Thursday, June 28, 2012

"If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise." WB

Thursday, June 14, 2012

"It is a body poetics. I am in the context of those before me who worshipped a goddess whose eyes were mirrors. One eye reflected the "inside," the other the gorgeous and dark phenomenal world. Take your pick. Both, both. She, the muse, puts an invisible protection cord around my neck to protect me from ego. She exceeds my aspiration to disappear."

Anne Waldman, The Iovis Trilogy

Monday, June 11, 2012



I'm on an ocean liner in a Bangkok river or bay. From the top deck of the ship we can see the whole city - it's gorgeous pink and black in the lit-up night - 'that's why it's called The Pink City', we say. We're in a swimming pool - me, my friend and her husband. I can tell that right now he is more interested in me. I wonder if we'll have sex - the two of us or all of us.

There's so much activity around the boat and on the lower decks. People are celebrating, there are fireworks. And there are small space shuttles, brilliantly lit, like LED kites, launching from the ship. They rocket up into the air, powering out in the night sky before they leave the atmosphere, crashing back down to the river. I think this might be the last of the earth's spare fuel. I think it's wondrous that we are using it like this.

I need a toilet. I go down into the ship's interior to look for one. it's empty in amongst the cabins, no people around. I find a sign for the toilets but once I enter I see it's really a luxury bath-house - disused and outdated but spacious and with many lovely spas, vanities, seating etc. I go to the toilet and think about bringing my friends down here - we could fill the spas up, bring champagne etc. As I leave I see a small creature running through the room - large cockroach or a mouse - as it runs away from me it takes flight.


Sunday, June 10, 2012

soft shroud 4


                                    people, go back and shelter in the church remains
                                    leave the garden empty (& white tablecloths

lengthen my neck below behind the foothills
unmake lines of stone     haze  
my jawbone    go back visit them there


drop everything from the hands push open the window push closed the window push open the window. something happen to the air   flakes of ash. wear a coat take off a coat wear a coat. wear your hair and pat the skin with ash


in the window    plant life    radiate outwards and radiate inwards
thick clarity in a thinner humnet of motorways.

motorways in the future     arrest.    plant life, croach up the road works push apart the concrete.
arrest to a point    an east-west palm in all these countries
radiate out and radiate in       with         all  

 to navigate keep a finger place in the ocean       a point in that “taxonomic feeling”


the fingers, press down into the membrane of the floor.
read it coming up. blue fork veins. come up. come on up heat.
read a man in the gully with his gumboots on.
man in the gully with an egg in his mouth.
read pieces of the bridge on high, haze unmake the lines of the sky stones.
read the gully on a man. weight of a wedge of air.
walled at the gully mouth rising blue. blue be higher (no where is a gully mouth blocked. block painted blue. static. please hold the
egg in your hand and up in the air. floor river heat up. river through the gully go, hot organs of a mountain. mud flow strip the gumboots.
strip the ankles. collect at the concrete wall. rise there against the wall. water go on. ashmud come. shearwaters lift with the lines of a bridge





is it near? mouth-wall collect us against you. go out lights. well let the ankle bones let us lie. wrap in the softest you wore. those little ankle bones go. toe bones go let go jaw go. be cased. cat-rounded in a blue corner, and blanket, and mountain shade 


beats live heat in the legs

beats bees in the live heat of the

blinking knees





without saddle the horse towards heat
spongiform taste already the hooves in the loam,
print already the loam the taste of an apricot grove
ashclouds tumbling forward into the past
our present delight pressing the form of its already passing in waves
breaking exquisitely a form of walking the mantle to the burning peak
and which way does the mantle fall? it always falls away from you

uncovering
black dilation