chip chip chip



goes the chisel on

i can feel the bits

peel off, it's



chipping



and underneath is blue and red and

yello



i underestimate the skin of you

the

hands are wrapped in

bubble wrap one



under the tracks one



under the rockery



i keep on with my

tool

hit a line



and blood like a tree goes



-kapow

it's all well green

it would seem &

down comes the sun

into my wintry lap



i see the first

girls with straps &

naked arms

gooseflushed as april

flesh in patterned

leaves



why when for so long

the dark clears to this

bell-clear morning

would my heart hang so

heavy in the

branches of that

budding space?



and in the sound of the crank

of summer &

dusting off of candlelight

where all is fresh and new and

smelling white



i kick a bird

it shatters

the spastics on the telly put me off my mince pie

i looked round to see granny's teeth

"tinsel is a snake" i said, but

they didn't hear me

(over the queens peach-

which rose out of the wrapping

like a statue)



hear me out i say

i'm here with this aftershave what

you've got me

the bottle is a man with a cock

like a toblerone

it's confusing

and smells mainly of

tears

but in a way



it's just what i've always



wanted

i ran into an industrial estate and looked around
the spikes got me

i opened my eyes to the exchange rate
it was no good

i have drunk all the drinks
and told in bars of past dead singers and
cotton picker’s slave chests

you have fallen off the world and gone-
in pictures you look vague

and i’ve been stuck in worse
elevators with dry fishing dreams
of the great wide open

but if i could take my spear and run it
into your body i would