Imponderables

All you imponderables —- sometimes in a dark theater you close your eyes —- try to fall into that clotted tumulus —- or lap of world —- or ideogram of an unborn nightjar —- enlisted to be rude —- all you against the creosoted lee side masses —- ravening with palatial mannerisms —- end up kicking burnable clots across their lawns —- sometimes pinning scratched up ingots to folks’ jackets —- dug up from the lawn where you kicked night jars back into place —- what holds up this insuperable lap —- all you footsore —- you rinse you thrum in the deep port of sloping wires —- I fall into your lap.

Intro: Code_Work

Joke Book (Extract)

Let’s probe themes, demands tradition. Doesn’t poetry pass its imports

into less languid commentaries? They stiffen on vision:

Delia’s mum’s long parlour (bra is ample);

dad classifies home as sick hell, all weekend

in anger swears that ‘even if I frig her wet, flex her, say “my dear”,

carelessly comb my hair, she remarks that “he sends all men

the summer dance, he never wants to stay home for sex. Usually

he feels coarse boys back on the station. He calls to them, ‘get your kit off, fall on

it!’ Knobs on show, and such positions way past just a sigh!

Pa’s a column in some sexy page.”’ Get a car. I’m going to show

just whose son regrets the day these walls caused us to

stray far from home. Yes, you all hiss and yell at tit all your

gay rhetoric and you hope the next day she will get all the blame.

A kid comes in to hear (‘move over my dear’) rumours abound.

‘Who’s carrying on?’ ‘But I swear..!’ ‘Consider killing your one connection:

enter, lead her to a settee, offer smiles (“after you”);

be a disease, lay fate so soon upon the bastard. Erase her, mask the

pencil. Solace to you, day’s sin satisfied.

An éclair? After decent kill, men stay hopelessly sexual

danger prowling there. A cheque will donate income – see the amount?

Do your best and watch for the money. 1890

begins it, alright? I become impatient and see hell’s empire proffer demons

a symbol, it’s clear, to endless space with your corpse.

Just be sure she fell. Bullets kill – start increasing harm.’

The cock is large: he knows it. He pastiches you others pouring tears

and pours tea. The men may have passion but later they waste –

see Melnick on top, defiant of male violence. See the key appraise the place, her

skirt so near to her anus. Too hard. Dance the salsa

and I tell you don’t stop at all, and on him sew the cigar’s song. Don’t laugh about

a marvellous tableau of being done. Fast feet upon carpet meant only

he murmured ‘key’, a house leading you

teasing slaughter. Pterodactyl knee compound as gas

set an outer force: tradition. Come sell one. He bit her

lemon (big). If I can rig a wet dance… A long novel set on a supper table.