rest, and breathe so

Daydream Dale Journey

ening to the rocks each tug, // // The

upstream coming down ’coming more tame // // The closer to the hope-m

[What have we done]

rice // // Are bathing in it now, away

upstream … // // So every trace of light begins a grace // // In me,

as gravity falls away. // // Tumbling

upwards , being pulled by an invisible string held // // By a clenched

Snapshot Endings

Urban bird watchingOn the Huntingdon Road. // // They found him, petr

Urban bird watching

vilish. // // He’s in a raffish // //

urban mould // // not suited to // // a woodland glade // // and da

Urban Warfare // // Nameless faces tell us we’re going to war, // //

te on black // // In your suit, you’re

urbanely monochrome; // // A real social animal. // // Strip off the

my lips // // … // // i have a strong

urge to tell you how it feels to be standing here // // but it’s warm

HOW CAN I TELL YOU WHAT IT FEELS LIKE

oul between muddied fingers // // —now

usb 3.0 compatible— // // Horrified by the naïveté of younger affirma

Frighteningly Inert

s wrong I want you to gouge it from me.

use blunt, hoping, hoping and hoping. let me hear the sound of joy and

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

s of loving. // // Did I love enough?

use every day? // // Days for seeing you in different ways. // // Da

/ // Course. // // Good one. // // I

use humour—I’m used to humour. // // Yeah. Drink water? // // Can’t

Whales sing because they have a song

stopped talking. // // but there’s no

use in talking // // when everything’s been said. // // In the dead,

y are not mine, these words you make me

use : // // Oppression’s language does not understand. // // Hear! Ou

never thought you deft // // enough to

use so delicate a dial. // // Why should I miss this little piece of

Compass Reading

tongue the tongue of love. // // they

use their words, saying eyes are the window to the soul // // but eye

Same but differenT

I saved // // myself from regret, if I

used them to save your // // voice, your image, tried to save your li

Sestina to an English Teacher

/ // Good one. // // I use humour—I’m

used to humour. // // Yeah. Drink water? // // Can’t drink anything

Whales sing because they have a song

s, // // A joke, // // Or the place I

used to know. // // All I know is that the age of legends is reduced

oad, or in-between the sheets. // // I

used to think the best songs had been sung, // // That genius is dest

udy of Reading Habits // // At first I

used to wish that I were Keats // // And then I wished I’d been one o

without degree. // // My maths proves

useful : // // I can assess my scanty nuts of coke, // // apportion r

A Room of Her Own

It says nothing // // And is perfectly

useless // // And is perfect, // // Like the thing that you were. //

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

// whole, warm. Not paper. // // I am

using scissors to cut // // a square around your face // // to fram

Stone, Paper, Scissors

in, // // And sewn our hearts together

using twine. // // You’re sure our threads are finally aligned, // /

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

al mornings. // // Business will go as

usual —Routine completion guarantee. // // My reality assembles with I

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

ples, for I am well of love. // // The

usual translation is not raisins // // but flagons. Flagons might in

The well of love

s crashing crudely over cor- // // al,

usurping canoes claim to the crests, each sullen swelling rock- // //

caravels cresting over cor- // // al,

usurping canoes control of the crests, each rippling roll rock- // //

ple pillars and bronze effigies, // //

Usurping the old shore with the new tide. // //

e revival of lifeless hands. // // The

utensils that outlive them. // //

s—for, rather, rare nights between inky

uterine nights—I’d dream: // // my index finger extended in front, wa

olipsistic bore, // // You’re nothing,

utter nothing, nothing more. // //

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

their dance // // the genesis of every

utterance , // // pattering the pattern of the Tree. // // Summon the

at is home // // and somewhere that is

utterly devoid of remembrance. // // It’s everything you’d expect //

[The sash rattles up]

s sluiced clean, // // Streets emptied

utterly into pits // // Girded with chalk and bone. // // Tarweed ta

// // (Nothing too funny here, // //

Uxoricidally , // // Just that his name // // Scans quite well on the